"Know what my job is nowadays, Nick? To make sure we don't have to block our drains. You've helped me do that, and the first thing I want to say today is thank you."

This was really starting to worry me. I picked up the dull-looking brew with not enough cream, and took a sip.

"For years, we've been fighting this war with our hands tied. Now people are looking for scapegoats because America doesn't feel safe anymore. America says, 'The government should have known, the CIA should have known, the military should have known. Thirty billion of our tax dollars spent on intelligence, why didn't anyone know?'" He paused to lift his mug. "Well, here's the news. On nine-eleven America had the exact level of protection that it was willing to pay for. We've been telling government for years that we need more money to fight this thing. We told them this would eventually happen but Congress wouldn't give us cash. Doesn't anyone watch C-Span anymore to see what their own government is doing? Maybe they're just too busy watching Jerry Springer. What do you think?"

I shrugged, not really understanding what he was going on about, not that it mattered. I just got the feeling the place we were going to wasn't one where I wanted to be.

"Did any of the complainers see the intelligence chiefs talking about the new terrorism? We kept telling Congress, live on TV, there wasn't enough money to build intelligence networks in the areas where these sc.u.m are operating-and that they needed to untie our hands so we could deal with this situation. We've told them for years that this is a clear and present danger within America's borders that needs to be taken on and defeated but, hey, guess what? Congress just said no, looking at ways of saving a nickel."

He took a long, slow breath of frustration before continuing. "So why didn't America demand more protection from their Congressmen? Because they were watching one of their two hundred other channels and didn't catch the news. Didn't catch Congress telling us we didn't need more capability. Telling us we were just looking for something to replace the Cold War. Know why Congress did that? Because they think that's what the people think, and they don't want to upset them, because they don't want to lose their vote. Now everything is different. Now we have all the nails we need to shut the stable door, but the horse has already bolted.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it, Nick, why didn't things change after the terrorist attack on the U.S.S. Cole Cole? Seventeen American sailors came home in body bags-why didn't that open their eyes? And what about the bombing of the air force base in Saudi Arabia? Or the emba.s.sy staff in Africa? Or our soldiers mutilated and dragged through the streets of Somalia? Why wasn't anybody letting us do anything then?

"Because those guys up on the Hill were just too d.a.m.ned busy worrying about the civil rights of pedophiles and rapists, worrying about interest rates on credit cards that the voters use to buy wide-screen digital TVs to make them feel life is good. But those home-entertainment centers don't seem to get C-Span. n.o.body knows what's going on, and that's just how Congress wanted to keep it. Then they have the gall to ask us: 'Why did they attack the innocent people? Why didn't they go after the military?' Well, the answer is, that's a done deal, but no one took any notice."

He picked up his mug and looked genuinely sad, the first time I had ever seen him like that. He seemed to be lost in his own world for a while until I cut in. "So now what?"

"Now?" The mug went down. "We've got the money. A billion-dollar down-payment. The problem is finding a way to fight these people. They don't have anything to defend. It's not like the Cold War, or any war that we've seen before. There's no real estate to fight over, and the notion of deterrence doesn't apply to these guys. There's no treaty to be negotiated, no arms control agreement that's going to guarantee our security. The only way we can deal with them is to hit them hard and fast and take them down. You know it's crazy-only a few months ago, they were saying a hundred million for the Navy was too much..."

He paused and reflected. I wasn't too sure if this was all part of the performance: George might be sad, but he still had a job to do. "But, hey, you can't unring a bell, Nick. I'm here because I want you to work for me. For us. Nick Scott would be your cover name."

I shook my head. "The deal was one job. You agreed on that."

"Events have taken a serious turn these last couple days, Nick." His voice was steely, his gaze level. "Al-Qaeda has upped the ante, these guys are just programmed for trouble. I can't tell you how unless you commit. But I can tell you, this is the front page of the threat matrix the president gets to read every day. These are scary days, Nick. Yesterday's ran to thirty pages." He looked down at the table and traced a figure eight with his mug. "You know what? At the moment I feel like a blind watchmaker, just throwing the components into the case and waiting to see what works."

I didn't look up, because I knew he was waiting, his eyes ready to ambush mine.

"I need your help, Nick." It was a challenge, not an entreaty.

"Things are good here with Carrie."

"Are they?" He gave an exaggerated frown. "I don't think she took it too well. She's like her mom."

The a.s.shole. Divide and rule. He'd done it on purpose. I forced myself to stay calm. "You didn't tell her everything, did you?"

"Son, I don't even tell G.o.d everything. I'll leave that until I meet him face-to-face. But, right now, I see it as my duty to make sure there's a big f.u.c.king bunch of al-Qaeda ahead of me in the line."

