Aint you Bob Riley?

Thats right, the bosun said before turning. Whore you?

Didnt think youd remember me. Matt Stevens. You near tore my head off on the Mellon awhile backsaid Id never get my shit together.

Looks like I was wrong, Riley noted, searching his memory for the face.

No, you were right. I was a real punk back then, but youwell, I owe you one, Master Chief. I did get my shit together. Mainly causa what you said. Stuart stuck out his hand. I figure I owe you a beer at least.

It wasnt all that unusual a thing for Riley to hear. Hell, we all need straigthenin out. I got bounced off a coupla bulkheads when I was a kid, too, yknow?

Done a little of it myself. Stuart grinned. You make chief an you gotta be respectable and responsible, right? Otherwise who keeps the officers straightened out?

Riley grunted agreement. Who you workin for?

Admiral Hally. Hes at Buzzards Point. Had to fly down with him to meet with the base commander. I think hes off playing golf right now. Never did get the hang of that game. Youre on Panache, right?

You bet.

Captain Wegener?

Yep. Riley finished off his beer and Stuart waved to the barmaid for refills.

Is he as good as they say?

Reds a better seaman n I am, Riley replied honestly.

Nobodys that good, Master Chief. Hey, I was there when you took the boat acrosswhat was the name of that container boat that snapped in half . . . ?

Arctic Star. Riley smiled, remembering. Jesus, if we didnt earn our pay that afternoon.

I remember watching. Thought you were crazy. Well, shit. All I do now is drive a word processor for the Admiral, but I did a little stuff in a forty-one boat before I made chief, working outa Norfolk. Nothing like Arctic Star, of course.

Dont knock it, Matt. One of those jobss enough for a couple years of sea stories. Ill take an easy one any day. Im gettin a little old for that dramatic stuff.

Hows the food here?

Fair.

Buy you dinner?

Matt, I dont even remember what I said to you.

I remember, Stuart assured him. God knows how I woulda turned out if you hadnt turned me around. No shit, man. I owe you one. Come on. He waved Riley over to a booth against the wall. They were quickly going through their third beer when Chief Quartermaster Oreza arrived.

Hey, Portagee, Riley called to his fellow master chief.

I see the beers cold, Bob.

Riley waved to his companion. This heres Matt Stevens. We were on the Mellon together. Did I ever tell you about the Arctic Star job?

Only about thirty times, Oreza noted.

You wanna tell the story, Matt? Riley asked.

Hey, I didnt even see it all, you know Yeah, half the crew was puking their guts out. Im talking a real gale blowing. No way the helo could take off, and this container boatthe after half of her, that is; the foard part was already gonelook like she was gonna roll right there an then . . .

Within an hour, two more rounds had been consumed, and the three men were chomping their way through a disk of knockwurst and sauerkraut, which went well with beer. Stuart stuck with stories about his new Admiral, the Chief Counsel of the Coast Guard, in which legal officers are also line officers, expected to know how to drive ships and command men.

Hey, whats with these stories I been hearing about you an those two drug pukes? the attorney finally asked.

What dya mean? Oreza asked. Portagee still had some remaining shreds of sobriety.

Hey, the FBI guys went in to see Hally, right? I had to type up his reports on my Zenith, yknow?

What did them FBI guys say?

Im not supposedoh, fuck it! Look, youre all in the clear. The Bureau isnt doing a fuckin thing. They told your skipper go forth and sin no more, okay? The shit you got outa those pukesdidnt you hear? Operation TARPON. That whole sting operation came from you guys. Didnt you know that?

What? Riley hadnt seen a paper or turned on a TV in days. Though he did know about the death of the FBI Director, he had no idea of the connection with his Hang-Ex, as he had taken to calling it in the goat locker.

Stuart explained what he knew, which was quite a lot.

Half a billion dollars? Oreza observed quietly. That oughta build us a few new hulls.

Christ knows we need em, Stuart agreed.

You guys didnt reallyI mean, you didnt really . . . hang one of the fuckers, did you? Stuart extracted a Radio Shack minitape recorder from his pocket and thumbed the volume switch to the top.

Actually it was Portagees idea, Riley said.

Couldnt have done it without you, Bob, Oreza said generously.

Yeah, well, the trick was how to do the hangin, Riley explained. You see, we had to make it look real if we was gonna scare the piss outa the little one. Wasnt really all that hard once I thought it over. After we got him alone, the pharmacist mate gave him a shot of ether to knock him out for a few minutes, and I rigged a rope harness on his back. When we took him topside, the noose had a hook on the back, so when I looped the noose around his neck, all I hadda do was attach the hook to an eye I put on the harness, so we was hoistin him by the harness, not the neck. We didnt really wanna kill the fuckerwell, I did, Riley said. But Red didnt think it was a real good idea. The bosun grinned at the quartermaster.

The other trick was baggin him, Oreza said. We put a black hood over his head. Well, there was a gauze pad inside soaked in ether. The bastard screamed bloody murder when he smelled it, but it had him knocked out as soon as we ran his ass up to the yardarm.

