I managed to get as far as the car before I broke down in tears again and was immediately surrounded by the three guys, offering support, offering tissues and asking what was wrong.

"I hate this," I snarled. I also hated them seeing me like this. I hated anyone seeing me weak and vulnerable; that wasn't part of the persona I had constructed for myself over long years.

"What happened?" asked Alexei.

But he was the last one I wanted to see me in this condition and I just shook my head fiercely. Maybe it was unfair to treat him differently because of what had happened last night, but I was no longer sure what that had meant. I was no longer sure why he had done it. It had been so wonderful, but letting someone else in just felt like I had exposed myself at the worst possible time. I wouldn't compound that error by letting him see any more of me.

"I just want this over."

"Well," said Nico, trying to be the optimist as always, "two down, four to go. I'd say that's not too bad for two days’ work."

He was right, I suppose, but at that moment I felt as if two had almost killed me, and the thought of four more days like today...

"It is two down then, is it?" asked Alexei, more circumspect.

He was right to be a bit cagey, but I sort of hated him for asking after what I had been through to complete that second task. Wordlessly, I got out my phone and showed them all the picture of my hands on Gertie's.

"And she was a hundred years old?" wondered Nico.

"A hundred and one."

"Wow. I bet she's got some stories."

I said nothing.

We drove back to the apartment in comparative silence, only Nico, who seemed unable to cope with silence for too long, continually trying to lighten the mood and start a conversation. We ought to have been celebrating, and perhaps later I would find the energy or inclination to do so, but right now my mind was still in the home, walking those foul-smelling halls.

When we were inside, Alexei went straight to the scroll and unrolled it. I watched his face and knew that something was wrong before he said it.

"Ummm..." was all he said as he looked up at me, then he turned the scroll and I saw that the same task still remained: 'Lay your hands upon one whose heart remains but has beaten for more than a century'. I felt a coldness spreading out from the pit of my stomach, edging through me like ice in my veins.

"Well, give it a minute," said Nico. "Remember, it took awhile last time. Listen for the sizzle."

He was right, the replacement of the first task with the second had seemed to take a very long time and there was no reason to think that the third would be any quicker. And yet, somehow I knew that there was a problem, that this hadn't worked. Still, we waited awhile in dead silence, even Nico quieted by the situation.

"It hasn't worked," said Alexei, finally voicing what we had all known to be true some minutes before.

At first, my limbs felt like lead, so I seemed to droop forward, but then anger burst through me; I had done that for nothing? I threw back my head and yelled at the ceiling, "What the hell do you want from me, you vindictive bastard?!"

No response. Just the guys staring, slightly taken aback.

I buried my head in my hands and tried to slow my racing thoughts. Today, I had been too much of the grieved child, I needed to get back into my grifter head, and I needed to do it now. As if sensing my need, the guys sat quiet and obedient while my breathing slowed and the heat in my cheeks cooled and clarity returned to my fevered brain.

"Remains," I finally said, looking up. "That's the key word I didn't get the point of. It's not enough for Gertie to be a good person now," or that she was a good person when she was a kid, I added to myself, "she has to have never not been a good person. I guess Gertie had a past." Inconvenient though it was, I was actually kind of glad. It was nice to know that Gertie had had some times.

"Doesn't everyone have a past?" asked Nico.

"You'd have thought," mused Christoph. "Except for a newborn baby. But that nixes the hundred years thing."

"This world is far too twisted for any person to have never done anything wrong," I agreed. My mind ticked on. "So, not a person."

The guys frowned at me in incomprehension and, weirdly, the fact that I was once again ahead of them made me feel better. I grinned for the first time since I had gone into the care home. "I know where we have to go next."

We grabbed a very quick lunch and then were back in the car, heading across town.

"What does this clown want?" Christoph muttered irritably, glancing into the rear view mirror as he drove, taking a left onto the Bronx River Parkway.

I looked over my shoulder, out the car's back window, to see a huge Mack truck looming behind us, unnecessarily close.

"They do this all the time," said Nico. "Tailgating. This used to be a nice friendly town but people like that make everybody else act like jerks just to keep up with them."

"He seems awfully close," I said. I'm not sure where it came from, and it might just have been a further symptom of a bad day, but a sense of foreboding was creeping over me.

"Let him pass," said Alexei.

"What's stopping him?" asked Christoph. "I'm pulled over as far as I can be."

"Try waving him past."

Christoph lowered his window, put out an arm, and waved the truck to come by on the outside. For a moment, it seemed as if the truck would do just that, as it pulled out and drew level with us. I caught a glimpse of the driver as he went by, his eyes trained expressionlessly on the road ahead, as if it was all that existed in the world.

