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I do not need her mornings. I never needed her mornings.

I needed one piece of information, and it was not confidential. It had never been confidential. I had simply been asking the wrong people.

The people who guarded Blackwood’s secrets knew what not to tell me. The people who managed its ordinary business had no reason to know there was anything to protect.

At two-forty on Friday afternoon, I telephoned the Office of Blackwood Hall’s Research Board. I didn’t give a name, but I did provide the name of a scientific publication that exists, publishes oncology research, and has quoted me often enough that I could imitate its cadence without difficulty.

I explained that we were preparing a feature on Project Aurora and hoped to arrange a brief interview with Dr. Rossi. The young woman was extremely helpful. They always are. Helpfulness is not a vulnerability that can be patched. It is what happens when you employ pleasant people and give them no reason to be afraid.

There was the smallest pause, one produced not by uncertainty but by verification.

“Dr. Rossi’s schedule has become rather complicated recently,” she said apologetically. “I’m afraid I can’t arrange interviews directly, but I’d be happy to take your details and pass them along.”

“Has she delegated interviews for the International Oncology Congress in Vienna?” I asked.

“Actually, Dr. Rossi won’t be handling those herself. A member of the Project Aurora team will be presenting Aurora, and Dr. Shah will present the hypoxia work.”

“I see.” I thanked her for her time. She assured me it was no trouble at all, and it wasn’t. I ended the call.

For some time, I sat without moving. The hypoxia work.

I opened the notebook on the desk in front of me, the gray one, the third of its kind. Its first entry was dated eleven years ago in a hand I no longer entirely recognized as mine. I turned to the page I had kept blank.

I wrote one word.

Confirmed.

Chapter 26

Alexander

Marcus was waiting outside my office when I arrived Monday morning. I had not expected him for several hours.

There was a tension in his expression I rarely saw. “The Research Board office received a call Friday afternoon. A woman claiming to be a features writer requested a private interview with Dr. Rossi.”

“Did she give a name?” I asked.

“No. Only the name of the publication.”

“Which publication?”

“The Journal of Oncological Research. It’s reputable.” He laid a single sheet on the desk between us. “Prepaid handset. Activated last Tuesday. First used Friday afternoon. Silent ever since. The return number reaches a voicemail registered to the same handset.”

I looked at the sheet. I did not pick it up. “Victoria.”

Marcus inclined his head once. “That’s my assessment.”

“She wanted access to Emilia and Project Aurora,” I said.

Marcus nodded. “Whether she expected to obtain it or simply understand how she could be granted access, I can’t say.”

“What did they tell her?”

“That Dr. Rossi wouldn’t be handling the conference interviews herself. The employee mentioned Dr. Shah would be presenting Aurora’s hypoxia work.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. The fire investigation was finalized this morning. The secondary circuit panel had been disturbed. One of the internal connections had been loosened.”