The little one believed the whole thing. Fucker wet his pants, it was beautiful! Sang like a canary when they got him back to the wardroom. Soon as he was outa sight, of course, we lowered the other one and got him woke back up. They were both half in the bag from smokin grass all day. I dont think they ever figured out what we did to them.

No, they didnt. Grass?

That was Reds idea. They had their own pot stashlooked like real cigarettes. We just gave em back to em, and they got themselves looped. Throw in the ether and everything, and I bet they never figured out what really happened.

Almost right, Stuart thought, hoping that his tape recorder was getting this.

I wish we really could have hung em, Riley said after a few seconds. Matt, you aint never seen anything like what that yacht looked like. Four people, manbutchered em like cattle. Ever smell blood? I didnt know you could. You can, the bosun assured him. They raped the wife and the little girl, then cut em up like they wasGod! You know, I been having nightmares from that? Nightmaresme! Jesus, thats one sea story I wish I could forget. I got a little girl that age. Those fuckers raped her an killed her, and cut her up an fed her to the fuckin sharks. Just a little girl, not even big enough to drive a car or go out on a date.

Were supposed to be professional cops, right? Were supposed to be cool about it, dont get personally involved. All that shit? Riley asked.

Thats what the book says, Stuart agreed.

The book wasnt written for stuff like this, Portagee said. People who do this sort of thingthey aint really people. I dont know what the hell they are, but people they aint. You cant do that kinda shit and be people, Matt.

Hey, what dyou want me to say? Stuart asked, suddenly defensive, and not acting a part this time. We got laws to deal with people like that.

Laws aint doin much good, are they? Riley asked.

The difference between the people he was obliged to defend and the people he had to impeach, Stuart told himself through the fog of alcohol, was that the bad ones were his clients and the good ones were not. And now, by impersonating a Coast Guard chief, he too had broken a law, just as these men had done, and like them, he was doing it for some greater good, some higher moral cause. So he asked himself who was right. Not that it mattered, of course. Whatever was right was lost somewhere, not to be found in lawbooks or canons of ethics. Yet if you couldnt find it there, then where the hell was it? But Stuart was a lawyer, and his business was law, not right. Right was the province of judges and juries. Or something like that. Stuart told himself that he shouldnt drink so much. Drink made confused things clear, and the clear things confused.

The ride in was far rougher this time. Westerly winds off the Pacific Ocean hit the slopes of the Andes and boiled upward, looking for passes to go through. The resulting turbulence could be felt at thirty thousand feet, and here, only three hundred feet AGLabove ground levelthe ride was a hard one, all the more so with the helicopter on its terrain-following autopilot. Johns and Willis were strapped in tight to reduce the effects of the rough ride, and both knew that the people in back were having a bad time indeed as the big Sikorsky jolted up and down in twenty-foot bounds at least ten times per minute. PJs hand was on the stick, following the motions of the autopilot but ready to take instant command if the system showed the first sign of failure. This was real flying, as he liked to say. That generally meant the dangerous kind.

Skimming through this passit was more of a saddle, reallydidnt make it any easier. A ninety-six-hundred-foot peak was to the south, and one of seventy-eight hundred feet to the north, and a lot of Pacific air was being funneled through as the Pave Low roared at two hundred knots. They were heavy, having tanked only a few minutes earlier just off Colombias Pacific Coast.

Theres Mistrato, Colonel Johns said. The computer navigation system had already veered them north to pass well clear of the town and any roads. The two pilots were also alert for anything on the ground that hinted at a man or a car or a house. The route had been selected off satellite photographs, of course both daylight and nighttime infrared shots, but there was always the chance of a surprise.

Buck, LZ One in four minutes, PJ called over the intercom.

Roger.

They were flying over Risaralda Province, part of the great valley that lay between two enormous ridgelines of mountains flung into the sky by a subductal fault in the earths crust. PJs hobby was geology. He knew how much effort it took to bring his aircraft to this altitude, and he boggled at the forces that could push mountains to the same height.

LZ One in sight, Captain Willis said.

Got it. Colonel Johns took the stick. He keyed his microphone. One minute. Hot guns.

Right. Sergeant Zimmer left his position to head aft. Sergeant Bean activated his minigun in case there was trouble. Zimmer slipped and nearly fell on a pool of vomit. That wasnt unusual. The ride smoothed out now that they were in the lee of the mountains, but there were some very sick kids in back who would be glad to get on firm, unmoving ground. Zimmer had trouble understanding that. It was dangerous on the ground.

The first squad was up as the helicopter flared to make its first landing, and as before, the moment it touched down, they ran out the back. Zimmer made his count, watched to be certain that everyone got off safely, and notified the pilot to lift off as soon as they were clear.

Next time, Chavez told himself, next time I fucking walk in and out! He had had some rough chopper rides in his time, but nothing like that one. He led off to the treeline and waited for the remainder of the squad to catch up.

Glad to be on the ground? Vega asked as soon as he got there.

I didnt know I ate that much, Ding groaned. Everything hed eaten in the last few hours was still aboard the helicopter. He opened a canteen and drank a pint of water just to wash away the vile taste.

I usta love roller coasters, Oso said. No more, mano!

Fuckin A! Chavez remembered standing in line for the big ones at Knotts Berry Farm and other California theme parks. Never again!