"Why isn't he going past?" asked Christoph.

The next second, the truck swung violently right, side-swiping us so hard that Christoph almost lost control.

"Great Zeus!" he swore.

The truck came in again, hard, this time trying to push us right off the road. Christoph battled with the wheel - our car was no match for the juggernaut trying to crush it.

"If you can get free we can outrun it,” snapped Nico.

"Why didn't I think of that?" growled Christoph sarcastically.

"Not the time, guys," snapped Alexei.

"Look out!" I screamed, pointing up ahead as we drove towards a telephone pole, unseen by Christoph, who was distracted just trying to keep us on the road.

"Hold on!"

We smashed into the pole, bringing us to a sickening halt while the Mack truck ploughed on and into a wall.

“Cat?" Alexei, in the front passenger seat, craned around. "Are you alright?"

Was I? I did a quick mental check for pain, confusion and blood pouring out of me, finding nothing.

"I think I am. You?"

"I'm fine. Christoph?"

"All good."

"I'm alright, too," muttered Nico. "Not that anyone's asking."

Alexei's eyes snapped back to the crashed truck. "Cat, stay here. Nico, come with me."

"Actually, I think it might be safer if we all got out," suggested Christoph.

We all got out of the crumpled car and I stayed with Christoph while Alexei and Nico went up to the truck's cab.

"It'll take a good body shop to knock that out," mused Christoph, observing the car's stricken condition.

Making jokes about it now was all well and good, but one look at the car made it clear how lucky we were to have emerged unhurt. It could have been so very different. What in the hell had happened? Why had the truck driver done that?

I looked up the road to where Nico and Alexei were hauling the man out of his cab, dusting him off and looking him over with more consideration than I would have used in their place.

Then, I saw the reason why. The reason why they were not currently hurling the man into the path of oncoming traffic, and the reason he had driven us off the road. Even at this distance, I could make out his unfocussed eyes, glazed and unseeing. I had seen that look before in the eyes of a wolf pack attacking us on the slopes of Mount Olympus. Whatever god had tried to stop us then had not given up, and probably would not. This had been a far more dangerous attempt; the wolves had been beaten off by the guys, but this we had survived by luck alone. What did that say about the next attempt?

"Which god do you think it is?" I asked Christoph.

He just looked at me, his stern face impassive and unreadable. But he had his suspicions, of that I was sure.

Alexei and Nico returned, Alexei immediately taking charge.

"Right, we haven't the time to wait around here, we're on a clock already and time is not our friend. Christoph, stay with the car and give the garage a call - we'll pay whatever it takes to get it working again by tomorrow. Or at least get a loaner to take its place. Cat, perhaps you could tell us where you were directing us to?"

I had not given them our destination because, frankly, I rather liked the drama of them discovering only when we arrived. I had simply been giving Christoph directions as we drove. Now, the situation had changed somewhat.

"Bronx Zoo," I said.

Alexei nodded. "Easy walking distance."

You had to admire the beauty of the theory, and I didn't see any way of me being thwarted this time.

Tortoises lived longer than any other animal - as far as I was aware - centenarians were not uncommon, especially in zoos where they had no predators. As to their heart still remaining; again, I didn't know what moral value set was being applied, but whatever it was, I had to believe that a tortoise couldn't have done much of anything to contravene it. A more inoffensive animal than the tortoise you would be hard pressed to find. I had a good feeling about this one.

Arriving at the zoo's main gate, we paid to get in - I sort of felt as if there should at least be a discount, or better yet, free entry, for people tasked with saving mankind, but apparently not. A colorful map told us where the tortoises were located and we strolled through the crowds of families on a day out towards the enclosure.

There were several types of tortoises in a single open field with a foot-high fence around - I guess tortoises aren't any great shakes when it comes to escape attempts, especially those that involve jumping. Although, I did wonder how they stopped people nipping in and stealing them. That might be very relevant to my current task. A sign described the various different types of tortoise on display, with all sorts of, no doubt, very interesting information about their preferred food, breeding habits and so on, but none of it helped me. But on the wall of the tortoise house, a brass plaque was mounted, inset with a photo of a particularly statesman-like tortoise.

'Moru has been with the zoo for fifty years. She was caught in the wild in the late nineteenth century and is known to be at least one hundred and eighteen years old.'

Eureka. As long as Moru had lived a good life and not screwed over any other tortoises, then all I had to do was lay hands on her.