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that this was easily the worst of all the injuries she had encountered so far.
    â€œAgent Lawrence? My name is Naomi Kharmai. I’m with Central Intelligence, and I need to talk to you about the assassination of Senator Levy.”
    â€œI’ve already given my supervisors a full account, as well as the FBI. Capitol Hill PD sat in on that one. Aren’t you supposed to be sharing information with them?” Megan asked resignedly.
    Although the deterioration of her jaw had slurred her speech, Naomi could still detect the lyrical, lilting quality of Megan Lawrence’s voice. She thought that a few days ago it would have been a pleasure to listen to this woman speak. “I’m sorry, Agent Lawrence, but you know how it goes. We’re going to need a firsthand account, and I have some pictures I’d like you to take a look at.” Naomi hoped that by addressing this woman as “Agent,” she might foster a little professional courtesy. To Megan, it just sounded patronizing.
    â€œLook,” Megan tried one last time, “if we could maybe talk later, I just don’t feel—”
    â€œYou know, I don’t really have time later, so if you don’t mind—”
    â€œTime?” Megan interrupted, a look of disbelief spreading across her misshapen features. The man leaning by the door stood a little straighter at the tone in her voice. “You want to talk to me about time ?” Lawrence was shouting now, the garbled sound of her speech gone, crystal-clear words echoing off the clean white walls. “ You have all the time in the world! I’m never going to leave this room alive, and my daughter is about to lose her mother. She doesn’t have anyone else !” She collapsed back onto her bed, the anger dissipating as quickly as it had appeared. Her own words brought it all rushing back, though, and the reality of her situation was suddenly sharp, stinging deeper than any physical pain as tears began to stream down her ravaged face.
    In three quick strides the heavy agent in the corner reached Naomi’s side, grabbed her arm roughly, and dragged her out of the room. As he pulled her down the hallway, the sound of Megan Lawrence’s sobs followed them, blending with Naomi’s furious protestations. The agent did not let go of her arm until he watched her leave the building.
    Outside the hospital, a light snow had begun to fall, early winter in October. She stood motionless for a long moment, finally stepping off the curb to stalk angrily to her car. Behind her, the doors were pushed open and a voice called out in her direction. She turned to face the young resident from the fifth floor.
    â€œI thought you should know.” Naomi waited impatiently until the doctor continued. “She has less than a week left. Her husband passed away three years ago, and she won’t see her daughter again because she doesn’t want that image to be the girl’s last memory of her mother.”
    The resident watched Kharmai’s face long enough to realize that the words meant nothing to her. Then he turned and retreated from the cold, heading back to finish his shift.

CHAPTER 4
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
    K ealey was standing before a bank of monitors and audio equipment in a darkened room occupied by the Directorate of Science and Technology. He wore a visitor’s pass around his neck that identified him by number, although the laminated surface also bore a photograph of himself taken three years earlier. The crowded space was filled with young analysts looking at data, monitoring rows of numbers, and occasionally speaking quietly to each other over Styrofoam cups of cold coffee. Ryan Kealey, standing next to the chief analyst, Roger Davidson, was lost in the sense of anonymity that seemed to blanket the room.
    â€œOkay, this copy arrived in June of 2003 via the Saudis—God knows how they got it. Originally broadcast on Al-Jazeera, it’s the usual fare,