"Again?" he asked.

An eyebrow tipped higher, followed by a shadow of a smile.

Gray sighed, undid his towel, and tossed it aside.

A man's work was never done.

Epilogue

October 23, 11:55 P.M.

Washington, D.C.

Painter headed down the last flight of stairs to the nethermost region of Sigma Command. It was only a few minutes before midnight, an inauspicious moment to be visiting a morgue.

But the package had arrived only an hour ago. The work had to be done swiftly. Afterward, all evidence would be destroyed, cremated on site. He reached the morgue.

Sigma's head pathologist, Dr. Malcolm Reynolds, was waiting and led him inside. "I have the body ready."

Painter followed the pathologist to the neighboring room. The smell struck him first: overcooked meat gone bad. A figure lay under a sheet on the table. Wheeled next to it was a coffin. The casket's diplomatic seal had been sliced open by Dr. Reynolds.

It had taken Painter a huge effort to get the body released in secret from France and delivered here with false papers.

"It's not pretty," Malcolm warned. "The body sat in that makeshift oven for several hours before someone thought to move it."

Painter was not squeamish-at least not much. He pulled back the sheet and exposed Dr. Wallace Boyle's corpse. The man's face was bloated, blackened on one side, a purplish red on the other. Painter imagined the charbroiled side had been facedown on the brick floor of the subterranean chamber. He remembered Gray's description of the incendiary charge and how it had baked the stones.

"Help me roll him on his stomach," Painter said.

Together, they got Wallace over on his belly.

"I'll need something to shave him."

Malcolm disappeared.

As Painter waited, he stared down at the gaunt corpse. Wallace had claimed to be a member of Echelon, and according to Seichan, that name was rumored to denote the Guild's true leaders. She had no other information, except for a darker rumor, a story she'd only heard once.

Malcolm returned with an electric clipper and a disposable razor. Working quickly, Painter used the clipper to remove the hair from the back of Wallace's head, then shaved it smooth.

As he dragged the razor, he proved the rumor was true.

A small tattoo, about the size of Painter's thumbnail, had been inked at the back of the skull. It depicted the tools of a mason: drafting compasses straddling an L-square.

The symbol represented Freemasonry, a worldwide fraternal organization. But the image in the center of the symbol was wrong. The square and the compass usually framed the letter G, standing for God or Geometry.

But sometimes it stood for Guild.

Painter knew Seichan's terrorist organization had no real name, at least not spoken below the level of its leaders. Was this symbol and its connection to the Freemasons the source of the more commonly used name?

Painter studied the tattoo. In the middle of the symbol were inked a sickle moon and a star. He had never seen anything like it. Whoever these people were, they weren't Freemasons.

With the symbol exposed, Painter grew more edgy. He had found what he needed.

"Burn the body," he ordered Malcolm. "Down to ash."

Painter didn't want anyone to know what he'd learned. Much remained unknown about Seichan's former masters. But he had two pieces to the larger puzzle.

The name Echelon...and the strange symbol.

For now, that would do.

But it wasn't over-not for either side.

Malcolm asked him a question as he left. "What does it mean?"

Painter answered, knowing it to be true, "A war is coming."

AUTHOR'S NOTE TO READERS: TRUTH OR FICTION

Everything in this book is true, except for what's not. I thought I'd end this adventure by splitting those hairs. First, two elements gave birth to this story. I came upon each independently, but I knew there had to be a connection and that Sigma would need to investigate.

The History of the Celtic Cross. There is an intriguing and startling analysis of the history of the cross and the possibility that it was used as a navigational tool in ancient times. For a slew of details, diagrams, and analyses, I refer you to the fascinating book The Golden Thread of Time by Crichton Miller.