A car was pulling up to the outer perimeter, its engine idling quietly in the dark.

Dr. Halloran looked over his shoulder at the headlights, a flash of hope crossing his face.

Then, the phone in Halloran’s coat pocket began to vibrate, its screen lighting up his face with a pale, blue glow.

“Take it out,” Lorenzo said.

His voice was quieter than the idling engine of the car at the gate.

Dr. Halloran’s fingers shook as he reached into his coat pocket.

He pulled out the phone, the blue light washing over his pale, lined face.

The screen showed an incoming call from an unlisted number.

“Answer it,” Lorenzo ordered, pointing the barrel of the gun at the doctor’s chest. “Put it on speaker.”

Halloran tapped the screen with a trembling thumb.

The sound of the wind through the iron gates came through the speaker, mixed with a heavy rustle of static.

“Julian?” a voice asked.

It was Evan Morris.

His voice sounded thin, frantic, and distorted by the bad reception near the water.

“Are you at the gate?” Evan asked. “I’m in the sedan. The guard isn’t at the kiosk.”