“You failed to convince her,” the Master says.

“Was it my job to convince her?” I ask.

“Now we don’t get the money, or the baby,” he says.

I look at him with a neutral expression. I know he’ll go after the baby, so why would he lie to me as if he weren’t going to.

“And yes, Dominick,” he says. “It was your job.”

“I thought being truthful with her would establish a baseline of trust. But maybe after all of this, she just wanted to run?” I speculate a loud, though I know the truth.

He glares at me. I suspect he knows I love her. He still doesn’t trust me. I made a show of convincing him I didn’t really love her, that I was playing too deep into a fantasy. That I lost myself in it, like a method actor who can’t get out of character long after the film stops shooting.

He pretended to buy it, but considering how closely he’s watching me, I doubt he really believes it.

“I’d like to re-assign you immediately,” he says, sliding a folder across his desk toward me. “Sink or swim.”

I take the folder and open it. Some woman. Someone I don’t care about. Madrigal is all I can think about.

“This one needs to be by the book,” he says. “Don’t do anything that wasn’t explicitly a training exercise. No fast and loose playing it by ear, do you understand me, Dominick?”

“Crystal clear. I won’t let you down again.”

I grab the folder and walk back to my room.

* * *

When my plane lands in Salt Lake City, I know they’re watching me. I spotted two guys on the plane with me. Losing them won’t be easy, but I have a plan.

I have a plan A and a plan B, but no plan C.

I walk toward the baggage claim, noticing that the two men sent to follow me are keeping about thirty feet behind me. They were sitting in front of me on the plane, and they waited for me to get off and get in front of them in the terminal. Not exactly subtle, but the master probably wants me to know I’m being watched.

I keep my eyes wide open for my contact, praying he’ll actually be there.

I near gate 23C, and I see my contact—recognizing his face from his photo on the website—seated alone on one of the chairs nearest the walkway. I sit down across from him, not facing him, and pretend to tie my shoe.

I watch out of the corner of my eye as the two men following me split up, stop walking, and pretend to be suddenly interested in their phones. One leans against the wall near the bathroom, and the other just stands near Gate 23B.

“You’re Nelson?” I ask, still not looking back. “With the New York Times?”

“Yes, he says. “What do you have for me?”

“There’s two guys following me,” I say. “Both in suits, on their phones.”

“Okay,” he says. “And what do you have?”

“You got my write-up,” I say.

“It’s encrypted,” he says. “So right now we have nothing but your word.”

“I’ll send you the key once I’m safe in Sweden,” I say. “And I’ve got you a folder. It’s on the woman who is supposed to be my new client. You can track her down and interview her. Hell, pretend to be me if you want, see how she reacts…”

“Slide it over,” he says. “The folder.”

I reach into my bag, and as soon as I do, I notice the two men put their phones into their pockets in unison.

“They use poison,” I hiss with urgency, sliding the folder over. “You heard of that North Korean guy getting killed in an airport? That’s going to be us.”

“Cut the melodrama,” he says.

I get up and sit down next to him, ending any doubt we’re communicating. He’s opened the folder and is slowly looking it over.

“So you were born into some kind of slavery,” he says to me. “You have some magical ability to cure infertility with your dick?”

“It’s not magic,” I say, eyeing the men. They are moving forward, not looking at me, but one stab and I’ll be done for. They might act like they accidentally bump into me, and they’ll prick me with the poison, and I’ll be dead in six hours. Unknown cause.

My only advantage is that I see them coming. They want to be discreet, but it’s too late for that.

“Look,” I say, grabbing Nelson by the arm. “Do you have my fucking tickets or not?”

“I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t think I buy this whole thing. It seems—”

“Watch this then,” I say. “Give me your press badge.”

The two men have stopped and are whispering to each other. One of them breaks away and moves toward the other end of the gate. He starts looking around for a seat as he moves toward us. The other man comes around from the other side. They’re flanking us.

“Give me the thing, trust me!” I whisper with increasing urgency.

He pulls the badge out of his coat, and I rip it from his hands. I stand up and hold the badge out toward the man coming in from our right, then I pivot and stick it out at the one from the left. I hold it as if it were a cross warding off vampires. It works, and they freeze, eyeing each other.

Nelson finally looks up and seems to believe me.

“He’s with the New York Times,” I shout, praying they won’t just bum-rush me. “He’s got everything he needs back in his office already. If I die, it goes public automatically.”

“Just come with us,” one of them says. “All will be forgiven…”

“Jesus,” Nelson whispers. “You’re for real.”

“Do you have the ticket?” I ask.

He pulls it out of his jacket, and I snatch it from his hand.

“Let me leave,” I shout. “Or I’ll make a huge fucking scene.”

They give each other one last look, and both of them turn away. They disappear down toward the baggage claim, no longer bothering to make a show of staying separated.

“When can I publish this?” Nelson asks me. “How do I know you’ll really send the key?”

I shove his press badge back into his jacket pocket, and I jam the plane ticket into my jeans. “The woman I love and my child aren’t safe unless you take them and the whole organization down. That’s how you know I’ll send you the key. Now get a security guard to take you to your car. I think they believed me, but they might still try to kill you.”

His eyes widen, but I’m gone before he can ask another question.