Mark Bright. Theres been a development on the Pirates Case that you need to know about. The lawyer for the subjects just called the U.S. Attorney. Hes tossing the deal they made. Hes going to fight it out; hes going to put those Coasties on the stand and try to blow away the whole case on the basis of that stunt they pulled. Davidoffs worried.

What do you think? Murray asked.

Well, hell reinstate the whole case: drug-related capital murder. If it means clobbering the Coast Guard, well, thats the price of justice. His words, not mine, Bright pointed out. Like many FBI agents, the agent was also a member of the bar. Going on my experience, not his, Id say its real gray, Dan. Davidoffs goodI mean, hes really good in front of a jurybut sos the defense guy, Stuart. The local DEA hates his guts, but hes an effective son of a bitch. The law is pretty muddled. Whatll the judge say? Depends on the judge. Whatll the jury saydepends on what the judge says and does. Its like putting a bet down on the next Super Bowl right now, before the season starts, and that doesnt even take into account whatll happen in the U.S. Court of Appeals after the trials over in District Court. Whatever happens, the Coasties are going to get raped. Too bad. No matter what, Davidoff is going to tear each of em a new asshole for getting him into this mess.

Warn em, Murray said. He told himself that it was an impulsive statement, but it wasnt. Murray believed in law, but he believed in justice more.

You want to repeat that, sir?

They gave us TARPON.

Mr. Murrayhe wasnt Dan nowI might have to arrest them. Davidoff just might set up a grand jury on this and Warn them. That is an order, Mr. Bright. I presume the local cops have a good attorney who represents them. Recommend that attorney to Captain Wegener and his men.

Bright hesitated before replying. Sir, what you just told me to do might be seen as Mark, Ive been in the Bureau a long time. Maybe too damned long, Murrays fatigueand some other thingssaid. But I wont stand by and watch these men get ambushed for doing something that helped us. Theyll have to take their chances with the lawbut by God, theyll have the same advantages that those fucking pirates have! We owe them that much. Log that one in as my order and carry it out.

Yes, sir. Murray could hear Bright thinking the rest of the answer: Damn!

On the case, anything else you need from our end that you need help with?

No, sir. The forensics are all in. From that side the case is tight as hell. DNA matches on both semen samples to the subjects, DNA blood matches to two of the victims. The wife was a blood donor, and we found a quart of her stuff in a Red Cross freezer; the other ones to the daughter. Davidoff might just bring this one off on that basis alone. The new DNA-match technology was rapidly becoming one of the Bureaus deadliest forensic weapons. Two California men whod thought themselves to have committed the perfect rape-murder were now contemplating the gas chamber due to the work of two Bureau biochemists and a relatively inexpensive laboratory test.

Anything else you need, you call me direct. This one is directly tied in with Emils murder, and Ive got all the horsepower I need.

Yes, sir. Sorry to bother you on a Sunday.

Right. It was one small thing to chuckle about as he hung up. Murray turned in his swivel chair to stare out the windows onto Pennsylvania Avenue. A pleasant Sunday afternoon, and people were walking up the street of presidents like pilgrims, stopping along the way to purchase ice-creams and T-shirts from vendors. Farther down the street, beyond the Capitol, in the areas that tourists were careful to avoid, there were other places that people entered, also like pilgrims, also stopping to buy things.

Fucking drugs, he observed quietly. Just how much more damage would they do?

