He shut his eyes. “It was after Daniel left the room. I was strapped down. Could barely breathe. And that man—the watcher—he stepped in close. Leaned in and whispered.”
He opened his eyes, and this time, there was no mistaking the fear. “Clean slates are made with dirty hands.”
Shannon sucked in a breath.
“I thought it was a hallucination. I was dying.”
Ford’s voice was low. “What did he look like?”
Dante looked at him. And now—now it came together.
The posture. The haircut. The precise stillness. The bearing of a man who’d worn stars on his chest.
“Tall,” Dante said. “White. Short-cropped gray hair. Deep-set eyes. Wore military posture like it was carved into his spine. He didn’t look like the man I saw in Alabama at Novosel.” He paused. “He didn’t speak with an accent.”
Ford’s face had gone still. And Shannon, watching him, knew what came next.
Dante said, “It was Matthew Krueger.”
Shannon froze.
“That was his signature,” Dante spat. “That was Matthew Krueger. Not his son. Him.”
Ford nodded. “I believe you.”
“I’m going to kill him,” Dante said through clenched teeth.
“You may get your chance,” Ford said quietly. “But we need to stop him first.”
Dante was still shaking. “He has the third bomb.”
Ford stepped closer. “You’re the only one alive who’s seen it. The other two were recovered, but number three went dark after Ramstein.”
Dante stared at the ceiling. “That device was different. Smaller. Shielded in lead casing. Set for atmospheric dispersion.” His voice was monotone.
“Dirty bomb,” Ford confirmed. “Target unknown.”
Shannon moved to Dante’s side, brushing his hand with hers. He didn’t seem to notice.
“Where would it make the biggest impact?” Ford asked. “If you were Krueger... where would you put it?”
Dante stood frozen. MiriamOlivetti was now standing silently near the door. Despite being furious with Ford, she said, “There’s only one gathering large enough, with the right global footprint, to make that kind of statement.”
They all looked at her.
Miriam’s voice was calm, but her eyes were hard. “The UN General Assembly opens tomorrow. Seven-day event. Heads of state. Full security grid. And it’s here in New York.” She moved slowly to her son’s side. Her brows creased. “Dante, sweetheart, where are you?”
Dante didn’t answer. He was trembling. Not from fear now—from overload. Cold sweat slicked his face, soaking the collar of his hospital tee. His breathing had gone shallow and too fast.
Shannon was still holding his arm, but his muscles had locked—every tendon drawn like wire. His pupils were blown wide. He was whispering under his breath, “…he watched me. He was there. He watched me. He was right there…”
“Dante.” Shannon’s voice was firm but low. “You’re safe. You’re not there. You’re with me. Your mom is here too.”
He didn’t seem to hear her.
The door burst open. Jamison O’Reilly strode in with two trauma nurses behind him. His eyes swept the room. “Everyone out. Now.”
Ford moved first. Miriam followed, stepping back into the hall with a tight, unreadable expression. Shannon hesitated.
