There were a dozen stores in Underground Atlanta that sold the same ugly T-shirts and schlocky merchandise. Julia picked the nearest one and ducked inside, bending low as she flicked through a rack of cheap clothing.

"Souvenir for your trip?" the clerk asked.

Julia gave her the best smile she could manage. "I like this hoodie," she said, holding up a bright pink sweatshirt with a graphic of jazz musicians printed on the back. The musicians were picked out with glitter and sequins. "And these hats," she said, picking up an Atlanta Braves baseball cap.

"That's official Braves merchandise. See the hologram?" the clerk asked, not moving from where she leaned against her counter. "It's not a knockoff or anything."

"Perfect. Just ring these up, okay?" Julia stared through the windows of the shop, looking for any sign of Laughing Boy.

Julia had never been so frightened in her life. Even when the chimera had jumped in the cab with her, she'd been too shocked to be scared like this.

"Wait," she said, as the clerk started bagging up her purchases. "I'm going to wear these out."

"You got it," the clerk said.

Julia pulled on the cap first. It hid most of her red hair. The hood of the sweatshirt covered the rest and zipped up easily over her black sweater. The jeans she was wearing were common enough they shouldn't make a difference. When she was finished putting on her new purchases, she looked in the mirror and barely recognized herself.

"Wow," the clerk said, and clicked her tongue. "You look like a genuine hoodrat." She laughed. "When you came in here, I made you out for some kind of lawyer or doctor or something. This makes you look ten years younger."

Julia gave her another smile. "Perfect."

She stepped out of the store trying her best to keep her head down so the brim of the cap shaded her eyes. She desperately wanted to scan the crowd and look for any sign of Laughing Boy, but Angel had been very clear-if she was going to live through this, she needed to keep a low profile.

There was an exit from the Underground straight ahead. Julia could see sunlight filtering down from the streets above. It wasn't more than a hundred yards away. She moved in that direction, forcing herself not to run. Forcing herself to act natural. It was so hard not to panic and just make a break for it.

On her left a group of boys whistled at her, but she didn't look up. On her right was a store that looked like it had been closed for years, judging by the dust that had collected in the display windows. She caught her reflection in the grease-smeared glass and saw that she was fidgeting with her hands. She forced herself to shove them into the pockets of her new hoodie.

Fifty yards to the exit. She let herself walk a little faster.

Twenty yards.

Fifteen.

"Nice try," Laughing Boy said, stepping out from behind a cart that sold cell-phone accessories.

She squeaked a little in panic and turned around, intending to run back the way she'd come as fast as her legs would carry her. Before she'd taken a step Laughing Boy grabbed her arm. He squeezed hard enough on her bicep to make her squeal again.

"Maybe you think I won't do anything out here in public," he told her, his voice little more than a whisper. He giggled every time he stopped for breath, a raspy sound like his constant laughing had dried out his mouth. "So help me God, I will shoot you in front of a hundred witnesses if you try to fight me or run."

"Just don't hurt me, please," she begged.

"Really? Are you that stupid? I have no idea what Chapel sees in you. Come on. Walk at a normal pace. You were doing a pretty good job for a while there. The clothes might have thrown me off if I didn't watch you buy them."

"You saw me the whole time?"

"Sweetheart, I've got eyes in the back of my head. You'd do well to remember that. Now come on. We're headed over there." He pointed her toward the closed-up store. "I've got a nice little place in the back all ready for you."

"Who the hell are you?" she asked.

"Exactly what you think. The guy who's going to kill you." He chuckled at the thought.

"But the laughing-what's that about?" she asked.

"It's a medical condition, and I'll thank you not to be rude about it," he told her. "I'd expect better from the likes of you. It's called hebephrenia."

"That's a kind of schizophrenia, isn't it?" she asked.

"That's right, I forgot you were a doctor of some kind. No, this is different. It's neurological, not psychological. I took a metal fragment in the head a while back, in Iraq. Messed up the wiring. I've been laughing ever since and I can't stop. I have drugs to stop the laughing, but when I take them I can't drive or shoot straight. And today I need to shoot."

