"Not the result. We're halfway there. Halfway isn't far enough."

Larkin gets up, motions to the bartender, points to Brock's still half-filled gla.s.s. He puts a hand on Brock's shoulder.

"You don't change the world by being timid, Emmet," Larkin says, and leaves.

Brock waits until she's let him in, until she's kissed him once, those lips smooth as satin. Then he takes hold of her by the shoulders and drives her into the wall.

"Did you kill him?" he asks.

She does what she always does when he puts hands on her. She yields. He can feel his fingers digging into her flesh. She looks up at him.

"Tell me," Brock says.

"Who are we talking about?"

"You know who."

"I may know who. I want to be sure."

"Where were you this morning?"

"More specific, baby."

"Early this morning. Before dawn. Where were you?"

"I was here."

"Prove it."

"And how do I prove it, Emmet? I was here alone. Do you want to ask the neighbors? I had thought our goal was discretion always." She cants her head to one side, looking up at him. "Why are you angry at me, baby? Did I do something wrong?"

"Tohir," Brock says.

"Tohir's dead?"

"Yes."

She relaxes further against the wall, smiles up at him. "Tell me everything."

Brock watches her copy the files from the thumb drive, go through them on her laptop.

"The photographs aren't pretty," he warns her.

"You're sweet."

"There wasn't much of him left. No dental, but we had prints."

"And the rest of these files, they're what he asked for?"

"They're exactly what he asked for-information on all the shooters involved in the capture operation and in the operation in California."

"The same men in both cases?"

"Mostly."

Jordan nods, shuts the laptop, returns the thumb drive.

"I don't need it anymore," Brock says.

"Then destroy it."

"Contact him." He nods toward the closed computer. "That's how you do it, isn't it? Online somehow, a chat room or e-mail. Tell him we want what we paid for."

"I'll tell him."

"Do it now."

"It doesn't work like that."

"Then how does it work?"

"Not like that, baby." She gets up, steps to him, places her palms against his breast. "Are you staying?"

"Are you asking me to?"

"I'd like it if you stayed."

"Why do you do this?" Brock asks abruptly.

She moves slightly, lets her hand roam. "This?"

"That's not what I mean."

"How about this?"

"Stop it." He takes hold of her wrist, moving her hand away. "You work for him, you've always worked for him."

"Perhaps."

"It's true."

"Perhaps."

"So work for me."

Jordan's hands climb his torso again, fingers drag slowly through his cropped hair.

"Baby," she says. "Are you in love with me?"

"I can take care of you. If you're afraid of him, I can protect you."

"I'm not afraid of him."

Brock stares at her, this woman he thinks is flawless and that he wants more than anything, anyone, and finally, he thinks he understands. She doesn't love him, and she never will.

He puts his hand between her legs, uses his other to gather her hair into a fist. He kisses her mouth, her throat, feels the pulse rise in him, anger and rejection and l.u.s.t. She whimpers.

"So," she says. "This means you'll stay, then."

Chapter Thirteen.

BELL RIDES WITH Steelriver and Cardboard in the back of the Humvee, all of them wearing cuffs, two MPs up in the front and the third with them. n.o.body says a word. They pa.s.s through the checkpoint into Fort Detrick, come to a stop a few minutes later, are escorted from the vehicle into the building that houses the stockade, and no sooner are they behind closed doors than Ruiz is there.

"Cut them loose," Ruiz says.

The MPs exchange brief looks, then proceed to remove the cuffs. They don't need to be told a reason; it's a full bird colonel giving them the order. Bell makes loose fists of his hands, rolls his wrists about, stretching the muscles in his forearms.

"They weren't here," Ruiz tells the MPs.

"We haven't seen anything since we came on post, sir."

Ruiz turns, and Bell, Steelriver, and Cardboard fall in behind him. They head away from the door where they entered, make a left down a quiet corridor, then a right, then Ruiz pushes a door open and they're back in the midmorning sun, where a Chevy van is waiting. Jorge-Bonebreaker-is behind the wheel. Ruiz waits until they're loaded.

"One hour," he tells Bell, handing him a key card, an address.

