Decker had rented a car, a Fiat. In the parking area, McKittrick watched him scan the vehicle to make sure that no eavesdropping devices had been planted while Decker was in the airport. Only after McKittrick was inside the Fiat and Decker was driving through a gloomy drizzle toward the city did the great man finally speak.

"Where's my son?"

"At a hotel," Decker said. "He used the pa.s.sport for his alternate ident.i.ty. After what happened ... I a.s.sume you were told en route?"

"About the explosion?" McKittrick nodded somberly.

Decker stared ahead past the flapping windshield wipers. "After the explosion, I didn't think it was safe for your son to stay at his apartment. The terrorists know where he lives."

"You suspect they might attack him?"

"No." Decker glanced at numerous headlights in his rear-view mirror. In the dark and the rain, it was difficult to determine if he was being followed. "But I have to a.s.sume they'll release information and evidence about him to the police'. I take for granted that was the point-to connect an American intelligence operative to a terrorist attack against Americans."

McKittrick's expression hardened.

"As soon as I've a.s.sured myself that we're not being followed, I'll drive you to him," Decker said.

"You seem to have thought of everything."

"I'm doing my best."

"So, have you thought about who's going to be blamed for this?" McKittrick asked.

"Excuse me?"

Rain pattered on the car's roof.

"You, for instance?" McKittrick asked.

"There is no way I am going to take the blame for-"

"Then think of someone else. Because if there is one thing you can be confident of, it is that my son is not going to take the blame."

12.

The modest hotel was on a modest street-nothing about it attracted attention. After nodding to the night porter and showing one of the hotels keys to prove he belonged there, Decker escorted McKittrick across the small lobby, past the elevator, up carpeted stairs. The son's room was only a few floors above them, and whenever possible, Decker avoided the potential trap of elevators.

McKittrick seemed to take the precaution for granted. Even carrying his suitcase, the tall elderly man displayed no sign of exertion.

They came to room 312. Decker knocked four times, a code to let McKittrick's son know who was coming in, then used his key to unlock the door. The room's darkness made him frown. He flicked a light switch and frowned more severely when he saw that the bed had not been slept in. "s.h.i.t."

"Where is he?" McKittrick demanded.

Knowing that the effort was futile, Decker peered into the bathroom and the sitting room. "Your son has a bad habit of not following orders. This is twice today that he didn't stay put when I told him to."

"He must have had an excellent reason."

"That would be a change. He left his suitcase. Presumably that means he's planning to come back." Decker noticed an envelope on the bedside table. "Here. This is addressed to you."

McKittrick looked uneasy. "You told him I was coming?"

"Of course. Why? What's the matter?"

"Perhaps that wasn't the wisest thing."

"What was wrong with telling him that his father was coming?"

But McKittrick had already opened the note. His aged eyes narrowed. Otherwise, he showed no reaction to what he was reading.

At last, he lowered the note and exhaled.

"So?" Decker asked.

McKittrick didn't answer.

"What is it?"

McKittrick still didn't answer.

"Tell me."

"I'm not certain." McKittrick sounded hoa.r.s.e. "Perhaps it's a suicide note."

"Suicide? What the-" Decker took the note from him. It was handwritten, its salutation giving Decker an image of an Ivy-Leaguer who had never grown up.

Pops- I guess I screwed up again. Sorry. I seem to say that a lot, don't I? Sorry. I want you to know that this time I really tried. Honestly, I thought I had it all figured out. The bases covered. The game in the bag. Talk about being wrong, huh?

I don't know which is worse-embarra.s.sing you or not becoming you. But I swear to you, this time I won't run away from my mistake. The responsibility is mine. And the punishment. When I've done what needs to be done, you won't be ashamed of me any longer.

Bry McKittrick cleared his throat as if he was having difficulty speaking. "That was my nickname for Brian. Bry."

Decker reread the note. " 'The responsibility is mine. And the punishment.' What's he saying?"

"I'm very much afraid that he intends to kill himself," McKittrick said.

"And that's going to stop you from being ashamed of him? You think that's what his last sentence means?" Decker shook his head. "Suicide might wipe out his shame, but it wouldn't stop yours. Your son isn't talking about killing himself. That wouldn't be dramatic enough."

"I don't know what you're ..."

"He's a grandstander. 'I won't run away from my mistake. The responsibility is mine. And the punishment.' He's not talking about suicide. He's talking about getting even. He's going after them."

13.

As Decker swerved the rented Fiat onto the side street off Via dei Condotti, his headlights pierced the persistent rain, revealing two police cars, their roof lights flashing. Two policemen in rain slickers stood in the illuminated entrance to an apartment building, talking to several distressed-looking people in the vestibule, all of whom wore pajamas or bathrobes. Lights were on in many windows.

