I looked her in the eye, focusing beyond the tears. 'I don't know what he's told you, but I'm not really in that line of work any more.'

She smiled knowingly as one dropped on to Chloe's hat. 'Oh, c'mon, Jerry's told me a million times about the man who saved his life in Bosnia, and I'm pretty sure advertising isn't the business he's just got out of.'

'I don't do that other stuff any more.'

'I'll beg if you want me to...'

I lifted a hand.

She touched my arm. 'I'm sorry, Nick. Unfair of me, I know. But I'm going out of my mind here. When you turned up today I thought, well, maybe...'

She stroked Chloe's head as her eyes searched mine. 'I believe him: this will be the last job. But I want him back safely.'

19.I went through the underground shopping arcade at the Crystal City Metro and came out the other side. Dead ahead were the five tall grey concrete apartment blocks that I still called home. They were so drab they wouldn't have looked out of place in a Sarajevo suburb, which probably explained why the concierge of my block was Bosnian.

Jerry's offer had stirred up all kinds of stuff, and my head was like a washing-machine with a full load on. You usually regret more the things you don't do than those you do. Maybe this was one of those times. But then again, it could be a total gang f.u.c.k. I knew the best thing to do. Go shopping for the bike, pack and f.u.c.k off south. At least there'd be some sun.

I got into the lift. But it would be great to do some work again, wouldn't it? After all, I'd just be holding a photographer's hand as we drove to this ayatollah's hotel.

Back in the apartment, I put some bread in the toaster, cut up a bit of Cracker Barrel, and made myself a big mug of tea. There'd be no harm in running a few basic checks on Jerry in case I met up with him again. I only knew what he'd told me, and words have always been cheap. I checked Baby-G 15:14: nearly time for the afternoon talk shows but, just for a change, I was beginning to feel I had something better to do.

I got online as I shoved the first slice of toasted cheese into my mouth, and kicked off with a Google search on 'Jeral al-Hadi'. There were 418 results. Adding a photograph to the search brought it down to 202. The first few seemed to back up what he'd told me about his life since we last met. I'd go back to them if all else failed, but for now it was enough to know that Jerry's career curve had taken an impressively vertical trajectory since Bosnia days. His work had appeared in Time Time and and Newsweek Newsweek, and he'd just missed the Pulitzer short list in 2001 for his photo reports from Ground Zero.

I took a swig of my brew. It was a pity I couldn't be doing this officially, using Hot Black's facilities. I could have logged straight on to Intelink and got a shedload of background much more quickly. All the same, it's scary what anyone can come up with after just an hour or three on the net.

I did a new Google search, this time for 'people finder + USA'. What I wanted was a company that ran checks on social-security numbers, past addresses, even the names and telephone numbers of neighbours, in any of the fifty states. The first link I clicked looked perfect. On their home page, I entered Jerry's name and state, and immediately got a list of addresses, probably everywhere he'd lived over the last ten years. It even gave his age, thirty-three. I clicked the link against the most recent address, in Buffalo, and it gave a phone number. I wasn't surprised not to find the DC address at the top: they'd only just moved, and the database hadn't caught up.

So far so good, but there was a lot more I could find out. So why not? Various services were on offer, from basic background at $39.95, to due diligence with criminal search at $295. The more comprehensive the search, the longer it took. I checked the delivery times and signed up for the best I could get: the $59.95 advanced background search sounded good to me. It promised everything from aliases and bankruptcy proceedings, to boat ownership and criminal records. Everything, in fact, apart from his shoe size.

I keyed in my credit-card number and details, chose a user name and pa.s.sword, and was told to check my email box in two hours. I then forked out an extra $19.95 for the marital-records service, suggesting they started with Buffalo.

I then ran a name check for Renee al-Hadi but drew a blank. Some states had direct online marriage databases. They all got the al-Hadi question as I waited for the paid information to come through, including Nevada. But they hadn't run away to Las Vegas and got married by a Sikh Elvis impersonator at a drive-thru house of love. Shame, it sounded like fun. I'd just have to wait for the New York state records to come through, and take it from there.

I logged on to anybirthday.com and entered Chloe al-Hadi. There was only one, and it gave her date of birth as 9 May 2003.