He stood up and turned his back to me again as he placed the framed picture back on the dresser. Maybe he didn't want me to see how proud he was of the way he'd delivered his lines. "The secret of combating terrorism is simple-don't get terrorized. Keep a clear head and fight back on their terms. That's the only way we're going to win this war-or, at least, contain it, keep a lid on it. But we can only do that if we take the battle to them, with every means at our disposal. And that's where you come in, Nick. I need to stop the drains getting blocked-and fast. Do you want to know more, Nick, or am I wasting my time here?"

I looked at him and took another mouthful of coffee. "I'd like to know what happened to Zeralda's head."

There was a bit of a smile. "It came back here and was presented to his cousin in Los Angeles on a silver platter. By all accounts it kind of freaked him out."

"What about the greaseball who was there with him? Was he the source? Is that why no one else was to be killed?"

"Greaseball?" He managed to complete the smile. "I like it. Yes, he was and still is a source, and a good one-too good to lose just yet." The smile faded. "Nick, have you ever heard of hawalla hawalla?"

I'd spent enough time in the Middle East to know it, and when I was a kid in London, all the Indian and Pakistani families used it to send cash back home. "Like Western Union, but without the ADSL lines, right?"

He nodded. "Okay, so what we've got is a centuries-old system of moving money, originally to avoid taxes and bandits along the ancient Silk Road, and nowadays to avoid the money-laundering laws. A guy in San Francisco wants to send some cash to, say, his mother in Delhi. So, he walks into one of these hawalla hawalla bankers, maybe a shopkeeper, maybe even working in the money markets in San Fran. The bankers, maybe a shopkeeper, maybe even working in the money markets in San Fran. The hawallada hawallada takes his cash and gives the guy a code word. The takes his cash and gives the guy a code word. The hawallada hawallada then faxes, calls, or e-mails his counterpart in Delhi, maybe a restaurant owner, and gives him the code word and the amount of the transfer. The guy's mother goes into the Delhi restaurant, says the code word, and collects. And that's it-takes less than thirty minutes to move huge sums of money anywhere in the world, and we have no track of it. then faxes, calls, or e-mails his counterpart in Delhi, maybe a restaurant owner, and gives him the code word and the amount of the transfer. The guy's mother goes into the Delhi restaurant, says the code word, and collects. And that's it-takes less than thirty minutes to move huge sums of money anywhere in the world, and we have no track of it.

"These hawalla hawalla guys settle their debts and commissions among themselves. In Pakistan, business is huge. There's maybe five, six billion U.S. dollars sent back there every year by migrant workers just from the Gulf states. But only one billion goes through normal banking channels. Everything else goes via guys settle their debts and commissions among themselves. In Pakistan, business is huge. There's maybe five, six billion U.S. dollars sent back there every year by migrant workers just from the Gulf states. But only one billion goes through normal banking channels. Everything else goes via hawalladas hawalladas. These guys work on total trust, a handshake or a piece of paper between them. It's been going on for centuries, must be about the second oldest profession. It even gets a mention in the New Testament." He gave me a wry smile. "Carrie's mother is a very religious woman. You know the tale of Ananis and Safia?"

As if. I shook my head.

"Go read it someday. These hawalla hawalla guys were hiding money that they were due to give to Peter, so they were deemed sinners. And when they were confronted with their shame they just fell down and died." There was a pause. "That's what you did for us, Nick: you made Zeralda fall down and die. This guys were hiding money that they were due to give to Peter, so they were deemed sinners. And when they were confronted with their shame they just fell down and died." There was a pause. "That's what you did for us, Nick: you made Zeralda fall down and die. This hawalla hawalla network has been used to funnel money to the terrorist groups in the Kashmir valley. It's been used by the heroin trade coming out of Afghanistan, and now it's here, in the U.S. network has been used to funnel money to the terrorist groups in the Kashmir valley. It's been used by the heroin trade coming out of Afghanistan, and now it's here, in the U.S.

"This is not good, Nick. Zeralda was a hawallada, hawallada, and we reckon he'd moved between four and five million dollars into this country for terrorism in the last four years. You can be sure the legit banks are doing their bit now and cracking down on laundering all around the world, but with and we reckon he'd moved between four and five million dollars into this country for terrorism in the last four years. You can be sure the legit banks are doing their bit now and cracking down on laundering all around the world, but with hawalla hawalla we can't check accounts or monitor electronic transfers. we can't check accounts or monitor electronic transfers.

