JASON slid into a seat across from Abbey at the all-night bistro near Gramercy Park. She had a plate of eggs in front of her, but she’d left it untouched. Her face bloomed with relief when she saw him.
“Oh, my God! I was so worried!” She looked around the mostly empty restaurant and lowered her voice. “I heard people talking about a shooting at the subway in the Village. Was that you?”
“Let’s not talk about it here.”
He twisted his head to check the street, and a shiver of pain shot up his neck. Abbey noticed the grimace on his face.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, but we need to get out of sight. There’s a safe house a block away we can use. It’s run by the British. Nova knew about it.”
“Okay.”
“Put your hoodie up when we go. I don’t want your face on any street cameras.”
She nodded quietly. Before pulling up the hood, she combed her fingers through her hair in a gesture that was unconsciously sensual. The look she achieved was messy and perfect. Her black bangs dipped over her forehead, and he could see hints of red among the black. Her mouth was serious now, just her lips pressed softly together. Her wide dark eyes stared across the table at him, and he found it hard to look away from her face.
Then she brought the hood gently over her head. “That okay?”
“Yes. Fine.”
The two of them left the restaurant and walked down Twentieth Street in the rain. Neither one of them said a word, but he could feel something strange happening between them. The narrow street was dark, but lights glowed in the apartments overhead. A car passed, kicking up spray without slowing down. When they reached the park, he steered her next to the wrought-iron fence. Trees covered them and held back some of the downpour. Parked cars filled every spot, and he watched for any sign that someone was watching the area. He didn’t think that anyone at Treadstone knew about this safe house, but he couldn’t be sure.
The twenty-story building was at the end of the block.
“Keep your head down when we go inside,” Bourne told her. “Don’t look at the man at the desk.”
He buzzed for entry. When the guard came on the intercom to query him, he used a name that was supposed to give him access to the building, any day, any time. After a tense moment of waiting, the door opened. Jason slipped inside, keeping Abbey behind him, and went over to the man at the desk. He repeated the name and laid out three thousand dollars in cash, which he hoped would buy them anonymity.
“No records,” Jason told him. “We’re not here. Okay?”
The man said nothing, but he took the money and handed over a key. Jason pocketed it and guided Abbey to the elevator. No one else was in the lobby. When the elevator doors opened, he went first, conscious of the camera looking down at them. He kept his head down and turned around, only to see Abbey raising her hands toward her hoodie to slip it down. Immediately, he moved toward her and took hold of both of her hands to stop her. He meant nothing personal by touching her. This was about keeping them safe, nothing else.
But that was a lie.
He bent down close to her. She tilted her chin, meeting his eyes. The message passing between them was unmistakable. Her lips moved and parted, inviting him, and he put his mouth on hers. The kiss started soft and slow, then grew intense. Their fingers were still laced together, and she pressed forward with her body against his. As she did, the hoodie slipped down, but he didn’t notice. They stayed that way, their lips exploring each other, until the elevator doors opened on the fourteenth floor.
He let go of her hands. Abbey backed up, embarrassed, a flush on her face. They got out of the elevator and walked silently to the end of the hall, where the room was. He undid the lock and murmured, “Stay here while I make sure it’s clear.”
Her eyes stared at the floor. “Okay.”
Jason went into the one-bedroom apartment. Nothing had changed, not the paint, the furniture, the curtains. It was the same as it had been when he was here with Nova. He went back to the door and held it open so that Abbey could come inside. He closed the door behind her and did the dead bolt.
“Are we safe here?” she asked softly.
“I think so.”
“Good.”
“Do you want anything? They usually keep the fridge stocked.”
“No, thanks.”
“I’ll sleep on the couch. You can have the bed.”
“Okay.”
“Abbey, listen, I’m sorry.”
She shoved her hands in her pockets. “Don’t be. You got the signal right.”
“It’s better if nothing happens between us.”
“Definitely,” she replied. “Definitely better. Sure.”
“I kill people,” Jason said. “Don’t forget that.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” She went to the window and looked out at the lights of the city. “Did you kill Carson?”
“It wasn’t me. But he’s dead.”
“Medusa?”
