“And ass to the wall,” Reggie cackled.

Danny didn’t mention that he almost didn’t survive prison. That he’d been hospitalized for nearly a month.

“I heard your bro got you out?” Reggie said.

Matt lowered the camera, defeated. “No,” he said. “My family got him out.” Matt pictured Maggie and his father poring over mountains of evidence piled on the desk in their home office, his mother plodding off to Nebraska to plead with the governor about a pardon.

Danny rested a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t be here without this guy.” It was partially true, but credit went to the new governor, whose first act in office was to push the board to pardon Danny. The governor’s predecessor, Noah Brawn, would be spending the rest of his days in a cell at the very prison where Danny was first incarcerated.

“Damn, Affleck. Maybe there’s hope for you after all.”

Matt raised the camera. “Seriously. I’m losing light. And we have someplace to go before sundown.”

Reggie made a noise of annoyance and turned back to the chessboard. Mumbling to himself, he said, “Who’s gonna watch a movie about two old men playing chess anyway?”

* * *

An hour later, Matt and Danny sat at an outdoor café on Fourteenth Street. Matt had a tall mug of beer in front of him, the glass sweating, the brew cold and perfect on a hot summer evening. Danny sipped a glass of water. He’d given up alcohol.

“How long until it happens?” Danny asked.

Matt checked the time on his phone. “They say at eight twenty.”

The sun was starting to appear between the gap in the street grid. They’d know it was time when crowds took to the streets with their phones.

“Remember our first Manhattanhenge?” Matt asked.

Danny looked up, trying to conjure the memory. “How old were you? Five? Maybe six?”

“Six.”

“Like Tommy,” Danny said.

Matt felt a rush of emotion.

“What was he like? I mean, Dad and Mom talked a lot about him, but I never got to…” Danny let the thought trail off.

“He was funny, a mama’s boy.”

“Like you at that age.”

Matt smiled.

“I remember now,” Danny said. “That was the trip when you had the allergy attack when we visited Mom’s friend who had a cat. You were wheezing and you scared the shit out of everyone.”

Matt had an image of himself in an unfamiliar bathroom, his mother filling the room with steam to try to open up his lungs. Her soothing voice. Keeping him calm. Making him feel safe.

“You were a real drain on the family. Everything was about you,” Danny said, tongue in cheek. A recognition of what they’d given up for him. Then Danny’s face turned serious. “Matty, I want you to know that—”

Matt held up a hand. “Don’t.”

Danny swallowed, stared at his brother, mist in his eyes.

“Interrupting something, ladies?” a voice said.

Matt turned and saw Ganesh squinting at the sun. Behind him, Kala, looking exquisite, her skin bathed in golden sunlight. They pulled up two chairs at the small table, Kala wedging herself close to Matt.

Matt looked over at his brother, who gave him a small nod of approval.

“Where is everybody?” Matt asked. He’d invited the entire gang from Rubin Hall.

Ganesh shrugged. “Curtis is probably at a meeting for his cult, and watching the sunset is probably too symbolic of toxic masculinity in the patriarchy for Sofia. And we don’t want Woo-jin here; he’ll block the sun.”

“Remind me,” Matt said, “why are we friends with this guy?”

Kala shook her head like she hadn’t the foggiest. “They’re on their way,” she said.

Ganesh disappeared into the bar. Danny then stood, put some money on the table.

“Where are you going?” Matt said. “You’re gonna miss it.”

People were making their way into the street, smartphones in the air, twisting around to catch themselves in photos of the sun as it centered between the buildings.

“I just love to walk out here in the open,” Danny said. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

Matt watched Danny make his way down the street, his back to the sun, still that cocksure strut. He had a limp now, a remnant from the prison attack, but otherwise it was still the stride of a confident man. Two girls stopped Danny, said something, like they recognized him from all the coverage of his release from prison. Danny took a selfie with them, then kept moving.

Matt had only one regret: that his father wasn’t there to see the sight.

Kala reached for his hand.

A car pulled next to their table. The street was jammed with pedestrians filling their Instagram feeds with photos of the sun slowly dipping below the horizon. The car’s windows were down, music blaring.

“Numb” by Linkin Park.

“Everything okay?” Kala asked.

Matt looked her in the eyes.

Those eyes.

“It is now.”

SARAH KELLER

AFTER

“I’m scared,” Keller said quietly into her satellite phone.

“No shit, I’m scared too, and I’m three thousand miles away, not in some hut in Colombia,” Bob said.

He never tried to tell her how to feel, always validated her emotions, which was weirdly comforting. Keller never used to be afraid of anything. But that was before she had so much to lose.

“Is the Texan there?” Bob asked.

Keller looked over at Cal Buchanan, the Chicago field office SAC who’d helped her raid Marconi LLP. Cal stood next to several hard-looking men holding large guns and wearing tactical gear. As a result of the Pine case, Keller had been promoted to head of the New York office when her boss Stan Webb was elevated to D.C. It paid to make the president’s daughter happy. With the new position, Keller could pull together the teams she wanted. Some jobs required finesse, some needed a BSD.

Cal was stealing looks at her like he was getting anxious that they’d miss their chance.

“I want to talk to the twins,” Keller said, still feeling the nerves.

“You talk to them after.”

Bob was right. Think positive.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Bob said. No hesitation there.

“I love you,” she said.

“You more. And, hey, you got this, G-woman.”

Keller severed the connection, collected herself. She went over to the group huddled near the only window of the run-down shack.

“We’ve got someone coming up to the place,” the spotter said from the window.

“Tough business staying off the grid,” Cal Buchanan said. “How in the hell’d you find him?”

“Airline records,” Keller said without elaboration. She went over to the spotter, took his binoculars, peered through a crack in the blinds.

A man carrying a plastic jug of water approached the doorway to a shack even smaller than the one they were in. He was tall, thin, had what looked like a freshly shaved head. He wore a mustache. But the ’stache didn’t fully cover the scar—from a cleft palate—that cut from his right nostril to his lip.

The man went inside the shack and Keller handed the agent the binoculars. “It’s him.”

The team stood at attention, the sound of the men locking and loading filling the room.

“You can stay in here,” Cal said. “We’ve got this. I’ve got the best breach men in the business.”

Keller thought of a fearless young woman named Maggie who always charged in. She got in the stacked position with the rest of the team. Cal gave her an admiring look.

Then she and the men charged out the door.