Chapter 11: The DNA Gala

Vaughn made the call from the bakery stairwell with the door open, so she could hear every word.

"It's me," he said. "I need a name."

"Who sent the shift order for the main gate on the night of the break?"

A pause followed.

"No," he said. "I'm not coming in. Tell me."

He listened for a long time.

When he hung up, his face was grey.

"My old handler at Interpol pulled the warden's records," he said. "The order came through the donor line at the prison."

"Whose donor line?"

"The Swinton Foundation has paid for the east wing since last spring."

Astrid stood very still.

"That's Celia's charity," she said.

"Everard's name is on the foundation."

"Celia runs it."

"That's what the papers say."

She turned on him.

"You broke the second rule," she said.

"No calls, no phones, no exceptions. I put you under my roof, and you phoned your friends."

"You were in bed."

"That's not an excuse."

"I'm not making one." He held up Duncan's spare phone.

"I said I'd stay where you could see me. I'm standing right here."

"You said no calls."

"And you said I would not run." He stepped closer. "I'm still here, Astrid. Hit me if you want."

She looked at him for a long time.

"I will," she said. "Later."

Duncan came up the stairs with a laptop under his arm and his shirt buttoned wrong.

"I have news," he said. "Celia called a press conference. Tonight, at the house, with every network in the country."

"Why?"

"Welcome home," Duncan said. "To you."

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