The Deputy Director (Operations) was also in his office. Three signals from VARIABLE had come in within the space of two hours. Well, it was not entirely unexpected that the opposition would react. They were acting more rapidly and in a more organized wayit appearedthan he had expected, but it wasnt something that hed neglected to consider beforehand. The whole point of using the troops he was using, after all, was for their field skills . . . and their anonymity. Had he selected Green Berets from the John F. Kennedy Special Warfare Center at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, or Rangers from Fort Stewart, Georgia, or people from the new Special Operations Command at MacDillit would have been too many people from too small a community. That would have been noticed. But light-fighters had four nearly complete and widely separated divisions, over forty thousand men spread from New York to Hawaii, with the same field skills as soldiers in higher-profile units; and taking forty people out of forty thousand was a far more concealable exercise. Some would be lost. Hed known that going in and so, he was sure, did the soldiers themselves. They were assets, and assets sometimes get expended. That was harsh, but it was reality. If the infantrymen had wanted a safe life, they would not have chosen to be infantrymen, to have re-enlisted at least once each, and to volunteer for a job that was advertised as being potentially dangerous. These werent government clerks tossed into the jungle and told to fend for themselves. They were professional soldiers who knew what the score was.

At least, thats what Ritter told himself. But, his mind asked him, if you dont know what the score is, how can they?

The craziest part of all was that the operation was working out exactly as plannedin the field. Clarks brilliant idea, using a few disconnected violent acts to instigate a gang war within the Cartel, appeared to be happening. How else to explain the attempted ambush of Escobedo? He found himself glad that Cortez and his boss had escaped. Now there would be revenge and confusion and turmoil from which the Agency could step back and cover its tracks.

Who, us? the Agency would ask by way of answer to reporters questions, which would start the following day, Ritter was certain. He was, in fact, surprised that they hadnt started already. But the pieces of the puzzle were coming apart now instead of together. The Ranger battle group would sail back north, continuing its Fleet-Ex during the slow trip back to San Diego. The CIA representative was already off the ship and on his way home with the second and final tape cassette. The rest of the exercise bombs would be dropped at sea, targeted on discarded life-rafts as normal Drop-Exs. The fact that theyd never been officially released from the Navy weapons-testing base in California would never be noticed. If it were? Some paperwork screwupthey happened all the time. No, the only tricky part was with those troops in the field. He could have made immediate arrangements to lift them out. Better to leave them there for a few more days. There might be more work for them to do, and as long as they were careful, theyd be all right. The opposition would not be all that good.

So? Colonel Johns asked Zimmer.

Gotta change engines. This ones shot. The burner cans are all right, but the compressor failed big-time. Maybe the boys back home can rebuild it. No way we can fix it with what weve got here, sir.

How long?

Six hours, if we start now, Colonel.

Okay, Buck.

Theyd brought two spare engines, of course. The hangar that held the Pave Low III helicopter wasnt big enough for both it and the MC-130 which provided aerial tanking and spare parts, however, and Zimmer waved to another NCO to punch the button to open the door. They needed a special cart and hoist to handle the T-64 turboshaft engines in any case.

The hangar doors rolled on their metal tracks just as a roach wagon drove onto the flight line. Immediately men descended on the truck. It was a hot day at the Canal Zonea place where snow is something one sees on televisionand it was time for cold drinks. Everyone knew the truck driver, a Panamanian whod been doing this since God knew when and made a pretty good living at it.

He was also a serious airplane buff. From his own years of observations, plus casual conversations with the enlisted men who serviced them, hed acquired a familiarity with everything in the inventory of the United States Air Force, and would have been a useful intelligence asset had anyone bothered trying to recruit him. He would never have done anything to hurt them in any case. Though often overbearing, more than once hed had trouble with his truck and had it fixed on the spot for free by a green-clad mechanic, and around Christmaseveryone knew he had childrenthere would be presents for him and his sons. Hed even managed a few helicopter rides for them, showing them what the family house outside the base looked like. It was not every father who could do that for his children! The norteamericanos were not perfect, he knew, but they were fair and they were generous if you dealt with them honestly, since honesty wasnt something they expected from natives. That was all the more true now that they were having trouble with the pineapple-faced buffoon who was running his countrys government.

As he passed out his Cokes and munchies, he noticed that there was a Pave Low III in the hangar across the way, a large, formidable and in its peculiar way, a very beautiful helicopter. Well, that explained the Combat Talon transport/tanker, and the armed guards who kept him from taking his normal route. He knew much about both aircraft, and while he would never reveal what he knew of their capabilities, telling someone the simple fact that they were here, that was no crime, was it?

