A tiny green light on the side of the rectangle blinked once every three seconds.

“A transponder,” Giovanni said, his voice flat.

“A tracking device,” I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow.

“I didn’t know,” Dr. Sullivan gasped, dropping the syringe onto the table. “I swear to you, I didn’t know.”

“Vance’s men didn’t follow my transport,” Giovanni said. “They followed you.”

The green light on the tracker blinked again, steady and silent.

On the monitor behind us, the three mercenaries stepped into the study.

One of them carried a heavy, black nylon bag.

He set it down on the desk and began unzipping it.

Inside the bag were blocks of grey, clay-like material.

“They are preparing breaching charges,” Giovanni said, his voice calm but cold.

I looked down at Luca, who was shivering despite the heat radiating from his skin.

The needle was still on the table, unused.

“Doctor,” I said, my voice shaking. “Help my son.”

“Lauren,” Giovanni said, his hand on my shoulder.

“No,” I said, turning to him. “We are not stopping. Fix the fever first.”