" "That guy she's been seeing. Gerry Canney." Duncan stiffened. The FBI man? That didn't bode well.

"When did he call? " "Late this morning. He was looking for her. "

'"You remembered what I told you, didn't you? " "Yes. I just said she wasn't here and wasn't expected in."

"Excellent. We need to protect Gin until we can find out what's wrong with her and get her some help.

" "I know. It's just that he sounded worried."

"We're all worried, Barbara." Especially me. "Any calls for me? " "A couple of people looking for appointments. Mr. Covington called to complain about your canceling all surgery this morning. He said his wife was hysterical.

" "She's had that nose for almost fifty years, she'll survive another week with it. No others? No visitors? " '"No. It's been pretty quiet." That was a relief. No calls or visits from any lawenforcement agencies looking for Dr. Lathram. A good indication that Gin had yet to convince anyone.

Maybe there was still TIME Time for what? He couldn't see much use in patrolling this area any longer. He had to face it, Gin was gone. She'd hopped a cab, or sneaked into the Metro, or simply walked away. She could be in Virginia or Maryland by now. Or down at the FBBuilding. If she was still around here he would have seen her.

He reached into his pocket for the car keys and found the pager-transducer. Conflicting emotions swirled within him. If Gin walked past right now he'd use it on her, without hesitation, not out of malice but out of the most basic drive of allself-preservation.

And yet . . . some small part of him was almost glad that she had eluded him.

He found his keys. Time to go. But whtere? Home to sit and wait for the ax to fall? Even if no one came to put the cuffs on him, his plansfor the president tomorrow would have to be changed. He would simply do the surgery and forget about the implant. He would destroy the TPD, and then it would be Gin's word against his.

Except for that implant in her leg.

d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n! His options were becoming narrower with each pa.s.sing hour.

As Duncan turned to head for his car, he saw a monotone sedan pa.s.s and pull into the curb a few dozen feet from him, stopping directly under a no-parking sign. A warning alarm rang in his brain, so he turned and crossed Seventeenth, keeping his face averred until he reached the other side. As he mingled with the thickening rush-hour crowd there, he glanced over his shoulder and saw a young, fair-haired man standing on the sidewalk, surveying the square. He seemed to be looking for someone.

Terror slammed Duncan from behind but he resisted the urge to run. He had seen him beforewith Gin at the Guidelines committee hearing.

Canney the FBI agent.

Is he looking for me?

Keep calm, Duncan told himself. How could he be? He drove right past me. And besides, why, of all the possible places in the District, would he look for me here?

He had to be looking for someone else.

For Gin.

Excitement surged through Duncan as he stepped back into a doorway and continued to watch Agent Canney.

I'm still safe, he thought. If the FBI doesn't know Gin's whereabouts, then no one doesat least no one who matters.

He watched Canney walk across the gra.s.s and among the shrubs and benches of Farragut Square, watched him search the entire perimeter, pausing where Gin's car had hit the curb. His movements were quick, efficient, but Duncan detected an underlying anxiety and uncertainty.

Duncan could have told him, You're wasting your TIME - He watched Canney canvas the area, then get into his car and leave.

And with the agent's departure Duncan suddenly found himself refreshed, invigorated. He wasn't going home. Not just yet.

He'd hang around a little longer. At least until dark.

Gin awoke in pain and confusion. She'd rolled over onto her right side and felt as if something were taking a bite out of her thigh.

She was hot, wet, bathe in sweat. Her bra and panties were glued to her skin. She threw off the covers. Dark . . . where?

A few blinks and she recognized the hotel room. It all came back to her. Sitting on the tub, cutting into herself . . .

- She sat up and experienced only an instant of light headedness. No question, the rest had done her good, but how long had she been out?

She turned the clock radio toward her. 5:05.

My G.o.d, I slept away the whole afternoon!

She eased herself to her feet and wobbled only slightly on her way to the bathroom. She had to see it, had to make sure it was still there.

It was. The Coricidin bottle sat where she had left it on the marble counter. She ran the sink water and drank three gla.s.ses without taking her eyes off the implant resting within, turning brown now as its blood-streaked surface dried.

She brought it with her when she returned to the bed. Still weak, but feeling lots better, she carefully lowered herself to sit on the edge.

