chatting with her. Loved seeing her so excited, so enthralled, so curious about something, even with the undercurrent of fear in her bubbly voice. Loved hearing from her twice a day.
But he hated lying to her.
And he had. Twice now, in less than a day. And, no doubt, he’d have to go on lying to her—if all went well, for the rest of his life.
He felt a small tearing inside at the realization, then the tear widened as the bigger picture of what was going on hit him again.
It’s really happening.
It was out there now. There was no turning back.
The thought terrified and elated him in equal measure.
It had all seemed so surreal when he’d first considered the possibility, just four years earlier. And yet it had all come about so fast. The breakup of the ice shelf had been expected. They’d been monitoring it through satellite imagery, but it had come sooner than they projected. And they’d been ready. Ready to capitalize on it.
Ready to change the world.
He thought back to that fateful evening with Reece, three years earlier. A great dinner. A bottle of Brunello di Montalcino. A couple of Cohiba Esplendidos. A long, inspired late-night chat about the possibilities of the manufacturing breakthrough that Reece had achieved. The many and diverse applications it could be used for. The leaps of imagination that great minds sometimes conjured up and actually turned into reality. And then, the mere mention of a word.
Miraculous.
One word. A catalyst that sent Rydell’s mind tripping into uncharted territory. Dark, mysterious, wonderful, impossible territory. And here he was, less than four years later, and the impossible had become a reality.
Reece. The brilliant scientist’s face drifted into his consciousness. Other faces materialized alongside it—young, talented, dedicated, all of them—and with them, a familiar cold, hard feeling deep inside him. He felt his very soul shrivel at the memory of that last day in Namibia. After the last test. After they’d all shared the elation of watching their hard work bear fruit in such spectacular, bone-chilling fashion. And then it all went wrong. He could still see Maddox, standing there beside him, pulling the trigger. He could hear himself shout, hear the bullet thumping into Reece’s back, see his friend’s body jerk before toppling into Danny Sherwood’s arms.
The sounds and images of that day had been gnawing away at him ever since.
He hated himself for not having been able to stop it. And despite what the others told him, none of the platitudes, none of the clichés about the greater good or about sacrificing the lives of the few for the lives of the many—none of it worked.
He hadn’t read them properly. He hadn’t realized to what lengths they were prepared to go. And it was too late to do anything about it. They needed each other. If everything he’d worked for was to succeed, he just had to swallow it all and keep going.
Which he did, even though it wasn’t easy. He could still feel it, deep inside, eating away at him, piece by piece. He knew it would eventually get him. One way or another, he’d die because of it. He had to. But maybe, before that happened, maybe, if all went well—maybe their deaths would amount to something in the end. Although he knew their ghosts wouldn’t let go of him, not even then.
Chapter 26
Boston, Massachusetts
Sheltering behind a tall hedge in the brisk, early morning chill, Matt waited and watched, trying to make sure no unpleasant surprises were in store for him at the hotel before breaking cover and making his way in. Tense and alert while avoiding eye contact, he slipped past a few bleary-eyed businessmen who brought a semblance of life to the drab, cookie-cutter lobby, took the elevator to the fifth floor, and reached the refuge of his room.
He was as tired as he was pissed off.
He’d had to dump the Mustang a few blocks from Bellinger’s place, and that only fueled his anger. The car represented a personal milestone for him, a notable and particularly satisfying step on his road back from the edge. Danny had not just guided him onto that road, but paid the toll and given him fuel money to boot. And now Matt had been forced to abandon the car on some dark side street, all because of the same bastards who had taken Danny away.
He was seriously pissed off.
After parking the Mustang, he’d scuttled in the shadows for a couple of blocks, then crossed to