But next time, after the money was passed, hed be asked to take note of the times they came and went.

Theyd moved very rapidly for the first hour, then slowed to their normal slow, careful, and very alert pace. Even so, moving in daylight wasnt something they preferred to do. While the Ninja might well own the night, day was something for all, a far easier time to teach people to hunt than in the dark. While the soldiers still had practical advantages over anyone who might come hunting themeven other soldiersthose advantages were minimized by daytime operations. Like gamblers, the light-fighters preferred to use every card in the deck. Doing so, they consciously avoided what some sportsman might call a fair fight, but combat had stopped being a sport when a gladiator named Spartacus decided to kill on a free-agent basis, though it had taken the Romans a few more generations to catch on.

Everyone had his war paint on. They wore gloves despite the fact that it was warm. They knew that the nearest other SHOWBOAT team was fifteen klicks to the south, and anyone they saw was either an innocent or a hostile, not a friendly, and to soldiers trying to stay covert, innocent was rather a thin concept. They were to avoid contact with anything and anyone, and if contact were made, it would be an on-the-spot call.

The other rules were also different now. They didnt move in single file. Too many people following a single path made for tracks. Though Chavez was at point, with Oso twenty meters behind, the rest of the squad was advancing in line abreast, with frequent changes of direction, shifting almost like a football backfield, but over a much larger area. Soon theyd start looping their path, waiting to see if someone might be following. If so, that someone was in for a surprise. For the moment, the mission was to move to a preselected location and evaluate the opposition. And wait for orders.

The police lieutenant didnt often go to evening services at Grace Baptist Church, but he did this time. He was late, but the lieutenant had a reputation for being late, even though he customarily drove his unmarked radio car wherever he went. He parked on the periphery of the well-filled parking lot, walked in, and sat in the back, where he made sure his miserable singing would be noticed.

Fifteen minutes later, another plain-looking car stopped right next to his. A man got out with a tire iron, smashed the window on the right-side front door, and proceeded to remove the police radio, the shotgun clipped under the dashand the locked, evidence-filled attach case on the floor. In less than a minute he was back in his car and gone. The case would be found again only if the Patterson brothers didnt keep their word. Cops are honest folk.

The Games Begin THE MORNING ROUTINE was exactly the same despite the fact that Ryan had been away from it for a week. His driver awoke early and drove his own car to Langley, where he switched over to the official Buick and also picked up some papers for his passenger. These were in a metal case with a cipher lock and a self-destruct device. No one had ever tried to interfere with the car or its occupants, but that wasnt to say that it would never happen. The driver, one of the official CIA security detail, carried his own 9mm Beretta 92-F pistol, and there was an Uzi submachine gun under the dash. He had trained with the Secret Service and was an expert on protecting his principal, as he thought of the acting DDI. He also wished that the guy lived closer to D.C., or that he was entitled to mileage pay for all the driving he did. He drove around the inner loop of the Capital Beltway, then took the cloverleaf east on Maryland Route 50.

Jack Ryan rose at 6:15, an hour that seemed increasingly early as he marched toward forty, and followed the same kind of morning routine as most other working people, though his being married to a physician guaranteed that his breakfast was composed of healthy foods, as opposed to those he liked. What was wrong with grease, sugar, and preservatives, anyway?

By 6:55 he was finished with breakfast, dressed, and about halfway through his paper. It was Cathys job to get the children off to school. Jack kissed his daughter on his way to the door, but Jack Jr. thought himself too old for that baby stuff. The Agency Buick was just arriving, as regular and reliable as airlines and railroads tried to be.

Good morning, Dr. Ryan.

