57

NEW YORK CITY

Once Sean was in his Jeep, he paused before he put it into gear. Might as well get it over with, he chided himself. Stop being a chicken.

He phoned Sarah.

“Sean?” She sounded out of breath.

“Yup.”

There was a deathly silence. Then he heard a door slam so hard that windows rattled. She came back on the line. “How could you! Let us think you were dead?”

Sean listened painfully as his sister let him have it with both barrels. When at last she was done, he said, “Okay, I deserved that.”

“You bet you do, and a lot more too,” she retorted. “Where on earth have you—”

“Hey, I’ll explain as soon as I can. I promise. But I wanted you to know I’m okay. I’m home. But I need to talk to Mom first.”

“She’s in Chautauqua, mourning,” she snapped. “Because she thinks you’re dead. Dead, Sean.”

“I know. I understood that the first time you said it. Will told me she’s there. Listen—I have to get on the road now, but I’ll call you back soon, when I’m not driving. Okay?”

“Make that double soon,” she said. “You owe me. Big.” And she hung up.

He shook his head. Sarah never had been big on patience, and she was a fireball to boot. He chuckled. Sounded like someone else—himself. Maybe he was more a Worthington than he knew.

One more down. Two to go.

And they would be the two hardest.

EN ROUTE FROM CORVO TO FLORES

Once his jet was in the air, the man smacked the table next to him in frustration.

His contact winced. The reason didn’t need to be stated. They were once again behind on Sean Worthington’s movements.

“Track that cell,” the man ordered.

“On it already.” As they neared Flores, he added, “Got it. Satellite GPS photo coming through now.”

The grainy photo of a Jeep and a man in the driver’s seat popped up on the jet’s computer screen.

The man nodded. Sean Worthington. No doubt. He was alive.

The computer screen switched to a map and a blinking red dot. So Sean was back in New York City. But he was driving out of the city, heading for . . .

“Keep following him on the GPS,” the man barked. The orders weren’t necessary. He knew where Sean was going. “Set course for Western New York. Chautauqua Institution in particular.”