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Yesterday the watchers had even slipped a folded map under the hotel door.
    They had, however, warned her to stay clear of law enforcement officials. That she could be arrested for loitering if she stayed in one place too long. It was best to keep moving. Not a problem. Christina didn’t trust cops, though she realized it was a leftover reaction from her rebellious drug-using days.
    As soon as she stepped outside she immediately noticed several men in military fatigues in front of Grand Central Terminal. She walked by two police cruisers. Two officers were across the street, pacing, looking, watching.
    Christina made her way to the corner and drew close enoughto one of the men in fatigues to make unwanted eye contact. His face was young. She guessed he was about her son’s age. His eyes were intense. There was an energy and discipline about the way he moved.
    She raised her hand to hail a cab. The soldier was still looking her way.
    For a second or two her stomach flipped.
    He knows. How can he not?
    A taxi swerved up to the curb in front of her. She froze. She waited, expecting the young soldier to yell at her. To stop her.
    Finally she stepped forward. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him. Was he quickening his pace?
    She grabbed the taxi’s door handle and pulled the door open. Just when she thought he would start running at her, he turned on his heel and headed in the opposite direction.
    Christina slid into the backseat. A wave of relief washed over her. Only when the cabdriver stared at her did she realize she was drenched in sweat on a cool spring day.
    She gave him her destination and sat back.
    They were right. She was as good as invisible. She could relax. She was just a forty-something-year-old woman. A tourist.

10
    CHICAGO
    P latt started pulling out each brochure, each ticket stub and flyer.
    â€œWe’ll need to track where he’s been.”
    O’Dell couldn’t imagine the enormity of that task. Thankfully it was up to Platt and the CDC. Her job was to find whatever she could to track down and stop Shaw.
    She moved on to check the man’s duffel bag on the floor of the closet when Platt stopped her.
    â€œI’ll be damned,” he said.
    She turned to find him lifting a black-cased cell phone out of the wastebasket.
    O’Dell pulled an evidence bag from a pocket in her Tyvek coveralls, but Platt waved a hand at her.
    â€œSorry, nothing leaves the room until we’re sure it’s not contaminated.”
    â€œCan I at least turn it on and take a look?”
    He thought about it for a few seconds, then handed her the phone.
    She tried to power it on. The battery was dead.
Of course it was.
    After gently rifling through the duffel bag, she found a power cord and plugged the phone into a nearby outlet. Then she went back to the duffel and kneeled beside it. She kept the bag on the floor of the closet, attempting to move things around as little as possible.
    â€œI need to call Bix,” Platt said. “Are you okay to be in here alone?”
    â€œI’ll be fine.”
    â€œDecon is down the hall to your left if you need to leave before I get back. Two techs are waiting to assist us.”
    She nodded and listened to him leave as she pulled out the bag’s contents item by item. Extra underwear and socks, a couple of T-shirts, a pair of jeans. Nothing out of the ordinary. Same with the zippered pockets, until she got to the last one. Tucked inside was a four-by-six photograph. The corners were frayed from being handled. She gently tugged it out, carefully pinching one of the sturdier corners.
    The photograph was of four young men in army fatigues with dusty boots and helmets. Their weapons were slung over their shoulders, their arms wrapped around one another’s backs as they posed, smiling and laughing. Behind them was a craggy rock wall.
    She flipped the photo around. Written in black marker:
    Afghanistan. Me, Jason, Colfax & Benny
    She turned