Good morning, Phil. Jack preferred to open his own doors, and slid into the right-rear seat. First he would finish his Washington Post, ending, as always, with the comics, and saving Gary Larson for last. If there was anything an Agency person needed it was his daily dose of The Far Side, far and away the most popular cartoon at Langley. It wasnt hard to understand why. By that time the car was back on Route 50, in the heavy Washington-bound traffic. Ryan worked the lock on the letter case. After opening it he used his Agency ID card to disarm the destruct device. The papers within were important, but anyone who attacked the car now would be more interested in him than in any written material, and no one at the Agency had illusions about Ryansor any other personsability to resist attempts to extract information. He now had forty minutes to catch up on developments that had taken place overnightin this case over the weekendso that hed be able to ask intelligent questions of the section chiefs and night watch officers whod brief him when he got in.

Reading the newspaper first always put a decent spin on the official CIA reports. Ryan had his doubts about journaliststheir analysis was often faultybut the fact of the matter was that they were in the same basic job as the Agency: information-gathering and -dissemination, and except for some very technical fieldswhich were, however, vitally important in matters like arms controltheir performance was often as good as and sometimes better than the trained government employees who reported to Langley. Of course, a good foreign correspondent was generally paid better than a GS-12-equivalent case officer, and talent often went where the money was. Besides, reporters were allowed to write books, too, and thats where you could make real money, as many Moscow correspondents had done over the years. All a security clearance really meant, Ryan had learned over the years, was sources. Even at his level in the Agency, he often had access to information little different in substance than any competent newspaper reported. The difference was that Jack knew the sources for that information, which was important in gauging its reliability. It was a subtle but often crucial difference.

The briefing folders began with the Soviet Union. All sorts of interesting things were happening there, but still no one knew what it meant or where it was leading. Fine. Ryan and CIA had been reporting that analysis for longer than he cared to remember. People expected better. Like that Elliot woman, Jack thought, who hated the Agency for what it didactually, for things it never did anymorebut conversely expected it to know everything. When would they wake up and realize that predicting the future was no easier for intelligence analysts than for a good sportswriter to determine whod be playing in the Series? Even after the All-Star break, the American League East had three teams within a few percentage points of the lead. That was a question for bookmakers. It was a pity, Ryan grunted to himself, that Vegas didnt set up a betting line on the Soviet Politburo membership, or glasnost, or how the nationalities question was going to turn out. It would have given him some guidance. By the time they got to the beltway, he was reading through reports from Latin and South America. Sure enough, some drug lord named Fuentes had gotten himself blown up by a bomb.

Well, isnt that too bad? was Jacks initial observation. He was thinking abstractly, but came down to earth. No, it wasnt all that bad that he was dead. It was very worrisome that hed been killed by an American aircraft bomb. That was the sort of thing that Beth Elliot hated CIA for, Jack reminded himself. All that judge-jury-and-executioner stuff. It had nothing to do with right or wrong. The question, to her, was political expediency and maybe aesthetics. Politicians are more concerned with issues than principles, but talked as though the two nouns had the same meaning.

Jesus, youre really into Monday-morning cynicism, arent you?

How the hell did Robby Jackson tumble to this? Who set up the operation? What will happen if the word really does get out?

Better yet: Am I supposed to care about that? If yes, why? If not, why not?

Its political, Jack. How do politics enter into your job? Are politics even supposed to enter into your job?

As with many things, this would have been a superb topic for a philosophical discussion, something for which Ryans Jesuit education had both prepared him and given him a taste. But the case at hand wasnt an abstract examination of principles and hypotheticals. He was supposed to have answers. What if a member of the Select Committee asked him a question that he had to answer? That could happen at any time. He could defer such a question only for as long as it took to drive from Langley to The Hill.

And if Ryan lied, hed go to jail. That was the downside of his promotion.

For that matter, if he honestly said that he didnt know, he might not be believed, probably not by the committee members, maybe not by a jury. Even honesty might not be real protection. Wasnt that a fun thought?