Jason nodded. “One of them was definitely Medusa. His job was to make sure Gattor died. The rest, I don’t think so.”
“Then who were they? Why were they after him?”
He sat down at the apartment’s dinette table and pulled out the phone he’d taken from the last of the assailants. Abbey sat down next to him, and she pulled her chair close enough that their legs brushed together. He unlocked the phone using the code he’d seen the man enter, and he opened the app for the Prescix software.
As he scrolled through the man’s news feed, Abbey whistled, seeing the photos and articles about Carson Gattor. “He was a lawyer for white power groups? I never would have guessed that.”
“That’s the thing, I don’t think he was,” Bourne replied. “These articles are all deepfakes. So are the photos. This incident was manipulated. Someone knew where Carson was going, and they put him in the crosshairs for a bunch of anti-fascist thugs who love to go around beating up Nazis. Look at these posts. The software targeted these people, fed them sophisticated misinformation, and sent them after Gattor. And then Medusa included one of their own just to make sure they got the result they wanted. Gattor dead.”
“Software can do all that?” Abbey asked.
“Apparently so. With the right code and the right people pulling the strings.”
“Prescix,” she murmured. “Congresswoman Ortiz talked about Prescix. Are they part of Medusa?”
“I don’t know. Medusa obviously has people who can hack parts of the Prescix system.”
“There was a news station on TV in the cab. A top exec at Prescix was found murdered in Las Vegas today.”
“Whatever Medusa is planning, they’re moving forward,” he said.
“But what do we do now? Carson was our only link to Medusa, and now he’s dead.”
Bourne frowned. “I know. Medusa outplayed us.”
Abbey looked deep in thought, and he found himself unsettled by how attractive she was. Then she took the assailant’s phone out of his hands and reopened the Prescix software. “Hang on a minute, Jason. Don’t be so sure.”
“What do you mean?”
She scrolled to the very end of the thread and then turned the phone around for Jason to see. “Look at this last photo of Carson. The one they posted to make sure the thugs could find him. It was taken at Villiers. Medusa was there.”
He studied the phone and saw that she was right. The photograph showed Carson Gattor in the wine bar, his coat over his arm, his wineglass in his hand. The lawyer looked down at the hidden camera without realizing it was there.
“Let’s go through the photos you took outside the bar,” Jason said. “Maybe we can figure out who was watching Gattor.”
Again they leaned next to each other, both of them conscious of their closeness. Abbey took her phone from her pocket and scrolled slowly through the dozens of photographs she’d taken in a burst as she walked past the wine bar. The first time through they found nothing, but then Bourne reexamined the angle of the photo in the Prescix post. He opened up Abbey’s pictures again.
“The man at that table with his laptop open. See how Carson is looking down? The person who took it was seated. It’s him. He used the laptop to grab the photo and post it to Prescix.”
Abbey enlarged the photograph of the man in the wine bar, who didn’t look older than thirty. It was impossible to tell how tall he was, and the picture she’d taken was in profile, but they could see a long, slim nose, the untrimmed line of his beard creeping down his neck, and his sandy-blond hair pulled into a short ponytail on top of his head. He wore a rust-colored sweater with a collar and zipper.
“He’s Medusa?” Abbey asked.
“I think so.”
“So how do we figure out who he is?”
Bourne stared at the man in the photograph. There was only one way to find him. “I have to talk to an old friend,” Jason said.
BEFORE sunrise, Jason sat behind the Hans Christian Andersen statue near the boat pond in Central Park. The rain had stopped overnight, but the ground was still wet. The luxury apartments of Fifth Avenue loomed above the trees. He’d arrived early, but he didn’t have to wait long before he recognized the jogger approaching on the concrete trail. The man wasn’t tall, but he ran with a fast, confident athleticism. He was dressed down, so no one would recognize that he was one of the most powerful men in the country. The man stopped at the Conservatory Water, ran his hands through his wavy dark hair, and rested for a minute with his hands on his knees.
“It’s good that you’re a creature of habit,” Jason called.
Scott DeRay spun around. “Jesus Christ.”
“Sorry to ambush you, Scott, but we need to talk.”
