I poked my head out of the window, looked both ways like a first-grader crossing the street, and started wiggling back outside again. I was about two-thirds out-hanging at my hips, working up the momentum to flip myself forward with enough leverage for a smooth landing-when I heard it.

Somewhere nearby.

The crunch-crunch, crunch-crunch crunch-crunch, crunch-crunch, of someone walking briskly through the snow. Nay, not walking briskly. More like...sneaking. Or marching. Sneak-marching. And absolutely nothing about that sound warmed my heart in any fashion whatsoever.

I didn't quite manage the landing I'd wanted-I toppled forward out the window and fell with more of a "splat" than with tidy cat feet en pointe en pointe-but it got me to the ground. Funny, I didn't remember the snow under the window being quite so deep on the way in. I sank into snow that came up over my knees, and I tramped around in it, both trying to be quiet and trying to figure out which direction to run, if any.

I held still for a few seconds and listened hard, hoping to better pinpoint the noise, which had now been joined by more crunch-crunch crunch-crunches and seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.

Stupid woods. Stupid snow. Stupid silent night.

It was coming from the left-no, the right. No, both.

s.h.i.t.

I didn't panic. Yet.

Perhaps forty yards of open snow stood between me and the big barn, and the side I faced, but I didn't see any easy point of entry. I could make a run for it, but I'd only be running straight at a blank wall-with no way up it, through it, or inside it. Obviously the thing had to have a door somewhere. I fought to remember: When I'd approached under the fence, down into the main compound...had I seen it?

Yes. It was around on the left side, I remembered now.

But someone was closing in on me by the moment. The crunch-crunch crunch-crunch was close enough that I could hear the faint, low buzz of electronic communication. It was probably moving through earbuds or very small radios; the sound wasn't perfectly clear, but it was distinct. was close enough that I could hear the faint, low buzz of electronic communication. It was probably moving through earbuds or very small radios; the sound wasn't perfectly clear, but it was distinct.

I'd been spotted. And I had nowhere to go.

Across the yard-around the right side of the barn-something glinted quickly and vanished. It could've been anything. Probably moonlight off a b.u.t.ton, or a pair of gla.s.ses.

I was not frozen, not paralyzed. Just pinned by indecision. I looked up and saw the shed's gutter above me, and I thought: What the h.e.l.l? Might as well try going up What the h.e.l.l? Might as well try going up. They already knew where I was; I could sense that much from the way they were closing in. They weren't hunting, they were coming right for me.

I didn't see them yet, so they had a leg up on me. They'd see me if I jumped up on top of the shed, maybe; and more likely than not, they'd hear me regardless.

I stretched to reach the overhang, but couldn't quite make it. The snow felt like quicksand, and even though it wasn't, I couldn't help but feel that it was holding me down. I picked up my left leg, covered in snow as it was, and braced it against the side of the building, using it to give myself a boost. I hoisted myself up out of the snow and latched both hands around the gutter. The d.a.m.n thing squealed as if it'd been shot.

Too late to double-think. With a pop of my arms and a fling to toss my weight up onto the gently peaked surface, I was up.

No time for a false sense of security, either. As I scrambled to find a good foothold that wouldn't leave me sliding right back into the snowdrifts, somebody below opened fire.

Bullets sprayed toward me and I ducked, flattening myself on the roof-which had a good foot of snow on it, thank you very much. I wondered if they could see me, if I just went facedown in it, wearing my white suit and everything. It would've been nice if I could hide there, smushed into the snow. I'd freeze my t.i.ts off, but if they couldn't see me, they couldn't shoot at me, right?

Boy, howdy. The bulls.h.i.t I'll tell myself when I'm completely out of ideas.

Then somebody below barked an order and all bets were off. Two more people were shooting from the other side of the shed. They didn't know exactly where I was, thank G.o.d, so the snow was good for something after all, and the peaked roof threw off their angles. It's hard to shoot something that's above you, and reclined on a plane.

But it wouldn't stop them for long.

I blew a frantic second or two wondering how many bullets I could take before going down. In a moment of crisis? I mean, absolute and pure desperation-still having the stamina to run like h.e.l.l? Maybe three or four to the torso, more if they just winged me. But man, that kind of worst-case-scenario thinking wasn't going to help me. Not then. Not when it was far too late for any preventive measures.

Right. No time to wish for what I didn't have (solitude) and think instead about what I did have (a .38 Special inside my Useful Things Bag).

I didn't want to open fire back. Not immediately. Not while they still were foggy on precisely where I was, apart from "up there someplace." Any gunfire would tell them my exact location immediately and with great clarity.