Time to call Gerry. Time to meet with him and show him what Duncan had placed inside her.

She got an outside line and punched in his office number. The FBI operator said he wasn-t in at the moment. Would she like to leave a message?

'"When will he be back? " "Agent Canney did not say. May I ask who's calling, please? " "That's okay, " Gin said. "I'll call back. "

Maybe he got tired of waiting for her and went home. She called his house but got only his answering machine.

Maybe he was in transit. She'd have to wait till he picked up Martha and got home . . . if home was where he was headed. She wondered if he was worried about her, or even thinking about her. It would be comforting to know that someone besides Duncan was wondering where she was.She unwrapped the Ace bandage from her leg to expose the gauze beneath.

She noticed that blood was beginning to seep through the dressing.

Gingerly, she peeled it away. The antibiotic ointment kept the gauze from sticking. The incision looked good, the thread seemed to be holding. But as she stared at the wound, and then at the little bottle containing the b.l.o.o.d.y implant, she was filled with an overwhelming despair.

Gerry's not going to relieve one.

The realization made her sick. What would he think when he saw that b.l.o.o.d.y thing in the bottle? No one had seen her cut it out. No witness to the procedure. Who was to say she hadn't cut herself and smeared the implant with blood to convince others of her delusions?

Self-mutilation was common in certain forms of psychosis. Or maybe she'd be diagnosed as some sort of variant of Munchausen syndrome.

She'd done something extreme, something radical, something that would appear bizarre and, well, deranged to anyone who didn't fully understand the threat the implant posed to her.

In short, showing Gerry that b.l.o.o.d.y implant and telling him she'd cut it out of her own leg might only confirm his worst fears about her sanity. Her paranoid delusions had now escalated to self-mutilation.

Gin pressed her hands to her face. Couched in a sob, her voice rang through the tiny room.

"What am I going to do? " She had to find someone who'd believe her, someone who wouldn't think she'd watched too many episodes of Twilight Zone. . . .

Oliver.

Of course. Oliver would believe her. He was the only other person in the world who knew about both TPD and the implants. He'd understand why she'd had to cut herself open to remove the TPD.

But how would he react when she told him Duncan was behind it all?

Oliver was so devoted to his older brother. d.a.m.n near worshiped him.

Would he be able to accept the idea that Duncan was hurting people?

Another thought, a shattering one, What if Oliver was involved?No. She couldn't buy that. Oliver was the straightest of straight.

arrows. He'd be crushed at the thought of his implants being used to harm instead of heal. And if he were involved in any way, he' d never have given her Dr. VanDuyne's name.

That was it. She'd present her case to Oliver, and once he was convinced, the two of them would go to Gerry or the Secret Service, or anyone who could stop Duncan.

She stood up quickly, then sat down again, suddenly weak. Maybe she should eat something first. No breakfast, no lunch. . . just a few Snickers bars. She was asking for trouble if she didn't pack in a few calories pretty soon.

She pulled out the room service menu and ordered a hamburger, fries, and a c.o.keprotein, complex carbs, and caffeine. That ought to keep her going for a while.

She stood up again, a little more deliberately this time, and made her way back to the bathroom. She redressed the incision with clean gauze and secured it again with the Ace wrap. Then she pulled on her sweatshirt and carefully slipped back into her jeans. She was looking pretty normal by the time room service knocked.

She glanced out the window as the waiter positioned the rolling cart and uncovered the food. The aroma set her mouth to watering. She hadn't realized how hungry she was. Dusk outside. She'd gobble down her food and wait until it was fully dark, then she'd hustle out to the curb, jump into the first waiting cab, and make a beeline for Oliver's house.

Oliver lived in the northwest extreme of the District. She'd been there once for a dinner party. A nice little ranch in a nice neighborhood, but not even close to the same cla.s.s as Duncan's.

Probably didn't even have to wait until dark. Duncan was surely long gone by now.

Tracking down Gin's credit trail took a little longer than Gerry had expected. He'd had to call Mrs. Snedecker and ask her if she'd keep Martha a few hours longer and feed her dinner. He'd spoken to Martha to tell her that he'd be late and had been warmed by her cheery 'Okay.

' Good thing she liked Mrs. S.