You okay, Ding? Captain Ramirez asked.

Sorry, sir. That never happened to meever! Ill be okay in a minute, he promised his commander.

Take your time. We picked a nice, quiet spot to land. I hope.

Chavez shook his head to clear it. He didnt know that motion sickness started in the inner ear, had never known what motion sickness was until half an hour earlier. But he did the right thing, taking deep breaths and shaking his head to get his equilibrium back. The ground wasnt moving, he told himself, but part of his brain wasnt sure.

Where to, Capn?

Youre already heading in the right direction. Ramirez clapped him on the shoulder. Move out.

Chavez put on his low-light goggles and started moving off through the forest. God, but that was embarrassing. Hed never do anything that dumb again, the sergeant promised himself. With his head still telling him that he was probably moving in a way that his legs couldnt possibly cause, he concentrated on his footing and the terrain, rapidly moving two hundred meters ahead of the main body of the squad. The first mission into the swampy lowlands had just been practice, hadnt really been serious, he thought now. But this was the real thing. With that thought foremost in his mind, he batted away the last remnants of his nausea and got down to work.

Everyone worked late that night. There was the investigation to run, and routine office business had to be kept current as well. By the time Moira came into Mr. Shaws office, shed managed to organize everything hed need to know, and it was also time to tell him what shed forgotten. She wasnt surprised to see Mr. Murray there, too. She was surprised when he spoke first.

Moira, were you interviewed about Emils trip? Dan asked.

She nodded. Yes. I forgot something. I wanted to tell you this morning, Mr. Shaw, but when I came in early you were asleep. Connie saw me, she assured him.

Go on, Bill said, wondering if he should feel a little better about that or not.

Mrs. Wolfe sat down, then turned to look at the open door. Murray walked over to close it. On the way back he placed his hand on her shoulder.

Its okay, Moira.

I have a friend. He lives in Venezuela. We met . . . well, we met a month and a half ago, and wethis is hard to explain. She hesitated, staring at the rug for a moment before looking up. We fell in love. He comes up to the States on business every few weeks, and with the Director away, we wanted to spend a weekendat The Hideaway, in the mountains near Luray Caverns?

I know it, Shaw said. Nice place to get away from it all.

Well, when I knew that Mr. Jacobs was going to be away and we had a chance for a long weekend, I called him. He has a factory. He makes auto partstwo factories, actually, one in Venezuela and one in Costa Rica. Carburetors and things like that Did you call him at his home? Murray asked.

No. He works such long hours that I called him at his factory. I have the number here. She handed over the scrap of Sheraton note paper that hed written it down on. Anyway, I got his secretaryher names Consuelabecause he was out on the shop floor, and he called me back, and I told him that we could get together, so he came upwe met at the airport Friday afternoon. I left early after Mr. Jacobs did.

Which airport?

Dulles.

Whats his name? Shaw asked.

Daz. Juan Daz. You can call him there at the factory and That phone number goes to an apartment, not a factory, Moira, Murray said. And it was that clear, that fast.

Butbut he She stopped. No. No. He isnt Moira, we need a complete physical description.

Oh, no. Her mouth fell open and wouldnt close. She looked from Shaw to Murray and back again as the horror of it all closed in on her. She was dressed in black, of course, probably the same outfit shed worn to bury her own husband. For a few weeks shed been a bright, beautiful, happy woman again. No more. Both FBI executives felt her pain, hating themselves for having brought it to her. She was a victim, too. But she was also a lead, and they needed a lead.

Moira Wolfe summoned what little dignity she had left and gave them as complete a description as they had ever had of any man in a voice as brittle as crystal before she lost control entirely. Shaw had his personal assistant drive her home.

Cortez, Murray said as soon as the door closed behind her.

Thats a pretty solid bet, the Executive Assistant Director (Investigations) agreed. The book on him says that hes a real ace at compromising people. Jesus, did he ever prove that right. Shaws head went from side to side as he reached for some coffee. But he couldnt have known what they were doing, could he?

Doesnt make much sense to have come here if he did, Murray said. But since when are criminals logical? Well, we start checking immigration control points, hotels, airlines. See if we can track this cocksucker. Ill get on it. What are we going to do about Moira?

She didnt break any laws, did she? That was the really odd part. Find a place where she doesnt have to see classified material, maybe in another agency. Dan, we cant destroy her, too.

No.

Moira Wolfe got home just before eleven. Her kids were all still up waiting for her. They assumed that her tears were a delayed reaction from the funeral. Theyd all met Emil Jacobs, too, and mourned his passing as much as anyone. else who worked for the Bureau. She didnt say very much, heading upstairs for bed while they continued to sit before the television. Alone in the bathroom she stared in the mirror at the woman whod allowed herself to be seduced and used like . . . like a fool, something worse than a fool, a stupid, vain, lonely old woman looking for her youth. So desperate to be loved again that . . . That she had condemnedhow many? Seven people? She couldnt remember, staring at her empty face in the glass. The young agents on Emils security detail had families. Shed knitted a sweater for Leos firstborn son. He was still too younghed never remember what a nice, handsome young man his father had been.