If I could, I wanted to find something linking Jerry to the DC address. Telephone databases were most likely to be up to date; I went to any-who.com and keyed in the number on his card. Sure enough, the reverse number lookup gave me the new apartment.

Next Google search was for 'dating + background check'. I got another search company, this time one that helped run checks on prospective dates, maybe people you'd met through the internet. It looked like it was just as healthy to be paranoid in the dating game as it was in my ex-line of work. I wanted to cover all the angles, and if the results didn't correlate, I'd need to know the reason why.

I now had nothing to do but wait while they did their stuff and got back to me. I went into the kitchen and got more tea and toasted cheese under way. This was basic stuff I was doing, at the very bottom of the intelligence food chain, but it felt good to be doing something familiar at last. It beat going the best of three falls with my psyche in Ezra's office, or watching others do the same thing on Gerald Rivera Gerald Rivera, that was for sure.

It was only when I smelled the cheese burning that I started to wonder what the f.u.c.k I was doing. It wasn't as if I was going with him, was it? Was I just checking him out because I simply didn't trust anyone any more?

20.With a mug of fresh monkey tea in front of me, I went back online. Google took me to a site called cla.s.smates.com. I registered as Donald Duck and tried the same for a Hotmail address. But it seemed a million and one others had had the idea first, so I made up some other s.h.i.t and gained instant free access to the site. There seemed to be thirty-three schools in Lackawanna, from Baker Victory High to Wison Elementary. Guessing Jerry's date of birth as 1971, I went through them all systematically, searching from kindergartens in 1975 to high schools in 1990.

Within twenty minutes, I had a positive hit. Jeral al-Hadi had attended Victory Academy, and the school site gave a list of twenty-three cla.s.smates, complete with email addresses. They all wanted to get together and show their new baby photos and tell everyone how successful they were. If necessary, I could either email them or go back to anywho for their phone numbers.

Next, I dipped into the s.e.x-offenders register for New York and neighbouring states, an online service to comply with 'Megan's Law'. Jerry had a clean sheet. Did his story about moving quite recently to DC stack up? And when exactly had he moved? Why did this all matter anyway? I knew the answer, of course, but was trying to avoid it, hoping I'd find something that would make me not want to go with him.

I sat and thought a bit. I was sure I'd seen a VCR in the apartment. I went to infos.p.a.ce.com and hit the link called 'near an address'. I keyed in 'video store', then Jerry's address. Video Stock was the nearest video rental place, just 0.2 miles away. I went back to Google and entered 'Video Stock + DC'. There were twenty-four branches. I picked up the phone and dialled the one that looked furthest away.

A young guy answered. 'Video Stock, this is Phil, how may I help you?'

I gave him my best-mate voice. 'Yeah, hi, Phil listen, somebody in your store was really helpful to me a few days ago. Fantastic service. Tallish guy, brown hair?'

'There's a lot of us here.'

'Well, you know, I want to write to the manager about it. Doesn't happen very much, these days, that kind of service. What's the manager's name?'

'Mike Mills.'

'That's great. Listen, I might write to your headquarters too. What's your store number?'

'One thirty-six.'

'That's great. And you're Phil, right?'

'Right.'

'OK, thanks, Phil, you've been a real help. You take care now.'

I put the phone down and dialled again, this time to the store near Jerry.

'Video Stock, this is Steffi, how can I help you?'

'Hi, Steffi, this is Mike Mills. I'm the manager at Renton, store one thirty-six. Listen, I could use your help. Our computers are down and we have one of your customers here who wants to rent but he doesn't have his card with him. Could you just verify his details for me?'

'Sure. Go right ahead.'

I gave her Jerry's name and address, and Steffi checked her computer. 'Yeah, I got him.' Then, without me even asking, she gave me his account number.

'No problems with him? No late returns?'

'No.'

'When did he open the account?'

'September.'

'This September just gone?'

'Yep.'

While I was on a roll, I thought I might as well push my luck. 'OK, I'll sign him up by hand here and enter it in the database when the computer's back up. He wants to charge this to the card he uses at your store hey, yeah, one moment, folks sorry, Steffi, I'm holding up a whole line of customers here. Read me the credit-card number and expiration date?'

And she did. The weakest link in any security chain is always a human being.