Bell tucks the card in a pocket, climbs into the vehicle, slams the door shut. They start moving almost immediately, and he has to put a hand out to steady himself. Steelriver and Cardboard have already rearmed with their recovered gear, and Board hands Bell his .45 in its holster, then his phone. Bell checks the weapon out of habit, settles it back into its holster, and settles the holster back on his hip. There are a couple of bottles of water, and Steelriver hands him one, and Bell takes it with him as he wedges himself up to the front and into the empty pa.s.senger seat beside Jorge. They're already on the 550, heading south, light traffic, and it's a beautiful drive on a beautiful day.

"You thought I'd miss," Jorge says.

"Never crossed my mind."

"I thought you'd miss," Steelriver says, behind them.

"I'm just saying, broken ribs, three hundred meters, moving target," Jorge says. "Eight shots, all in group. You thought I'd miss."

"I am grateful to the United States Army and the taxpayers who trained you that you did not," Bell says.

Jorge keeps his eyes on the road, but his grin is broad.

"You're welcome," he says.

The key card opens room 121 at the Best Western Westminster, and Bell steps inside to find Ruiz already there. The colonel has changed out of his uniform and into business casual, which goes with the venue. Outside, there's the faint sound of a single-prop flying overhead; from its sound and its direction Bell figures it to be coming in for a landing at the Carroll County Regional Airport, less than a mile and a half away.

"Clear?" Ruiz asks. He's sitting at the round-top table, with its fake wood pattern, two paper cups of coffee in front of him. He pushes one of them in Bell's direction.

"If not, they're better than me."

Ruiz nods, waits for Bell to take a seat and the coffee.

"Status update," Ruiz says. "Isaiah has Heatdish en route to Hailey, should be there within the next hour. Rest of your team is heading out to join him, including O'Day. You'll need the extra manpower. You've got an objection."

"I've got an objection," Bell says.

"Speak it."

"You have cover on my family?"

"Counterintelligence is handling that, has been keeping watch on Amy and Athena since you got back from Burlington."

"And?"

"And nothing so far. They're fine, Jad."

Bell nods, takes the top off his coffee, tastes it. It's awful. He drinks some anyway.

"So here's where we are," Ruiz says. "Right now, it looks like Heatdish died outside of Leesburg, and there's not enough body left to disprove that quickly. Hopefully that'll put Echo in something of a fit."

"Echo."

"It was good enough for the Chief, Blackfriars, it's good enough for us. Tohir may be selling us bulls.h.i.t at wholesale, but we know California was bought and paid for here, at home. There's a legitimate conspiracy here, a treasonous conspiracy, but we don't know who's involved. All leads off of Jamieson dead-end with Heatdish. We've got a triangle, Echo on one point, Heatdish on another, and a big f.u.c.king unknown on the third. That third-that who-that's who bought the California attack. Who that is, what they want, why they did it, those are all open questions."

Bell considers this, remembers the old man from Texas who bragged about what he'd done before he died. The attack at the theme park in California had led back to him, had been bought with his money, a h.e.l.l of a lot of his money, at that. Jamieson had given up Tohir, and he'd additionally given up rhetoric of the kind that at the best of times annoyed Bell and at the worst of times made him truly angry. It was the talk of a man who combined a perverted faith in G.o.d with an inflexibility in politics, spoken with the righteous arrogance and condescension of someone who believed he could have things his way because he was never wrong. To Bell, there was no difference between that brand of zealotry and the kind that brought young men into the arms of al-Qaeda and its subsidiary holdings around the world.

"We know why," Bell says. "They want a war. Jamieson said so."

"Whoever 'they' are."

"You should probably find that out."

"I probably should. Maybe you can help." Ruiz tries his own coffee. "You're clear to run, but the fact is that until we get a nibble on the decoy operation-if we get a nibble on the decoy operation-our options are limited. You need to talk to Heatdish again."

"Wallford hasn't?"

"Wallford is cognizant of the fact that we are compromised and fears his direct presence might reveal Heatdish's location. He's backed off of his own volition."

"That's remarkably gracious of him."

"I was thinking the same thing."

"Who knows Heatdish is in Hailey?"

"At this moment, we and your team. Wallford knows he's still alive and was moved, but he doesn't know where to."