Julia bit her lip and tried not to scream. "I-Iraq," she forced herself to say, instead. "So you're a veteran, like Chapel?"

"Chapel was in the army. I was a civilian consultant. This is the place."

They had reached the closed store. The teenaged boys lounging across the way watched her as she was marched up to the doors. What would happen if she screamed for them to help? Would Laughing Boy shoot them? Could he shoot them all before they overpowered him?

Or would they just run off as soon as he drew his gun?

"Go on," Laughing Boy said. "It's not locked."

Julia's body was very close to freezing in fear. She could barely move her arms. "You want me to go in there," she said, as if clarifying an order.

"Yep," Laughing Boy said, giggling.

"Why are you doing this?" she demanded. "I don't know anything!"

"Chapel didn't tell you about the virus? Come on. I don't have all day. I've got lots of other people to round up."

Julia reached out and touched the handle of the door. It opened outward. She pulled it toward her and looked inside to see the interior of the shop, which was dark and stank of mildew. What a horrible place to die.

"Walk inside and turn around to face me. Then put your hands behind your neck and lace your fingers together." He laughed. "Seriously, I just want to get this over with. I don't get any thrill from killing people. It's just my job." He chuckled again.

She felt like her legs were made of wood. She couldn't feel her toes.

She did what he said. To the letter.

"Good," he told her, taking a step inside the store. He let the door swing shut behind him. "Now-"

"Now!" Julia shouted.

The drunk vet who'd been waiting for her inside the store did exactly as she'd told him to. He had a length of iron rebar in his hands, and he swung it at Laughing Boy's head with all his strength.

ATLANTA, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+27:23

Julia wasn't there when Chapel came back up through the hatch. He panicked for a second and then he called for Angel, hoping she might know where Julia might have gone.

"Hold it together, sugar," she told him. "Just head to your left. Now, up ahead-see that abandoned store?"

"Just tell me if she's all right, Angel," Chapel pleaded.

"Just fine. Door's open."

Chapel shoved open the door and pushed through into the store beyond.

He could not have expected what he saw.

Laughing Boy was sprawled out on the floor, his arms above his head and his wrists tied together around a support pillar. He was chuckling softly to himself, though he wasn't smiling. There was a nasty-looking bruise on the side of his head.

Julia had been hiding behind the pillar. She came out into the open, and Chapel saw she was holding a silenced pistol. It had to be Laughing Boy's.

Perhaps strangest of all, the drunk guy in the army coat was standing up against one wall, holding a length of rebar like a club.

"You-" Chapel started.

"Name's Rudy, not that you asked," the drunk told him. "You did ask about my service record. First Battalion, Third Marines."

Chapel nodded slowly. "Army Rangers," he said.

"A grunt, huh? I guess I can forgive you for being an asshole, then. Since it comes with the branch."

Chapel found himself smiling. "You rescued Julia?" he asked.

"Not exactly." Rudy nodded at her. "Just came in for the assist, really, right at the end of the whole thing."

Julia was watching Laughing Boy. She wouldn't take her eyes off him. "Angel and I worked together on this. Rudy was a big part of it. You were too busy playing James Bond to get involved."

Chapel's smile died on his face. "I'm just glad you're okay."

Laughing Boy's whole body shook with mirth. "Okay? Okay. Yeah, we're all okay in here. Too bad it can't last."

Julia kicked him in the ribs. "It won't last for you, that's for sure," she said.

Chapel put the scene together in his mind. Laughing Boy must have been following them this whole time, waiting for a time when Chapel and Julia weren't in the same place. He'd moved in when he got his chance, but Julia, working with Angel and Rudy, had somehow lured Laughing Boy in here and gotten the better of him. His first thought was one of immense relief that it had worked out like that-that Julia was still alive.

His second thought was that they were all in deep shit.

"Go ahead, Chapel," Julia said.