So I left it stashed for the moment, and writhed around in the snow until I had my bag slung across my chest, leaving both hands fully free and maneuverable. I tightened its strap to keep it close-I didn't want it flopping around during any of the acrobatics I was about to try-and I kept my head low while the bullets clipped shingles closer and closer to where I was hunkering.

This sucked sucked. How had they found me? Had I missed a camera? Had they found my car? What easy f.u.c.kup had I committed this time? Jesus.

I guess they could've been expecting me. After all, someone, somewhere knew what was in that PDF and knew what it'd tell me. All I could do was hope they didn't know what what, exactly, they were dealing with.

Me.

I couldn't make a forty-yard hop to the barn. It wasn't going to happen. But I could make it in three or four good hops, especially if the first hop came from an elevated position-or that was my reasoning, anyway. Maybe starting from a rooftop only made me feel better. I couldn't say, and it didn't matter, because I was going to have to make a run for it.

And people were still shooting at me.

They weren't shooting a lot, at least. n.o.body was wasting much ammo. Mostly they were taking potshots. I could hear them below, splitting up and surrounding my hiding spot-at least it was a big big little building-and closing off my avenues of escape. Or so they thought. little building-and closing off my avenues of escape. Or so they thought.

I rolled over flat, facedown in the snow, and lifted my head enough to peer out over the compound. The crew that'd surrounded the shed...I couldn't see those guys. They were too close, and I'd earn myself a bullet up the nose if I looked over the edge to get a gander at them.

Pulling myself up to the lowest of all possible crouches, I took a deep breath. I braced myself. I dug my boots deep into the packed snow and ice, and I jammed my knees down into it, and my hands as well. I needed traction. I needed to jump.

s.h.i.t, what I really needed was to leap a tall building in a single bound. But since we all knew that wasn't in the cards, I'd settle for a good launch and a mad dash. If I moved fast enough, and if they didn't know to expect a vampire, I might surprise the h.e.l.l out of them.

They might not even see me. I might appear as nothing more than a streak, and those very far-s.p.a.ced footprints over there someplace.

Below I heard them talking into tiny microphones, and receiving instruction through their tiny earbuds. They were close enough that I could hear whoever the honcho was. He was giving hand signals, and I could hear the rustle of his clothes as he fired them off.

Someone was forcing the shed door.

They were going to come inside and shoot through the ceiling to get me if they had to, and that meant I'd officially hit the "now or never" moment.

One more deep breath. I tensed. I held my head low, checked my bag one more time, then shoved myself off with such force that half the snow slid off the roof...collapsing onto the guys who'd been lurking underneath it.

I'm going to go ahead and pretend I knew that would happen, and I totally meant to do it.

The victims of the impromptu avalanche cried out in surprise, but it was m.u.f.fled by a few hundred pounds of snow. And then it was far behind me.

The frigid air stung my ears as I ran, leaping so fast and so far that I might as well have been flying for all any of the mere mortals could have seen. I hoped.

The largest building, the one I'd mentally denoted as a "barn," was close enough that I reached it in the span of a couple of leaps and a couple of seconds. I skidded around its side, clamoring up to the door. It was locked, no big surprise there. It only took one hard shove for me to figure out that I could open it, yes-but it'd take more time than I wanted to invest in the endeavor. More time than I could afford afford to invest. to invest.

My pursuers were running in circles, shouting and trying to reorganize. And I guess someone might've gotten busy trying to dig those poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds out from under all the snow I'd kicked off the roof. But they'd be on my tail again before long.

How long did I have? Maybe seconds. Maybe minutes. No longer than that-no way, no how.

Like the storage shed, the barn's only windows were high up and designed for pa.s.sage by few things larger than a leprechaun-which is not to say that they thwarted me, but I'll confess to being inconvenienced. But while I still had the benefit of uncertainty on my side, I jumped, hopped, and scrambled into position, popped out some gla.s.s, and skooched my way into the interior.

My shoulders and hip bones ached from the sc.r.a.ping press of forcing my body into what was, essentially, a ventilation portal, but my first glance around the interior suggested it might have been worth it.

It'd better be. And it'd better be worth it fast fast.

I knew this, because my first glance also told me that there were cameras inside this big-a.s.s information dump. If they didn't know where I'd gone yet, they'd figure it out before long.

And to think, I'd been fantasizing about taking a leisurely poke around the place, maybe having a nice picnic lunch and a nap before heading on my way. If there has been any doubt in your mind about the state of my sanity, I hope this revelation cinches that up for you.