Jack looked out the window as they passed the Mormon temple, just outside the beltway near Connecticut Avenue. A decidedly odd-looking building, it had grandeur with its marble columns and gilt spires. The beliefs represented by that impressive structure seemed curious to Ryan, a lifelong Catholic, but the people who held them were honest and hardworking, and fiercely loyal to their country, because they believed in what America stood for. And that was what it all came down to, wasnt it? Either you stand for something, or you dont, Ryan told himself. Any jackass could be against things, like a petulant child claiming to hate an untasted vegetable. You could tell what these people stood for. The Mormons tithed their income, which allowed their church to construct this monument to faith, just as medieval peasants had taken from their need to build the cathedrals of their age, for precisely the same purpose. The peasants were forgotten by all but the God in Whom they believed. The cathedralstestimony to those beliefsremained in their glory, still used for their intended purpose. Who remembered the political issues of that age? The nobles and their castles had crumbled away, the royal bloodlines had mostly ended, and all that age had left behind were memorials to faith, belief in something more important than mans corporeal existence, expressed in stonework crafted by the hands of men. What better proof could there be of what really mattered? Jack knew he wasnt the first to wonder at the fact, not by a very long shot indeed, but it wasnt often that anyone perceived Truth so clearly as Ryan did on this Monday morning. It made expediency seem a shallow, ephemeral, and ultimately useless commodity. He still had to figure out what he would do, and knew that his action would possibly be decided by others, but he knew what sort of guide, what sort of measure he would use to determine his action. That was enough for now, he told himself.

The car pulled through the gate fifteen minutes later, then around the front of the building and into the garage. Ryan tucked all of his material back into the case and took the elevator to the seventh floor. Nancy already had his coffee machine perking as he walked in. His people would arrive in five minutes to complete his morning brief. Ryan had a few more moments for thought.

What had been enough on the beltway faded in the confines of his office. Now he had to do something, and while his guide would be principle, his actions would be tactically drawn. And Jack didnt have a clue.

His department chiefs arrived on schedule and began their briefings. They found the acting DDI curiously withdrawn and quiet this morning. Normally he asked questions and had a humorous remark or two. This time he nodded and grunted, hardly saying anything. Maybe hed had a tough weekend.

For others, Monday morning meant going to court, seeing lawyers, and facing juries. Since the defendant in a criminal trial had the right to put his best face before a jury, it was shower time for the residents of the Mobile jail.

As with all aspects of prison life, security was the foremost consideration. The cell doors were opened, and the prisoners, wearing towels and sandals, trooped toward the end of the corridor under the watchful eyes of three experienced guards. The morning banter among the prisoners was normal: grumbling, jokes, and the odd curse. On their own or during their exercise or eating periods, the prisoners tended to form racially polarized groups, but jail policy forbade such segregation in the blocksthe guards knew it merely guaranteed violence, but the judges whod made the rules were guided by principle, not reality. Besides, if somebody got killed, it was the guards fault, wasnt it? The guards were the most cynical of all law-enforcement people, shunned by street cops as mere custodians, hated by the inmates, and not terribly well regarded by the community. It was hard for them to care greatly about their jobs, and their foremost concern was personal survival. The danger involved in working here was very real. The death of an inmate was no small matter to be surea serious criminal investigation was conducted both by the guards and the police, or in some cases, federal officersbut the life of a criminal was a smaller concern than the life of a guardto the guards themselves.

For all that, they did their best. They were mostly experienced men and they knew what to look for. The same was true of the inmates, of course, and what went on here was no different in principle from what happened on a battlefield or in the shadow wars between intelligence agencies. Tactics evolved as measures and countermeasures changed over time. Some prisoners were craftier than others. Some were goddamned geniuses. Others, especially the young, were frightened, meek people whose only objective was exactly the same as the guards: personal survival in a dangerous environment. Each class of prisoner required a slightly different form of scrutiny, and the demands on the guards were severe. It was inevitable that some mistakes would be made.

