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him.”
    â€œWhy?” Garber shot back. “Kelly’s the only thing that matters here. Even if he gets away, you’ll find him again. You guys always do.”
    â€œIt’s not that simple.”
    â€œIt is for me. We get Kelly back. Priority one, remember? Then you use your drones and your keyword surveillance and facial recognition software and all the other tricks you guys have these days and you go in and grab him. After I have my daughter back.”
    Reilly grimaced. He hated moments like this. He wanted to say something to get this man to understand the seriousness of the matter, the utterly unthinkable consequences that might well occur if his quarry were to get away. But he couldn’t tell him everything. Not when it was that classified. Not when security protocols dictated who could know the truth and who couldn’t.
    Garber seemed to read his hesitation, as he pressed on. “Who is this guy? And what kind of a name is Faustus? I mean, Christ, it sounds like something Stan Lee dreamed up.”
    â€œI wish it was,” Reilly said.
    â€œSo who is he?”
    Reilly weighed his words carefully. “He’s a guy with a grudge. A really big grudge. And right now, he’s got the means to get himself some serious payback.”
    Garber went quiet for a second, then said, “A grudge? Against who?”
    Reilly slid a glance across at him. “Everyone.”

    UP AHEAD, KRISTOFF HAD TO fight to yank his eyes off the canister in the girl’s hands and make sure he kept the truck on the road. That damn girl—after everything he’d been through, after everything he’d done to get to where he was now, even if it was in the middle of nowhere, far from the nearest big city where he could unleash the demon he’d risked everything to get his hands on—she had it in her power to ruin it all.
    He couldn’t let that happen.
    â€œGive me that canister, Kelly,” he rasped. “Give it back, right now.”
    â€œNo,” she fired back angrily.
    What the hell kind of a kid is this? he fumed inwardly. A stab of admiration cut through the rage he felt. She was a tough kid, and he liked that. Better than some sniveling, pathetic crybaby, he thought. A kid with some gusto in her. Good for her.
    Still, it wouldn’t distract him from doing whatever it took to get the canister back. Even if that meant snapping her neck with his bare hands.
    He couldn’t just reach out and grab it. She was holding it right by the open window. He couldn’t risk her throwing it out of the car, which is what she was threatening to do.
    The canister was supposed to be strong, able to withstand a considerable impact. But flying out of a car at eighty miles per hour, hitting the pavement, maybe getting run over by a car behind them—
    No, that would not be good.
    There would come a time when he’d be happy for the contents of that canister to hit the atmosphere, but not just yet.
    Kristoff wouldn’t mind a little time to get away first. Didn’t want to be downwind and all that.
    So he needed to persuade this kid, who was starting to get very annoying, to be very respectful of that canister.
    â€œKelly,” he said, mustering as much calmness into his tone as he could, “you need to give it back to me. You want to know why?”
    She scowled at him, a fierce determination radiating out of her face—but some uncertainty broke through, and after a moment, she said, “Why?”
    â€œWell, right now, the reason I need you, the reason you’re still alive, is because of that canister. You’re kind of my safety net. My way of making sure the cops stay off my back and let me get to where I’m going. But if I don’t have that canister you’re holding in your hand, well then I don’t need to go there anymore. Which means I don’t need you anymore.”
    She thought about it for a second. “Which means you can