It might not be so easy coming by the next piece of information. I wanted to check that Jerry owned the Jeep, but I didn't know the registration: all I knew was that the Cherokee had looked about three years old. I couldn't just phone the Department of Motor Vehicles and ask. At least, not directly.

I went to docusearch.com and akiba.com, but a plate check would take one business day. I went to the DMV site for Washington DC, and checked their criteria for releasing information. They protected the privacy of individuals by closely adhering to the Driver's Privacy Protection Act. Therefore, they would release driver's records only to the following requesters: driver, with proof of ident.i.ty; driver's representative (for example, a spouse), with written authorization from the driver and a copy of the driver's proof of identification, bearing a discernible signature; law-enforcement representatives, with doc.u.mentation showing driver's involvement in an investigation; government ent.i.ties, as part of an established activity requiring records (for example, security clearances, investigations, and recruitment); attorneys, with written authorization from their client to obtain records; individuals or ent.i.ties requesting information through the Freedom of Information Act; or insurance company representatives, with written authorization from the driver as part of an established investigation. That last one would do. The only problem was, requesters had to produce the client's name, date of birth, and driver's licence or social-security number and they had to produce it in person.

When people don't have a reason to be suspicious, it's easy to gain their trust. Next thing I did, therefore, was a Google search for Chrysler and made a note of the head-office telephone number and address, and the same details for dealers in Buffalo and DC. I then did another to get the number for the Motor Vehicles Department in DC. After a five-minute wait during which I was told I was a valued customer, my call was important to them and I was moving up the queue I finally got through to a human.

'Hi, I'm calling from Kane Doyle, Chrysler dealership in Buffalo, New York. We got a vehicle recall problem with some 2001 Jeep Cherokees, and I have an ownership issue I hope you can help me with. See, we have a customer just moved from Buffalo to DC and I'm trying to work out if the recall is our responsibility or DC's. I'll give you his address, if you could just verify ownership?'

'I need some sort of-'

'No problem, I'll give you the number here, Kane Doyle, Delaware Avenue, and you can call us back?'

'No, that's OK, I guess. What're the details?' Nothing like the threat of extra workload to get a civil servant to change his mind.

I gave him Jerry's name and address. He hit a few keys. 'Yeah, Jeep Cherokee.'

'Year of registration?'

'2001.'

'That's right. Tell me, is he still on Buffalo plates, or has he reregistered for DC? If he's switched plates I'll get the DC guys to deal with it.'

'Still on Buffalo plates.'

'Ah, well, guess it's my baby, then. Look, thanks for your help.'

It was that simple. Jerry's car checked out.

I sat back and took a long gulp of monkey. The next part of the session was going to be very interesting and quite a lot dirtier.

21.Seven twenty. It would be dark soon. For once it was going to be an advantage that I hadn't done any washing in ages.

I picked my keys and cell off the kitchen worktop. As I turned towards the window and caught sight of his office on the other side of the Potomac, I thought about Ezra.

I thumbed in his voicemail, my very own 911 number he'd given me in case I needed some emergency shrinkage. I couldn't be a.r.s.ed to go into the living room for the landline, and that, I thought, was a good sign of normality returning. If I'd still been his patient, he would have been proud of me.

Still looking out over the river, I pictured him doing the business with yet another in the long line of George's fruits, going through the same f.u.c.king pantomime. 'We must have complete trust between us. Blah-blah-f.u.c.king-blah.'

The voicemail gave me about a hundred options before I could talk. 'It's Nick. You probably know this already George will explain if you don't but I won't be coming any more. You're right about the suicide thing. I won't be taking the pills and jumping off the bridge, so no need to worry. And thanks, I suppose.'

I wasn't too sure how that felt but, f.u.c.k it, no more Ezra.

Thirty minutes later I was on the Metro, heading back to Chevy Chase. In a carrier-bag I had a pair of washing-up gloves and a torch.

The road was just as busy when I got out as it had been when Jerry waved me off, but now it was dark. The street-lights glinted on the slowly moving traffic. Washington's worker-bees had their heads down determinedly as they made their way home. Most of them just wanted to close the front door, get the telly on and throw something into the microwave. It was etched in their faces.

Jerry's apartment block was easy to find. Just before I got to it I took a turning to the left that brought me round the back, into their communal garden. I sat on a bench as if I belonged there, a resident taking some air before the microwave went ping. I looked along the line of windows on the first floor. Two had no blinds or curtains, very bright white walls and a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. I could even see Chloe's mobile turning just above the window-ledge.

