"It had to happen that way. It had to come to all this. It is a sad fact of our particular line of work that the pieces on the game board can never be allowed to know all the rules of the game they're playing out," Hollingshead said. "Perhaps most sad is the fact they rarely know if they're winning or losing."

"You-you think you won this?" Chapel asked.

"Not entirely. We lost Helen Bryant, who was a good woman, despite what history forced her to do. Many other people died as well, people who were perfectly innocent. I don't consider that a total victory."

"But-but Banks and Hayes got what they wanted-they-"

Hollingshead put away his sandwich and picked up his laptop. He opened it and clicked the trackpad a few times. Then he turned it to show the screen to Chapel. "It looks like I've timed this just right. What you see here is a live feed of what is happening, even now, on the floor of the Senate. It's going out on C-SPAN."

Chapel studied the screen. There was no sound, but the video showed exactly what Hollingshead had described. A panel of senators had gathered to ask questions of Franklin Hayes. Chapel was watching the judge's confirmation hearing.

"I don't understand," Chapel said. On the screen Hayes was smiling. One of the senators said something and everybody laughed. Clearly they were all having a great time. Just as Chapel had expected, it looked like Hayes was going to sail through the hearing and be confirmed with no trouble.

But then the view blurred as the camera was whirled around to point at something else. It ended up focusing on the doors at the back of the Senate chamber, which had just opened. Two people came up the aisle. In the grainy view of the laptop's screen, Chapel couldn't quite make them out. A Senate page led them toward a table next to the one where Hayes sat. A microphone was put on the table and adjusted so the newcomers could reach it. They were given water and legal pads and pens in case they wanted to take notes. Slowly the camera zoomed in until Chapel could finally see their faces.

One of them was Ellie Pechowski. The other he barely recognized-until someone pointed a camera light at him.

Then his nictitating membranes slid down over his eyes, turning them completely black.

"Samuel," Chapel gasped. "You knew he was still alive."

"The whole time," Hollingshead affirmed.

On the screen the Senate floor erupted into chaos as people rushed to get away from Samuel, to pull back from the monster in their midst. Franklin Hayes jumped up and started shouting at someone. The senator in charge of the proceedings banged his gavel for order. Without sound, Chapel could only imagine what people were saying.

"Samuel will give witness to the entire story," Hollingshead promised. "He will expose everything that happened to him. He will tell them about the Voice. He will tell them about the kill list, and how the assassination attempt on Hayes was staged."

"No one will believe him," Chapel said.

"Perhaps not. Does it really matter? Most likely Banks will attempt to spin this against me. He'll expose my involvement in the day-to-day running of Camp Putnam. I may be indicted," Hollingshead said. He was smiling. Beaming. "Maybe I'll pay for everything I did back then. Just as I deserve."

"And that's winning?"

"I've wanted to come clean on this for a very long time, son. I'm willing to pay the piper now. It's unlikely I'll go to jail," Hollingshead said. "I may be removed from my post. But Tom Banks is in much worse trouble, believe me. When everyone was under the impression that you were dead, he forced me to turn over the entire project to him. I gave him full authority on the cleanup of Darling Green, and for maintaining the secrecy of the chimeras and their escape. He bullied me into it, but I conceded with as much grace as I could muster."

Chapel wanted to laugh. "You old son of a bitch. You gave him all the rope he asked for-so he could hang himself with it."

"All the, shall we say, blowback from this little display," Hollingshead said, gesturing at the laptop screen, "will fall squarely on Tom Banks's head. It will ensure he is ejected most forcefully from CIA headquarters. He'll be lucky if they let him back into the state of Virginia. And it will forever and irrevocably make sure that Franklin Hayes is never appointed to the Supreme Court. I may not win, son. I may not come out of this smelling like a rose. But I guarantee you they will lose."

Chapel shook his head. "And once the kill list is made public, there's no way Banks can ever hurt anyone on it, not without implicating himself as a conspirator to murder."

"You have put your finger exactly on it. Ellie, a dear friend of mine, will be safe. So will the young ladies who we used so horribly. Jeremy Funt will no longer be persecuted. And you, and your dear Julia, are perfectly welcome to come out of hiding now. You are safe, son. Everyone is safe."

"I-I don't know what to say," Chapel said. "I thought, coming here today, you were going to have me arrested. Or killed."

"Hardly. In fact," Hollingshead told him, "if you're willing to put up with me awhile longer . . . I'd like to offer you a job. A permanent position. The Cold War was a long and dark time, full of secrets. There are plenty of skeletons in that particular closet I'd like yanked out into the light of day. Assuming I still have a job tomorrow, I promise you'll have one, too. Oh, and I'll see about getting you a replacement for that arm of yours. Least we can do, really."

Chapel put a hand over his mouth. He couldn't help it.

He laughed long and hard.