Anyway, I dropped down onto a level that was something like a hayloft, loaded up in rows and stacks of crates and boxes, stamped from various facilities around the world and around the country, too. I saw FORT SAM FORT SAM HOUSTON HOUSTON as a return address on one package, and as a return address on one package, and FORT KNOX FORT KNOX on another one. I had no earthly idea where info on The Other Thief might have hailed from. I'd never find anything about him by sifting through postmarks, but it gave me an idea. I wondered if anything might've been shipped from Jordan Roe, in Florida-but that seemed unlikely, if it was only a facility and not a town. on another one. I had no earthly idea where info on The Other Thief might have hailed from. I'd never find anything about him by sifting through postmarks, but it gave me an idea. I wondered if anything might've been shipped from Jordan Roe, in Florida-but that seemed unlikely, if it was only a facility and not a town.

I shimmied between the rows of stacked containers and let my eyes dilate as widely as they could. My one slight advantage-and the one thing that might buy me extra snooping seconds-was that there weren't any windows low enough for the exterior commandos to actually watch me do my investigating. But boy, I could hear them outside, buzzing like a hornet's nest.

The darkness opened enough that I could see piles and rows of discarded secrets, unlabeled and unorganized as far as I could tell. And there I was, standing in the shadow of a towering stack of sawdust-covered crates, with no earthly idea of what I was looking for. And I could've hung around and looked in that barn-sized depository for days.

Not an option.

Frantic and serious, I set to work flinging open drawers, smashing open crates, whipping open filing cabinets, and bashing in boxes.

Outside, someone practically shouted into his tiny microphone, relating a string of military abbreviations and acronyms I didn't understand, but I got the thrust of "Subject in Alpha Building Four. Copy."

Ah. So I was in Alpha Building Four. For all the good knowing it did me.

"Roger," the same shouter replied.

And then they surprised me. They didn't come bursting in-which I'd expected, and begun to prepare for. I was just thinking that the loft where I'd first entered would be a fairly easy place to defend, or at least exit. All I had to do was get the h.e.l.l away from them, after all. I didn't have to fight them all to the death in a cage match.

But they didn't storm the premise of Alpha Building Four.

They locked it.

The motherf.u.c.kers locked me in and surrounded the place with firearms readied and aimed at every visible in-and-out of the joint. Whether or not they'd be able to shoot me upon exit I couldn't say, but I didn't like the prospect. Did they know how I'd gotten inside? Were they watching the ventilation windows upstairs?

I would've had to climb back up there to find out, and I didn't, because the clock was ticking and I was a little worried. I don't like it when people get unpredictable on me. Not at all.

I distracted myself from my worry by ratcheting up my search. While the men outside chatted back and forth in barked commands and responses, I found a set of crates that were approximately the size of a pair of high-school lockers side by side, and both of these crates had return addresses stamped ST. PETERSBURG, FLORIDA ST. PETERSBURG, FLORIDA. Close enough, right? There were more islands in Florida than just the ones dangling off Miami, I knew that much, and Ian had said it was on the west coast.

Besides, out of all this c.r.a.p, it was the first sign of "Florida" I'd found so far.

When I ripped the crates open I found whole filing cabinets nestled within. In a stunning display of laziness, haste, or apathy, the cabinets had been duct-taped shut and shipped that way.

I pulled my flat, fixed-blade knife out of my Useful Things Bag and started cutting the tape for the same reason the bear went over the mountain: to see what I could see. Also, because someone didn't want me to see it. So let this be a lesson to you-about 80 percent of all research is boring as h.e.l.l. Legwork sucks, but it's necessary, and if I didn't do it, n.o.body else was going to do it for me.

I spied the word JORDAN JORDAN and almost choked with surprise. I seized the folder and everything inside it. It wasn't the prayed-for lead on The Other Thief, but I didn't have time to pick and choose my clues. and almost choked with surprise. I seized the folder and everything inside it. It wasn't the prayed-for lead on The Other Thief, but I didn't have time to pick and choose my clues.

"On my command!" ordered somebody new. Without taking a breath he hollered, "Now!"

But I didn't hear anything new or exciting, so I kept on flipping through those files. My fingers moved in a blur as I shuffled the contents, dumping everything pointless right onto the floor. PBS PBS declared one folder's label, and declared one folder's label, and BSHOT BSHOT said another. I grabbed those, and added them to my stash, looking up just long enough to wonder exactly what order had been given, and why no exciting action had followed. said another. I grabbed those, and added them to my stash, looking up just long enough to wonder exactly what order had been given, and why no exciting action had followed.

Then I smelled it.