The door into the hallway was open. There was no movement. I minced round the rear of the building and found the unlit admin area, where the entire apartment block's garbage was stored in big dumpsters, awaiting collection.

I put on the rubber gloves and switched on the torch. It had been years since I'd done any dumpster diving. I always got out of one of these things smelling like s.h.i.t, sometimes real s.h.i.t, but it was worth it for what you could learn about a target if you were prepared to delve among the banana peel, coffee grounds and the odd dead cat in a bin-liner. Most people don't give much thought to the letters, phone bills, credit-card statements, medical prescription bottles and even workplace memos they discard.

The first thing I looked for was some cardboard boxes. I pulled them out and set them aside. If anyone challenged me, I'd say that a friend was moving and I was just looking for boxes to help him pack. If they persisted, I'd come clean and say I'd thrown my wedding ring in the trash in the heat of the moment, but now I'd patched things up and wanted it back before my wife found out. With luck, they'd even help me look.

People like me weren't the only ones with their heads in trash cans. Police departments around the country routinely trawled through garbage, and every kind of criminal from Mafia dons to petty embezzlers had had their convictions based, at least in part, on evidence gathered from their rubbish. Intelligence agencies had been doing it for years. After the Iranian revolution in '79, the new government had bands of students gluing together all the doc.u.ments shredded by the previous lot. It took them four years.

I did a quick sift first, checking all see-through bags for disposable nappies or other baby items. Then I moved to black plastic ones, opening them one by one. An hour later, I found a bag that had come from Jerry and Renee's apartment. There was a letter from a clinic, saying that the whole family were now registered, and their medical cards were enclosed.

I went back to the bench with wet milk stains and onion skin on my knees. Still no obvious movement in the apartment. It was nine thirty. I got my cell out, and Jerry's card.

At that moment, they both appeared at the window. Renee leaned forward and smiled, presumably checking the carrycot. When she turned to Jerry, the smile evaporated. They seemed to be in mid-argument. Maybe Renee had told Jerry about our meeting. I hit the cell keys.

Three rings and Renee picked up.

'Hi, it's Nick. Is Jerry there?'

She looked taken aback. 'I'll put him on.'

She handed him the phone.

'Hey...' It was his happy voice.

'Listen, I just want to say it was really great seeing you and the family today. I will think about the trip, OK?'

'That's great news. I'll meet you in London?'

'Hold up, I haven't said I'm going yet. I'll give you a call in the morning. I've got one or two things to sort out.'

'No problem. I'll be in all tomorrow. I'll wait by the phone. Good things, Nick, these are good things.'

'One question.'

'Sure, Nick, anything.'

'How are you so sure your man's in Baghdad? How do you know what he's up to?'

There was the smallest hesitation. 'It's like, I have a friend, a source, I guess. He's on one of the nationals. I can't give you his name... If anyone knew... You know how it is. But he is very definitely on our team, Nick. He'll try to help us once we get there.'

'Fair one. Later.' I closed the phone down but kept my eyes on the flat. He was smiling, and so, soon, was Renee. They kissed and hugged.

Jerry went over and picked up Chloe, held her in the air and flew her about. Then he brought her down towards his face and blew on her stomach, just like I used to do to Kelly when she was little.

I sat there for a while, just watching them do family stuff, and then I went back to what I laughingly called home to learn more about my new employer.

22.Hot water splashed over my body, and I lathered myself from head to foot for the first time in weeks. Judging by the colour of the stuff that was filling the shower cubicle, it was a wonder I'd been let on the Metro. Ezra deserved a medal for making it through a whole session without reaching for the smelling-salts.

With yet another mug of monkey at my elbow, I sat at the PC with a towel round me, hair drying, face freshly shaven.

The Deep Web is a vast store of searchable databases that are publicly accessible, but for technical reasons not indexed by major search engines. Google or Lycos can tell you what the page might be about, but cannot access the content.

When I was shown how to access the Deep Web, the instructor told me searching on the internet was a bit like dragging a net across the surface of an ocean. A great deal may be caught in it, but there are still whole trenchloads of information lurking deep on the ocean floor.