“Of course, yes. Definitely.”
Scott took a plastic bottle from his belt and drank a squirt of Gatorade. He checked to confirm that the two of them were alone and then headed to the bench where Jason was sitting. He sat down next to his childhood friend.
“I didn’t shoot Sofia Ortiz,” Jason said.
Scott hesitated. “If you say so, I believe you.”
“But?”
“But I’m sorry, Jason. No one else will believe it. There’s too much evidence. The FBI has video of you in the hotel, fingerprints in the room and on the gun. And as for your background—well, we both know you fit the profile.”
“Medusa framed me. They set me up.”
Scott waited to answer. He drank another shot of Gatorade, and his face glowed with sweat. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gotten you into this. But my hands are tied. Right now, it doesn’t matter to the cabal whether Medusa framed you or recruited you. The effect is the same. They want nothing to do with you. A member of Congress was assassinated. I’m heading to Washington this morning to reassure a bunch of furious politicians that Big Tech had nothing to do with it. If any actual evidence comes out that you were working for us, it will be devastating.”
“I get that,” Jason replied. “I’m an outcast. Me being dead would be better for everyone. Treadstone is trying to kill me, did you know that? Nash Rollins is hunting me. Is that Miles Priest’s handiwork?”
Scott frowned. “Yes. Miles talked to the director, and Shaw sent Nash after you. He knows the two of you have history.”
“Well, can you call off the dogs? Give me some breathing room?”
His friend stood up from the bench. Dawn lightened the sky, creating reflections on the boat pond. “Do you remember all the times we came here as kids? Sorry, what am I saying, of course you don’t remember. But we did. It seems like a long time ago.”
“For me, it was a different lifetime.”
“I know. The point is, you were my best friend, Jason.”
“Is that your way of softening the blow that you can’t help me?”
Scott looked down at him. “I wish I could. I wish I could set you up with a new identity somewhere, but I can’t. What’s going on is bigger than both of us. If any of this is traced back to me, I’m finished. I’m afraid you’re on your own.”
“I don’t want to escape,” Jason replied. “I’m not running.”
His friend’s face showed surprise. “Then why are you here?”
“I’m still chasing Medusa.”
“Alone? That’s crazy.”
“Well, everyone thinks I am crazy, don’t they? Psychologically damaged. A prime candidate for terrorist recruitment.”
“Look—Jason—”
“Medusa is on the move, Scott. Ortiz was step one. I was step one. But whatever’s coming next is much bigger.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“No, but I suspect the Prescix software is involved. Someone at Medusa manipulated the Prescix software last night to arrange the death of Abbey Laurent’s source. They knew I was coming after him. Oh, and I heard about the murder of the Prescix executive, too. You and Miles better be careful.”
“We are.” Scott glanced at the boat pond and saw other early-morning runners heading in their direction. “I need to go. We can’t be seen together. What do you want, Jason? You obviously want something if you took the risk of coming here.”
“I need to identify someone. I think he’s Medusa. I have a photograph but nothing else. I was hoping someone at Carillon could access the facial recognition systems across the cabal and get me a name and background.”
“And if you find him, what will you do?”
“Follow him up the chain. See where it leads me.”
Jason could see his friend weighing the pros and cons. Everything had a cost and benefit in Scott’s world.
“There’s a coffee shop across from the Carillon lobby,” Scott said finally. “Be there in three hours. One of my techs will find you.”
“What’s his name?”
“No names. I’m not putting my people at risk. You meet this man, and he’ll get you the information you need.”
“Will the FBI be meeting me, too, Scott?”
“Don’t worry, you’re safe. I won’t turn you in, for the simple reason that nobody wants you in custody.”
“Just dead,” Jason said.
Scott shook out his legs, getting ready to start running again. “I trust your skills, so I’m sure you’ll monitor the area before you move in.”
“I appreciate the help.”
“This is a one-time offer,” Scott replied. “For old times, Jason. After that, we’re done. But be forewarned. Once this query launches, you’ll be leaving footprints online. Nothing is private anymore. Whatever or whoever you’re searching for, Medusa will find out about it. Quickly.”