Gasoline. And moments after the gasoline, I heard that whoof whoof sound of something flammable meeting an open flame. A warm, orange glow came peeking in through what precious little exterior gla.s.s was available to let it inside. sound of something flammable meeting an open flame. A warm, orange glow came peeking in through what precious little exterior gla.s.s was available to let it inside.

"Awesome," I declared. Then I saw JROE JROE and said with more enthusiasm, "Awesome!" I swiped that file, too, and stuffed my collection deep into my Useful Things Bag. I zipped up the thing and strapped it down across my back, in case it might stop a bullet or something. Because baby, I was ready to dash-and I had no intention of letting them catch anything but my figurative taillights on the way out the door. and said with more enthusiasm, "Awesome!" I swiped that file, too, and stuffed my collection deep into my Useful Things Bag. I zipped up the thing and strapped it down across my back, in case it might stop a bullet or something. Because baby, I was ready to dash-and I had no intention of letting them catch anything but my figurative taillights on the way out the door.

Or out the window.

The stink of smoke was wafting inside now. The warmth of the orange light was growing ever brighter as I stood there, collecting my loot and my wits as I prepared to bolt. I felt like I had little choice but to take the same way out. I didn't see any other promising options, and I'd already popped the gla.s.s. Even if they were watching it, if I could move fast enough-if I could fire myself out of that thing like a G.o.dd.a.m.n bullet-they'd never hit me.

Right?

I monkeyed myself back up to the loft and pushed a couple of crates under the window-which was far enough off the ground that I couldn't just flop myself out. They'd see me doing that worm-wiggle of escape and open fire on the spot, I was sure of it.

I was even more sure of it when I peeked out from a distant corner window and saw that the commando dudes had encircled Alpha Building Four, and I was pretty much screwed coming and going unless I could get some major hang time out of this exit.

Deep breath.

Double-check the gear.

I climbed atop the crate, keeping my head low until the last possible second.

And I dove.

I flew out hands-first, with as much kick as I could manage. They saw me. They had had to have seen me-my feet weren't quite as slick as the rest of me, and I splintered the frame on the way out. It sounded like a gunshot, or maybe it's only that gunshots followed my exit. It took them a minute to track me, to find my trail, to even figure out which direction I'd run...but they did, and they began to chase me. to have seen me-my feet weren't quite as slick as the rest of me, and I splintered the frame on the way out. It sounded like a gunshot, or maybe it's only that gunshots followed my exit. It took them a minute to track me, to find my trail, to even figure out which direction I'd run...but they did, and they began to chase me.

I a.s.sume they saw the hole I left in their chain-link fence when I shot through it like a j.a.panese bullet train.

I didn't care. I was so freaking elated that I'd done it-I'd gotten away with it! f.u.c.k those men in black and everything they stand for!-that I didn't care I was trudging at light speed through snow deep enough to drown in. I didn't care that my thighs ached, and my chest hurt from sucking down the icy night in fits and gasps. I didn't care that they were coming right for me, and that behind me I could hear the guttural cough of snowmobiles being cranked into duty.

I was almost back at my car.

And they hadn't found it yet.

After the preternaturally speedy run through the forest, the mundane task of retrieving my keys and forcing them to navigate the half-frozen car door lock seemed impossibly slow. But I did it. And when I started the car and started driving, I'd left the snowmobiles far enough behind me that even if they knew where I was, they wouldn't have been able to catch me.

All the way back to the hotel, I breathed so hard I coughed fog onto the rearview mirror, and even though I was so cold I could barely move, I didn't think to turn on the car's heater until I'd already gotten the thing into the parking garage.

You could make an argument for the fact that I'd been lucky.

I'd argue with you, though. I scarcely think one can call an outing "lucky" when it involves being shot at by commandos, locked in a barn, and set on fire.

Gotta admit, I didn't see that coming.

I didn't honestly think they'd sacrifice the whole joint just to nab me. Even if it was the kind of place where information went to fossilize, it blew my mind that someone had issued that order and told someone to pull the trigger on it.

So to speak.

This only served to underscore, reinforce, and otherwise b.u.t.tress my neurotic insecurity and all-out paranoia with regard to this case. Whatever I was chasing was serious. And someone out there was serious about keeping me away from it.

Sadly for that mystery someone, I had actually scored some pretty useful loot...or loot that had the potential to be useful. And unlike the PDF that started this whole mess, the feebs, the feds, the whoevers...they had no idea what I'd gotten my grubby little hands on. For all they knew, I might've found nothing at all-or Bigfoot's DNA profile, or Batman's birth certificate.

Good. Let 'em sweat. The a.s.sholes had burned the place down behind me, so now they'd never know, either.

And what did I find?