The waiter showed back up and took the dinner order and, though they listened carefully, there was no treason to be learned. Thomas was glad he'd already eaten, though. The entrees ordered evoked memories of texture, taste, and smell.

"I could phone my mother," said Patricia.

He looked at her blankly.

"About eight-fifty-three."

"Oh! Good idea. Major Paine, is there a phone Ms. Beenan may use?"

Major Paine pointed at the Blue team's console. "Tell Martha the number and she can assign it a channel for your headset."

The console operator said, "Switch to channel F-Foxtrot."

Patricia tapped her headset and Thomas saw her lips moving. He switched channels on his headset in time to hear the console operator say, "It's ringing, ma'am."

He started to tell her that he was on the line when a male voice said, "Congresswoman Beenan's phone. How may I help you?"

Patricia said, "Mark, it's Patricia. Is my mother available?"

"Only to you, ma'am. That's what she said. Hang on."

"Thanks."

Again, in the pause, Thomas drew a breath to tell her he was listening, when Congresswoman Beenan's voice came on. "Pea?""Hi."

"What's that noise. TV?"

"Sorry, it's a restaurant. Can I ask you a quick question?"

"Does it have to do with scheduling your wedding?"

"No, actually. Have you heard of a bill eight-fifty-three?"

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other side. "How did you hear about that?"

"Well, it seems to have something to do with the Open Lotus thing."

"How could that be related?"

Patricia said, "We don't know, but then, we don't know what the bill is."

"Oh. It's a combined measure calling for the repeal of the Emergency Immigration Act and the stepped naturalization of all INS refugee-center populations.

It's not even officially on the docket. It was deliberately delayed in committee because it doesn't have a chance under the current Congress, but after the new year, when the new members are sworn in, we stand a chance." The congresswoman cleared her throat. "I wrote the first draft."

"Does Smithers know about this?"

"God, I hope not, but it's hard to keep anything completely secret in the Capitol.

How can this have something to do with that mass murder?"

Patricia said, "Don't know yet. What would that do to the Abattoir?"

"The what?"

"Sorry, that's a nickname for the Abbott Refugee Center."

"Ah. Well, over a period of five years, those who wanted it would be phased into the naturalization process starting with green cards and progressing through to citizenship. The center itself would revert to New Galveston, per the long-term lease agreement, though the INS might maintain Isabel Island as a base."

"Oh. Thank you, Mother. I don't know if it is significant or not, but at least we know."

"I have to get back to Washington tomorrow afternoon. How about breakfast?

You could bring Thomas."

Thomas heard Patricia's intake of breath. "Perhaps lunch? I'm going to be up quite late and was hoping to linger in bed."

Thomas grinned to himself, keeping his face forward.

"No good. I've a working lunch with Admiral Pachefski.""I'll go with you to the airport, then. Can't speak for Thomas."

"Well, try. We have a three-thirty-five flight, so two-thirty, at the hotel?"

"All right. Gotta go, Mom."

Thomas switched back to the command channel. Red Three was saying, "-switching to channel eleven and making my move now."

The camera's view on the Red team console widened, taking in more of the restaurant. Thomas saw a gorgeous, large-busted blonde undulate across the room, moving toward the hallway at the back, where the pay phones and restrooms were.

She was glancing at the end of the table where Fraser was sitting.

Thomas looked at the other screen, the one still on the table, and he watched Fraser's posture change dramatically and his eyes widen. When the blonde-Liz?-Thomas was having a problem thinking of her as Red Three-reached the hallway, Fraser stood abruptly. Thomas wasn't listening on the channel at that end of the table, but he heard distantly, "-athroom break."

Thomas cycled through the channels until he had eleven. The camera operated by Red One zoomed on Fraser's back as he entered the hallway, and Fraser suddenly bent down, retrieving something off the floor.

"Clumsy me," said Liz's voice. "Thanks."

Fraser's voice, formerly confined to monosyllabic responses, said, "You're very welcome. I, um, look, I'm really not this forward, but I'm about to go out to sea, and well, I'd really like to buy you a drink."

On the other screen, Hughes, at the main table, jerked as if stung. He reached down to his belt and pulled forth a satphone. It must've been on silent ring. The expression on his face, as he answered, was annoyed, but his eyes widened immediately thereafter. He spoke briefly, then shut the phone, and took a look around him, his eyes narrowed.

"Did we get any of that conversation?" Thomas asked.

"He said, 'Hello,' " reported the Green team console operator. "Then, 'a few minutes ago' and 'in a noisy restaurant, just to Pinkerton and Maisey.' " Pinkerton was the radar chief, and Maisey was the telecommunications man.

Meanwhile, Liz was answering Fraser's question. "A drink? I think that would be just the thing. Out to sea, eh? Tomorrow?"

"Tonight. We've got this thing to do."

Back on Red screen, Hughes clapped his hands together sharply, twice.

"Liberty's over, gentlemen." He pulled his wallet and dropped a great wad of cash on the table.

Thomas felt his stomach sink. They know.Hughes looked across the room, to where Fraser was escorting Liz toward the bar. His eyes narrowed, and he cupped his hand to his mouth. "Fraser! Recall!"

Fraser, on Green camera, was looking back and forth between Liz and Hughes.

"Oh, fuck!" he said. It sounded louder than it probably was in the restaurant since channel eleven had the reference signal subtracted, eliminating the overriding music.

Liz made one more attempt. "Eventually. What about my drink?"

Fraser dropped his head. "I'm sorry." He started to turn away.

"Well, take my card, sweet cheeks. Give me a call."

