But he kept struggling against the overpowering bands around him, because he was sure there was something wrong, so he needed to get up, he needed to do something. A mounting sense of urgency gripped him. Fear clutched his throat. He raised his head as far as he could, agitated. He needed . . . He needed . . .

Fingers threaded through his hair and eased his head back, then a palm brushed against his forehead. “You’re okay, Tom. Just relax. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“Dad?”

The hand on his forehead stilled an instant. “No,” said Blackburn.

He drifted in and out for a while. He didn’t stir again until Blackburn reached down and lifted up his limp arm. Tom squinted, and saw Blackburn’s thumb brush over his fingers, where the skin appeared a strange, pale blue. Tom realized after a moment that he’d seen the touch, but he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel it at all.

“W-what’s w-w-wrong w-with m-m-my . . .”

Blackburn tucked his arm back under his coat. “Shh. Just close your eyes.”

Tom didn’t want to, but he sagged back, shaking all over, his teeth chattering, and his thoughts became blurred, hazy things as the warmth and almost foreign sense of total safety lulled him into darkness.

VOICES ROUSED TOM.

“. . . the incorruptible James Blackburn.” Vengerov sounded amused. “I’m astonished you left the Pentagonal Spire, what with all the recent security breaches. Anything could happen to that system while you’re here, in my domain, completely cut off from your own server.”

Tom forced his eyelids open, the bright lights of what seemed a small hospital knifing into his eyes. His blurry vision focused upon an IV pole, standing nearby . . . and the two men facing each other at the foot of his bed.

“Oh, I wouldn’t throw around the threats too soon, Joseph.” Blackburn’s voice was harsh. “I took the risk of coming here for one simple reason: your employee intranet. I thought access to your internal company network might be worth the trip to the South Pole. I was right.”

Vengerov’s voice was deadly soft. “You penetrated our systems? That’s illegal.”

“Speaking of illegal”—enjoyment throbbed in Blackburn’s voice—“you should really take a look at something I found while the trainees were on their tour.”

Their hands gripped the rails on either side, though Blackburn’s were ferocious claws like he was ready to rip the bed frame apart, and Vengerov’s were casually skimming the metal. The faint smile on Vengerov’s lips reflected none of the tense hostility on Blackburn’s face, even as he reached into his pocket, pulled out a computer, and began examining the file Blackburn sent him.

Blackburn said, “I had this hunch that it wasn’t a coincidence our combat technology always seems to keep perfect pace with that of the Russo-Chinese . . .”

“A mere conspiracy theory. I thought better of you, James.”