"Go ahead and do what?" Chapel asked.

"Interrogate him! Find out why he's chasing us."

"Julia-" he began.

It was Laughing Boy who answered that, though. "He knows that already. It's because of the virus, of course. Why don't you ask Captain Jimmy here about that? About the virus?"

Julia's eyes flicked toward Chapel, but she was smart enough not to lower the gun or look away from Laughing Boy for long. "Chapel?" she said.

"I'll tell you about it later," he told her. "I don't want to say anything in front of him."

"Then-then ask him about the chimeras. He must know more than we do," Julia pointed out.

"I'm sure of it. I'm also sure he's not going to tell us what we need to know."

"He will if you torture him," Julia suggested. "I don't like it, Lord knows I'm not comfortable with any Guantanamo Bay shit. But if anybody ever deserved it-"

"Won't work," Laughing Boy said, chuckling.

"He's right," Chapel told her.

"You don't know how to waterboard somebody? They didn't train you in that?" Julia demanded.

"They taught me all about interrogation techniques," Chapel confirmed. "And why they're no good."

"Let me guess," she said. "Anything you can do to him, he knows some way to resist it. Damn it!"

"No. The problem is, torture works too well. Ten minutes in he'd tell us everything we wanted to hear. He'd tell us anything at all, to make us stop. He'd tell us ten different stories. One of them might even be true, but we'd have no way to know which one. There's also the fact that it's illegal."

"I don't care! This isn't just about your case, Chapel. This man is a murderer. He needs to pay!"

She was right-there was no question about that. She was also fooling herself. Chapel wondered if there had ever been a time in human history when the people who needed to pay actually ended up doing it. The sad fact was that men like Laughing Boy were above the law.

Chapel wasn't in the business of righting wrongs. He was in the business of protecting people. Right then, that meant getting Julia away from that place.

"Just put the gun down," he said. "We need to get out of here. Somebody might have seen you and him coming in here. They might have called the cops. If they come and find us like this-"

"No! No way! We are not going to just let him go!"

"We'll leave him here, like this. He can explain to the cops how he wound up in this position. He won't name us-he doesn't dare."

"This asshole kills people! He killed Portia, my receptionist! And who knows how many other people?"

Chapel walked over toward her and held out his hand so she could give him the silenced pistol. She didn't move an inch.

"It's all right," he said. "Just give me the gun."

"No," she told him, and he saw in her eyes that she didn't trust him. No more than she trusted Laughing Boy. "No. I don't think so."

"How does this end?" he asked her.

"You know what he's capable of. He's worse than the chimeras!"

"Tell me how it ends," he asked her, quietly.

On the ground Laughing Boy started to guffaw.

"Does it end with you shooting him in the head? I don't think it does. You're not a killer, Julia." He held out his hand again. "You're better than him."

"You could kill him," Julia pointed out. "You have a gun, too."

Laughing Boy crowed at the thought. "He doesn't have the balls!"

Chapel shook his head. "I guess that's the difference between you and me. You seem to think it's an act of courage to shoot a defenseless man tied up on the ground. I don't."

"Nah," Laughing Boy said. "Nah. The difference is that you're one of those military types who takes the whole defense thing too seriously. The difference between you and me is that you think your job is to protect America."

"That is my job," Chapel said. "What's yours?"

"I'm here to make sure America wins. No matter what it takes."

"Shut up!" Julia shouted at him. "Shut up and stop laughing!"

Laughing Boy chuckled to himself.

Julia lifted the pistol and sighted down its barrel.

"Julia, if we kill him, it won't even matter," Chapel told her. "They'll just send somebody else. There is absolutely nothing to be gained from this."

"We have to do something," she said.

"And we will. But not now. We're done here," Chapel said. "Julia, give me the-"

Julia squeezed the trigger of the pistol.

ATLANTA, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+27:29

She jumped as it went off, perhaps not expecting it to make so much noise. Silencers could cut down the decibels of a gunshot but only so much-the pistol still roared like a lion when it fired.