Fraser paused, took it, and managed a pained smile. "I will."

Thomas had an unwilling flashback to three nights earlier, when his evening with Patricia had been interrupted and he'd had to rush for the airport. He felt an unwilling pang of sympathy. Aloud he said, "How did they find out? Do you think they found your frequency?"

Major Paine frowned. "I doubt it seriously." He went back to directing the exterior teams, distributing them back toward the ferry. "Red and Green, stand by in case they head elsewhere." He turned back to Thomas. "Let's keep the faces fresh."

But the Sycorax crewmen crowded into two water taxis, at the landing across Shore Walk.

At Thomas's worried look, Major Paine said, "Don't worry; both of them are ours. Give us channel three on speakers, Porter."

The speakers, silenced when the crew had left the restaurant, came back on.

"-acios Ferry Terminal," Hughes's voice snapped. "If we make the eight-fifty ferry, the tip will be substantial."

Fraser's voice, barely audible over the accelerating motor, said, "What's the deal, Chief? I thought we had until midnight."

There was a pause, and Fraser's voice came back, "Ohhhhh."

Paine talked into his headset. "Taxi One, did you see any of that?" He listened and turned to Thomas. "Hand signs. Hughes touched his ear and his lips. They do know. They may not know about the taxi, but they're not taking any more chances."

He took off his headset. "Emma, take over-record everything, and page me if they do anything but head back to the Sycorax. Commander, Assemblywoman, would you join me?"

Well, it's not a joint bathroom break.

Patricia and Thomas followed the police commander out into the main dispatch room, then down a hall, away from his office. He stopped at a nook crowded with file cabinets and empty of personnel."How did they find out?" asked Patricia.

Major Paine tilted his head to Thomas. "What do you think, Thomas?" It was an echo from his days as an FBI instructor.

Thomas stared past them at the featureless wall. His side was aching, but it receded into the background. "One, they found the frequency and deciphered it.

Unlikely, but possible. Two, you have a security problem in special ops, either in the field or in that room. Again, unlikely. Three, my unit does. Unlikely. Four, there's some sort of leak at the congresswoman's. Either an assistant, or her phone or her room are being tapped."

Patricia nodded. "I asked her about eight-fifty-three and told her it seemed to be linked on the Open Lotus. Almost immediately after, Hughes gets a phone call. What did he say?"

Thomas said, "He said, 'a few minutes ago' and 'in a noisy restaurant, just to Pinkerton and Maisey.' "

Patricia nodded. "And if the other side of that conversation was 'Did anybody just mention eight-fifty-three?' and 'Where?' it fits." She slapped her forehead. "If they were bugging her phone, they may have even recognized some of the voices in the background. The speakers in the room were going full blast."

Thomas added, "Given Sycorax's decrypting technology and ELINT suite, it fits."

Paine's face lightened. "Ah. I'm relieved, almost. Stupid of us, but at least I don't have to conduct a witch-hunt in my department. What is eight-fifty-three? Did your mother know?"

Patricia repeated what her mother had told her.

While Major Paine thought about that, Patricia asked, "Did you hear what that kid said to Liz? 'Tonight. We've got this thing to do.' "

Thomas nodded. "Yes. They have to go back on patrol."

Patricia shook her head. "That isn't a 'thing,' really. He said 'this thing' like it was a specific thing."

Thomas leaned against the wall. "Hmmm. I better see about getting some sort of vehicle to shadow the Sycorax. We know they diddle their position data, after all."

"Why can't you use satellite imaging?" Patricia asked.

Thomas spread his hands. "Their heat signature is large enough that we could probably track them through the forecast cloud cover, but I'd get no detail. If they met a ship, I might be able to tell that, but not what ship."

"Will you be going?" Patricia asked.Thomas thought about being at sea with his stitches, constantly shifting his center as the vessel pitched, and the pain flared anew. He thought of Patricia, naked in the moonlight. "I'll be sending Jazz and Bart."

Patricia grinned. "Good."

Thomas found the patrol hydrofoil he'd requisitioned for the machine-gun inspections was a mere fifty miles north of the Strand and was available. He was dissatisfied with the arrangement-he had no idea if she carried Nat-Al members aboard. He was able to get her without giving her intended mission to GulfOps and he hoped that would do. He would've preferred to take a vessel from Major Paine, but the NGPD didn't have anything seaworthy that the Sycorax couldn't run rings around.

"Keep stealthy, Jazz. Minimum radio traffic. No radar. You know the drill."

"Aye, aye, sir."

They were in the police motor pool, hidden from spying eyes. Major Paine had a boat standing by to run Jazz and Ensign Terkel out to the hydrofoil, a rendezvous set for the mouth of the North Civic Channel on the New Galveston side, miles away from the Boca del Infierno with the entire bulk of the Strand between them and the Sycorax.

Patricia was back in her disguise, an illusion so strong that Thomas found himself looking elsewhere for his Patricia. She was almost exactly his height with the lifts on, and he contented himself with her eyes, framed with mascara and eyeliner but still hers.

Thomas wore a floppy panama, its brim tilted to cast a shadow across the scarred side of his face.

Holding hands, they watched the patrol boat pull away, until it turned the bend in the tunnel and headed for the municipal lagoon.

"Ready?" she said.

"Oh, aye."

One of the NGPD faux cabs awaited their pleasure, bobbing gently in the wake of the patrol boat. Even in heels, Patricia was aboard quickly, settling herself neatly.

Thomas groaned and oozed aboard, holding his side. Patricia muttered, "Ay, ay, a scratch." She stood to help him sit, then pushed the button that closed the canopy.