Towels were hung on numbered hooks. Each prisoner had his own personal bar of soap, and a guard watched them parade naked into the shower enclosure, which had twenty shower heads. He made sure that no weapons were visible. But he was a young guard, and hed not yet learned that a really determined man always has one place in which he can hide something.

Henry and Harvey Patterson picked neighboring shower heads directly across from the pirates, who had foolishly selected places that could not be seen from the guards position at the door. The brothers traded a happy look. The bastards might be king shit, but they werent real swift in the head. Neither brother was particularly comfortable at the moment. The electricians tape on the three-quarter-inch wood dowels was smooth, but had edges, and walking to the shower in a normal manner had required all their determination. It hurt. The hot water started all at once, and the enclosure started filling up with steam. The Patterson brothers applied their soap bars in the obvious place to facilitate getting their shanks, part of which were visible to a careful onlooker in any case, but they knew that the guard was new. Harvey nodded to a couple of people at the end of the enclosure. The act began with rather an uninspired bit of extemporaneous dialogue.

Give me my fuckin soap back, motherfucker!

Yo momma, the other replied casually. Hed thought about his line.

A blow was delivered, and returned.

Knock it the fuck offget the fuck out here! the guard shouted. Thats when two more people entered the fray, one knowing why, the other a young first-timer who only knew that he was scared and fighting back to protect himself. The chain reaction expanded almost at once to include the entire shower area. Outside, the guard backed off, calling for help.

Henry and Harvey turned, their shanks concealed in their hands. Ramn and Jesus were watching the fighting, looking the wrong way, fairly certain that theyd stay out of it; not knowing that it had been staged.

Harvey took Jesus, and Henry took Ramn.

Jesus never saw it coming, just a brown shape approaching him like a shadow and a punch in the chest, followed by another. He looked down to see blood spouting from a hole that went all the way into his heartwith each beat the holes tore further openthen a brown hand struck again, and a third red arc of blood joined the first two. He panicked, trying to hold his hand over the wounds to stop the bleeding, not knowing that most of the blood went into the pericardial sac, where it was already causing his death by congestive heart failure. He fell back against the wall and slid to the floor. Jesus died without knowing why.

Henry, who knew that he was the smart one, went for a faster kill. Ramn only made it easier, seeing the danger coming and turning away. Henry drove him against the tiled wall and smashed his shank into the side of the mans head, at the temple, where he knew the bone was eggshell-thin. Once in, he wiggled it left-right, up-down twice. Ramn wriggled like a caught fish for a few seconds, then went limp as a rag doll.

Each Patterson put his weapon in the hand of his brothers victimthey didnt have to worry about fingerprints in the showerpushed the two bodies together, and stepped back to their own shower streams, where both washed down vigorously and cooperatively to remove any blood that might have splattered on them. By this time things had quieted down. The two men whod disagreed over ownership of a bar of Dial had shaken hands, apologized to the guard, and were completing their morning ablutions. The steam continued to cloud the enclosure, and the Pattersons continued their thorough washdown. Cleanliness was especially next to godliness where evidence was concerned. After five minutes the water stopped and the men trooped out.

The guard did his countif there is anything a jail guard knows how to do, it is countand came up two short while the other eighteen started drying off and playing grab-ass in the way of prisoners in an all-male environment. He stuck his head into the shower, ready to shout something in high-school Spanish, but saw at the bottom of the steam cloud what looked like a body.

Oh, fuck! He turned and screamed for the other guards to return. Nobody fucking move! he screamed at the prisoners.

Whats the problem? an anonymous voice asked.

Hey, man, I gotta be in court in an hour, another pointed out.

The Patterson brothers dried themselves off, put their sandals back on, and stood quietly. Other conspirators might have exchanged a satisfied lookthey had just committed a perfect double murder with a cop standing fifteen feet awaybut the twins didnt need to. Each knew exactly what the other was thinking: Freedom. Theyd just dodged one murder by doing two more. They knew that the cops would play ball. That lieutenant was a righteous cop, and righteous cops kept their word.