Blood spurted out of Laughing Boy's shoe. She'd shot him in the foot.

"Jesus fuck!" Laughing Boy shouted, and his leg flopped around like a landed fish. For a second nobody moved. Finally Chapel recovered and moved closer to Julia.

She looked like she'd seen a ghost.

"That," Chapel said slowly, "will definitely slow him down."

"I was aiming for his head," she told him.

Chapel had no idea what to make of that.

He took the pistol from Julia-she didn't fight him this time-and wiped the grip with the tail of his shirt. When he was sure it was clean, he slid it into the darkness at the back of the abandoned store. "Now we really have to go. Rudy-you too."

The ex-marine nodded. He didn't look particularly shocked by what he'd seen. Less so than Julia, for sure. He went to the door and held it open for Julia, who marched out with her head down. She looked like she was near tears.

Chapel took one last look at Laughing Boy. He was still bleeding, though not too badly. His face was screwed up with pain, but he was still chuckling.

"I'll tell you one thing," the CIA man said. "You don't even need to torture me. She's going nowhere. She might have the bug."

"She might not," Chapel said, and he turned to go.

"Maybe," Laughing Boy said. "Maybe you've got it, too."

Chapel's blood froze.

He'd considered that before, of course. Anyone who came into contact with the chimeras was at risk of contracting the virus. And he had been in very close contact with the one in New York.

He hadn't let himself think about it consciously, not before that. He'd put it away in the box of things he had to worry about later.

It would have to stay there, for now. He closed the door behind him and faced Rudy and Julia. Nodding, he led them deeper into the mall. There was no sign anyone had heard the gunshot or wanted to investigate it if they did. When he was sure they were in the clear, Chapel turned to Rudy and offered his hand.

"I'd rather have a kiss from her," the vet said.

Julia had been lost in her own thoughts. She came to long enough to look him in the face. "How about a hundred dollars?" she asked.

"That works, too," Rudy told her.

She handed over the money and then turned away, clearly not wanting to look at either of them for a while.

"Maybe we can do better than that," Chapel said. "Rudy-I misjudged you, and I'm sorry. I thought you were just a drunk."

"Probably because I told you I was, when we first met," Rudy said. He had a sunny smile on his face. The hundred-dollar bill was already tucked away in one of his pockets. "I got no illusions. I'm an alcoholic, through and through."

"You ever thought about changing that?" Chapel asked.

"Sometimes," Rudy admitted. "The tough part's getting started, though."

Chapel nodded. He didn't have time to help Rudy get to an AA meeting or a rehab facility. But he knew somebody who might. "I've got a friend. You'd like him-he's a jarhead like you. Dumb as a box of rocks, but he's got the heart of a bear." He reached into his pocket and took out a scrap of paper and a pen. He wrote down Top's name and phone number and handed it to the ex-marine. "Tell him a one-armed grunt gave you his name."

Rudy stared at the slip of paper.

"No obligations," Chapel said. "Just-if you want to talk to someone. Someone who gets it. Top's your man."

Rudy nodded and took the number. "Thank you kindly. But who's this one-armed fellow I'm supposed to know?"

Chapel smiled. "Just say what I told you, and he'll know who it is. Now, listen. I hate to be rude. Again. But-"

"But it's best for all of us if I just walk away now and pretend I never saw you. That's one thing us marines can actually figure out. When to keep our damned mouths shut," Rudy agreed. He gave Chapel a mock salute, turned on his heel, and walked away.

Chapel sighed in relief. That could have gone much worse. He reached for Julia's arm, but she pulled away from him. He could only imagine what she was going through. She'd probably never fired a pistol before. She'd certainly never tried to kill anybody before.

"Just talk to me," he said. "Just tell me-"

"No," she said, turning to face him. She drew herself up to her full height. Visibly composed herself. "You tell me. Tell me about this virus."

ATLANTA, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+28:44

Back at the motel he told her everything.