The credit crace came through a few minutes later showing a charge to her Visa from the Tremont Hotel on K Street.K Street! Christ, he'd just been there! What was she doing in the Tremont? Hiding?

More baffled than ever, he got the number from information and asked the desk to connect him to Ms. Panzella. He let the phone ring a dozen times, almost hung up, then listened to at least half a dozen more rings.

Where the h.e.l.l was she? If she'd already checked out, the desk wouldn't have connected him. Was she afraid to answer the phone?

Gerry grabbed his coat and headed out.

* * * d , .

I.

. t As night shrouded the District in umbral gloom and the streetlights flared to life, setting the misty air aglow, Duncan decided to call it quits. Obviously she was nowhere about, most likely gone for hours.

Futile to dally here any longer.

But what next? Where next? He couldn't quit now. Too much hung in the balance. As he headed for his car, he made a last-ditch effort by experimenting with a little mental exercise.

If I were Gin, and I were still in the vicinity, where could I possibly be? Where could I have hidden this long?

He rolled the question through his mind as he walked along the north end of the square. He was turning down K Street when the marquee of the Tremont Hotel caught his eye.

He paused, shook his head, took a few more steps, then stopped at the curb and stared . He''d noticed it before, but . . .

Could she have rented a hotel room? Not likely. He could see the possibility of her running in there, renting a room, and using it as a safe place to meet with her FBI man. But obviously she hadn't done that, or else Agent Canney wouldn't have been wandering around Farragut Square like a lost soul a little while ago. And Duncan couldn't see Gin holing up there by herself all afternoon watching television.

But still . . . it was one place he hadn't checked out. It wouldn't take him long. What were a few more minutes added to all the time he'd already wasted?

He entered the lobby and strolled toward the registration desk. Theyoung man behind the counter looked at him expectantly. Duncan debated how he should pose his questions about her, then realized that no decent hotel gave out guest room numbers.

He smiled at the desk man whose badge said Roy. "House Roy pointed to the far corner of the lobby. "Right over there, by the big fern, just past the elevators." Duncan nodded his thanks. He found the row of phones and dialed "O" on the nearest.

When the operator answered, he said, "Panzella room please, " and was startled when she thanked him and connected him.

Stunned, he listened to the phone ring, wondering what he was going to say. He realized he could say nothing. He couldn't let her know he'd found her.

He hung up and leaned against the wall.

She's here.

She'd probably been here all day. But what had she been doing all this time? And why had she registered under her own name? Such a dumb thing to do, and Gin was anything but dumb.

It didn't matter. None of it mattered except the fact that he'd found her. All he needed now was her room number. He glanced over at the registration desk. Roy was alone there. Would a hundred-dollar bill?

And then the revolving doors began to move and Special Agent Canney strode into the lobby. Startled, Duncan froze, his heart pounding.

No! Not when I'm so close!

He ducked behind the large fern and peered through the branches.

Canney was showing his ID to the desk man and talking fast. He looked agitated.

Apparently Gin had finally got in touch with him. But if so, why was he showing his ID?

What did it matter? Duncan realized that a solution had just presented itself. The elevators were only a few feet away. Canney would go up to Gin's room and bring her down, or perhaps call her to come down and meet him. Either way, she'd have to pa.s.s close to Duncan's position.

He removed the transducer from his pocket. She'd be in range She'd feel a twinge in her thigh, but that would be it.She'd probably get all the way to the FBBuilding before the TPD kicked in.

All he had to do was wait. He'd been waiting all day. He could wait a little longer.

"I want her room number, and I want the key, and I want them now! "

Gerry said.

The desk man had called out the managerJoel Heinrich, according to his name tag. A fussy little man with a thin mustache "I'm sure you need a warrant for that kind of search. I'm certainly not authorized to barge into a guest's room" "Dr. Panzella has not been well lately, " Gerry said, improvising.

"She's not answering her phone. She may be unconscious." That got him.

"Sick? " The fussy manager evaporated. "You mean with something contagious? " Gerry lowered his voice and moved in for the kill. "We don't know. We hope not. Something went wrong at the lab. We want to find her and quarantine her with as little fuss as possible, if you know what I mean." Heinrich knew exactly what Gerry meant. He nodded curtly and reached for his phone. "Very well. Just let me check her room once." He punched in four numbers, listened for a moment, then hung up.