"d.a.m.n it, I hoped I'd be wrong."

"What is this place?" McKittrick asked.

"I followed your son and a woman here on Friday," Decker said. "Her first name's Renata. I wasn't given her last. Probably an alias. She's the leader of the group your son recruited, which means she's the leader of the group that blew up the Tiber Club. In other words, the terrorists."

"That's an a.s.sumption. You can't be certain that the two groups are the same," McKittrick said.

"Your son keeps using a phrase I'd say you're in-extreme denial."

Decker slowed, easing past the police cars on the narrow street. As tires splashed through puddles, the policemen looked toward the Fiat, then resumed talking to the people in the vestibule.

"And you can't be certain that those policemen have anything to do with Brian," McKittrick said.

"You know as well as I do-we can't accept coincidence. If I were Brian, this is the logical place that I'd go first. To try to get even with the woman who betrayed him. There's one way to find out. You want me to stop so you can go back and talk to the police?"

"Lord no. Keep driving. Because I'm an American, they'd want to know why I was interested. They'd ask so many questions, I'd be forced to show my credentials."

"Right. And if Brian can be linked to whatever happened at that apartment building, you'd be linked to him and to what happened at the Tiber Club, a.s.suming the terrorists sent the police evidence about his involvement in the explosion. Wouldn't that be a pretty mess?"

"Do you suppose Brian found the woman?" McKittrick's voice deepened with concern.

"I doubt it. There wasn't an ambulance." Decker sped onto another street.

"You're worried that he was furious enough to have killed her?"

"No. What worries me is the reverse."

"I don't understand."

"Her killing him," Decker said. "Your son's out of his depth. What's worse, he isn't humble enough to know it. These people are expert killers. They don't just do their work well. They love it. It gave them a kick to toy with Brian, but if they ever thought he was a serious threat, he'd be dead in an instant. There might not be enough of him left to send home for a funeral."

McKittrick sat tensely straighten "How can we stop him?"

Decker stared toward the rain past the flapping windshield wipers. "Your son likes to leave doc.u.ments around his apartment-a list of his contacts and their addresses, for example."

"Dear G.o.d, are you telling me his tradecraft is that faulty?"

"I get the feeling you haven't been listening to me. Twenty-three people are dead, forty-three injured. That's how faulty his tradecraft is."

"The list," McKittrick said, agitated. "Why did you mention the list?"

"Before I burned it, I memorized it," Decker said. "Renata's name and address were at the top. It's logical for him to have gone there first. I think it's also logical that he'll go to every other address until he finds her."

"But if they're really the terrorists, they won't be at those addresses."

"Exactly." Decker swerved around another corner. "They're professionals. They wouldn't have given Brian their real addresses. Renata probably used that apartment back there as an accommodation, part of the scam. But it doesn't look like Brian figured that out. He's too furious. He wants to get even. The people he terrorizes at those addresses won't have the vaguest idea what's going on. Maybe Renata counted on him to do this. Maybe it's her final joke."

McKittrick's tone was urgent. "Where's the closest address on the list?"

"Across the river. But I don't see any point in going there. He's got too big a head start." Decker increased speed, his tires hissing on the wet pavement. "He might be at the third or fourth address by now. I'm going to skip to the farthest, then the second-farthest, go at them in reverse order and hope our paths cross."

14.

The rain increased. The only thing in our favor, Decker thought, is that it's the middle of the night. There aren't any traffic jams to slow us down.

All the same, he had to concentrate to drive swiftly and yet safely on the slick pavement. His troubled sleep the previous night had not been sufficient to overcome his jet lag. Now his sense of sleep deprivation intensified, his eyes feeling scratchy, his forehead aching. He felt pressure behind his ears.

Amazingly, especially given his age, McKittrick showed no signs of jet lag at all, his tall frame erect. He pointed. "What are those large buildings ahead?"

"City University." After pausing to check a map, Decker took a side street, then another, each more gloomy and narrow, trying to see the numbers on buildings squeezed together. He stopped before a doorway. "This is the address."

McKittrick stared through the window. "Everything's quiet. No lights on. No police."

"Looks like he hasn't been here." A noise in the car made Decker whirl.

McKittrick had his hand on the door latch. He was getting out, standing on the curb, only partially visible in the night and the rain.

"What are you-"

"It's been quite a few years," McKittrick said with dignity. "But I still remember how to conduct surveillance. Leave me here. Go to the next address."

"But-"

"Perhaps my son is already here, or perhaps he's on his way. Perhaps we'll pa.s.s him without knowing it if we go to the next address. But this way, if I remain, at least this address is secure."

"I don't think splitting up is a good idea," Decker said.

"If I were a man your age, would you argue about what I'm doing?"

" ... No."

"Then there you have it." McKittrick started to close the door.

"Wait," Decker said.