WASHINGTON, D.C.: JUNE 5, 14:28 EDT

"So it's official? You're working for Hollingshead now?" Julia asked

"I'm getting a W-2 form and everything," Chapel told her. They were walking down a Washington street on a sunny day and no one they saw was armed, no one was looking to kill them. "I get two weeks' vacation a year, though, and I'm starting my first one immediately."

"Maybe we can go someplace quiet," Julia said, taking his arm.

Neither of them was exactly sure what they were to each other, now. For a while he'd been scared their relationship would be over before it started, until Hollingshead had called Chapel one fine morning and given him one piece of excellent news.

Both of them were negative. There was no trace of the chimera virus in either of their systems. They'd caught a real lucky break there. They wouldn't have to be quarantined. They wouldn't be separated by medical necessity.

They would always be buddies-but now, maybe, they had a chance to be something more.

Not that he could exactly come out and say as much.

"How's your dad?" Chapel asked, to keep his mind off the question.

"They say he'll make a full recovery. The bullet pierced his jugular, but my field dressing held." She shrugged. "I don't know what to make of things, yet. He told me-well. He told me why he did it all. I hope someday I can forgive him. I'm going to try."

Chapel nodded. He hoped she would find some peace there, eventually.

"What about Samuel?" she asked.

His eyes widened. He'd barely thought about the last living chimera. Already they were receding behind him, like a bad dream. "He's going to get new hands, for one thing. I can vouch for what they can do in that line, these days."

"But what is his life going to be like?" Julia asked. "Where will he go?"

Chapel shrugged. "Back to Camp Putnam, if he wants to. Or maybe he can go live with Ellie. Try to find a place for himself in the human world." Ian had realized at the end that was impossible. But maybe Samuel was different. "I don't think his life will ever be what we think of as normal. But it will be what he chooses."

"That's nice," Julia said. "It's nice somebody gets that. After all the people who got hurt. Who didn't get to choose."

"You're thinking of the women. Olivia Nguyen and Marcia Kennedy and Christina Smollett. All the others."

"I think about them a lot," she said.

"Hollingshead told me that he's taking personal responsibility for what happened," Chapel said. "He's setting up trust funds for them. All of them. They'll never need to worry about medical care or rent or anything else as long as they live. And the president's going to give them an apology."

"I guess that's something," Julia replied.

"Hollingshead's trying to do the right thing. I guess that's all we can do now." He looked up. This wasn't the time to dwell on the past. "Are we close?"

"This looks like the place," Julia said.

They were standing outside a little cafe with an open air seating area. It looked like a nice place-white linen tablecloths, waiters in bow ties. "Do you see her?" Chapel asked.

They were finally going to meet Angel.

Chapel had begged her to let him buy her lunch. He wanted to thank her for saving his life so many times. He wanted to see what she looked like, too. He'd cajoled and pleaded and bargained with her and finally she had relented. She'd sent him-and Julia-an e-mail telling them to be at this restaurant at this time.

There was a woman sitting alone at one of the tables. She had on a floppy hat and sunglasses and she was studying a menu. A waiter poured mineral water from a sparkling decanter into her glass.

Chapel walked across the seating area with a smile on his face. His new arm was still being fitted, so he had pinned up one sleeve of his uniform tunic. He'd put on his best dress blues for this. He walked up to the table and clicked his heels on the pavement. "Ma'am," he said, "may I have the pleasure of introducing myself?"

The woman looked up with one arched eyebrow. She lowered her menu and looked him up and down.

"What are you supposed to be? Some kind of war hero who picks up random women when they're trying to enjoy a drink?" she asked.

Chapel's face fell. Was this some kind of joke?

A waiter tapped him on the shoulder. "Sir," he said, "I think you're mistaken. You're looking for Ms. Angel, yes?"

Chapel blinked in surprise. "Yeah," he said.

"Right this way."

The waiter led him to another table where two glasses had been set on the tablecloth. Another waiter emerged from the restaurant with a pair of beer bottles on a tray. He poured the drinks, then departed. The first waiter held Julia's chair while she sat down. Then he produced a piece of paper from his apron and handed it to Chapel. Without a word he walked away.

"Only two glasses," Julia said.

"Yeah," Chapel replied. He unfolded the piece of paper. It was a letter written in a loopy cursive hand. " 'Sweetie,' " he read. "Um-"

"Go on. Read the whole thing," Julia told him, grinning.

Chapel read it aloud:

Sweetie:

Sorry to disappoint you. I'm afraid that's as close as we're going to get today. If you and I are going to keep working together, we have to keep things a little professional.

Enjoy the drinks. They're already paid for. Enjoy each other's company. Get to know Julia a little better. Find out if the two of you still like each other when nobody's trying to kill you. Enjoy this beautiful weather.

Maybe someday the three of us will get together. One way or another. But for now, just raise a glass for me. And know I'd be there if I could.

Hugs and kisses,

Angel

Chapel set the note down on the table. He grinned sheepishly at Julia. "You think she's watching us right now?" he asked.

"I'd count on it," she replied.

They raised their glasses and clinked them together.

The weather that day was, indeed, beautiful.