Word of the pirates deaths spread with speed that would have done any news organization proud. The lieutenant was sitting at his desk filling out an incident report when it reached him. He nodded at the news and went back to the embarrassing task of explaining how his personal police radio car had been violated, and an expensive radio, his briefcase, and, worst of all, a shotgun removed. That last item required all kinds of paperwork.

Maybe thats Gods way of telling you to stay home and watch TV, another lieutenant observed.

You agnostic bastard, you know I finally decided tooh, shit!

Problem?

The Patterson Case. I had all the bullets in my briefcase, forgot to take them out. Theyre gone. Duane, the bullets are gone! The examiners notes, the photos, everything!

The DAs gonna love you, boy. You just put the Patterson boys back on the street.

It was worth it, the police lieutenant didnt say.

At his office four blocks away, Stuart took the call and breathed a sigh of relief. He ought to have been ashamed, of course, and knew it, but this time he just couldnt bring himself to mourn for his clients. For the system that had failed them, yes, but not for their lives, which had manifestly benefited no one. Besides, hed gotten his fee paid up-front, as any smart attorney did with druggies.

Fifteen minutes later, the U.S. Attorney had a statement out saying that he was outraged that federal prisoners had died in such a way, and that their deaths would be investigated by the appropriate federal authorities. He added that hed hoped to arrange their deaths within the law, but death under law was a far different thing from death at the unknown hand of a murderer. All in all, it was an excellent statement which would make the noon and evening news broadcasts, which delighted Edward Davidoff even more than the deaths. Losing that case might have ended his chance for a Senate seat. Now people would say that justice had in fact been done, and theyd associate his statement and his face with it. It was almost as good as a conviction.

The Pattersons lawyer was in the room, of course. They never spoke to a police officer without their attorney presentor so he thought, anyway.

Hey, Harvey said. Nobody fuck with me, I dont fuck with nobody. I heard a scuffle, like. That was it, man. You hear something like that in a place like this, smart move is you dont even look, yknow? You be better off not knowin.

It would appear that my clients have nothing to contribute to your investigation, the lawyer told the detectives. Is it possible that the two men killed each other?

We dont know. We are just interviewing those who were present when it happened.

I understand, then, that you do not contemplate charging my clients with anything having to do with this regrettable incident?

Not at this time, counselor, the senior detective said.

Very well, I want that on the record. Also, for the record, my clients have no knowledge that is pertinent to your investigation. Finally, and this, too, is for the record, you will not question my clients except in my presence.

Yes, sir.

Thank you. Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to confer with my clients in private.

That conference lasted for about fifteen minutes, after which the attorney knew what had taken place. Which is to say that he didnt know in the metaphysical or legal sense, or in any way that had anything to do with legal ethicsbut he knew. Under the Canons of Ethics, of course, he could not act on his speculation without betraying his oath as an officer of the court. And so he did what he could do. He filed a new discovery motion on his clients murder case. By the end of the day he would have added proof of what he did not know.

Good morning, Judge, Ryan said.

Morning, Jack. Thisll have to be fast. Im going out of town in a few minutes.

Sir, if somebody asks me what the hells going on in Colombia, what do I tell em?

We have kept you out of this one, havent we? Moore said.

Yes, sir, you have.

I have orders to do that. You can guess where the orders come from. What I can tell you is, the Agency hasnt blown anybody up, okay? We do have an op running down there, but we havent planted any car bombs.

Thats good to know, Judge. I really didnt think that we were in the car-bomb business, Ryan said as casually as he could. Oh, shit! The Judge, too? So, if I get a call from The Hill, I tell them that, right?

Moore smiled as he rose. Youre going to have to get used to dealing with them, Jack. Its not easy, and its often not fun, but I think youll find that they do businessbetter than Fowler and his people do, from what I heard this morning.

It could have gone better, sir, Ryan admitted. I understand the Admiral handled the last one. I suppose I ought to have spoken more with him before I flew out.