"Well, we've got to close it down. Al-Qaeda is retreating and regrouping its a.s.sets in both manpower and cash. We've got to turn off the faucet, Nick, and we've got to do that before al-Qaeda moves all its funds to safe harbors. Money is the oxygen for their campaign in this country-your new country. I say again, am I wasting my time here, Nick?"

I really needed room to think. "What happened to the cousin in Los Angeles?"

"Let's put it this way: we didn't stand in his way when he jumped on the first plane he could get out of the States. All he left behind was a few clothes, a pair of leather motorcycle gloves, a Qur'an, and maybe sixty pages of Arabic text off the Internet. All his accounts are frozen, but we're not after his money. We want him to go spread the news of what happened to the other half of the transaction route. He's back in Algeria, a very scared man, and much more use to us there than he would be sitting in a penitentiary."

The coffee was almost cold. I took another sip to buy myself some more thinking time.

"See, Nick, you were the key. The key that switched on the power of terror. Bringing back that head showed these guys that for us anything is possible as well. They've got to know we're coming for them, that they shouldn't start reading any long books, know what I mean?"

He liked that one and took another swig himself. "As Rumsfeld just told the world, Nick, there will be covert operations and they'll be secret even in success."

"Did you know beforehand that Zeralda was into boys? We were briefed it was just hookers."

"As I said, even G.o.d doesn't know everything I know. I wanted to make sure you guys finished the job. Not being mentally geared up for it, then seeing something as sick as that would make it...shall I say, less confusing? I just figured you'd be thinking it could be your own kid. Am I right?"

I nodded. The expression in those boys' eyes had reminded me of the way Kelly looked when her parents were killed.

"Nick, I understand what you want from life now, but things have changed for all of us since September, and everything's ratcheted up again in the last twenty-four hours. My grandfather was only here a year before fighting for this country in the First World War. My father did the same in the Second, because he wanted this country to remain free. I've done the same all my life, and even found myself crying on nine-eleven-and that's not a place I often go to.

"Do this new job for me, and I guarantee you'll get a Nick Stone pa.s.sport. All you'll need to do is swear your oath of allegiance and that's it, you're one of the seven hundred thousand new Americans this year." He switched on the kind of expression you normally only see in stained-gla.s.s windows. "You're one of us now, Nick. All the people you love live here. Think about Kelly. What world do you want her to grow up in? The kind of place where you freak out every time she flies here to see you? Who knows? It'll take a while, but Carrie will understand. Think about it, Nick, just think."

I'd done my thinking. I'd heard all I needed to hear.

I stood up, handing him the empty mug. "No. I've done my part. We had a deal and my only job now is to make things right with Carrie."

8.

I ran out into the street. I didn't need to be Oprah Winfrey or Dr. Phil to work out where she had gone-I mean, where do you go when the man you've poured your heart out to turns around and kicks you? ran out into the street. I didn't need to be Oprah Winfrey or Dr. Phil to work out where she had gone-I mean, where do you go when the man you've poured your heart out to turns around and kicks you?

I found the Plymouth and walked down into Little Harbor. She was sitting on the beach, staring out at the houses on the other side of the bay. My footsteps crunched on ice as I approached.

"Carrie, I'm so sorry..."

She turned very slowly to face me. "How could you?" Her voice was weary, defeated, empty even of the bitterness I expected and, I guessed, deserved. "How do you think this makes me feel? I trusted you."

"I'm not turning into your dad. It was just that once. One job. It's over now."

"Of all people...He caused Aaron's death, remember? The same man who was going to blow up an American cruise ship just so the White House would have the excuse to march back into Panama. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

I hated it when she looked at me like that. It was as though she could see right through me, and it wasn't a view I'd ever much enjoyed.

"I'm so sad, Nick. I'm feeling bereaved all over again. I feel so G.o.dd.a.m.n stupid; I thought we had something good happening here."

I sat down beside her. "Look, I'm sorry I couldn't tell you, but what could I have said to make it sound all right?"

"The truth, that's all I needed and always need from you. The truth I can handle, the truth I can work with, but this..." She turned away, tears running down her face.

I thought about Zeralda's head, and gave mine a shake. "Carrie, you remember how it was in Panama. You know how these jobs work. There are some truths you really don't want to know..."

"This has been the story of my life, Nick. I just can't risk it all happening again. I know it's selfish of me, but I don't think I can take it anymore. That man is responsible for so much pain in my life. He sacrificed me and my mom by dedicating himself to his double-dealing world. But even so, I allowed myself to be sucked in, and because of it my husband was killed. I kid myself I blame George for Aaron's death, but do you know what? Really, I blame myself. I let my own father exploit me, the way he exploits everyone.

"In Panama, he knew I was desperate to get a pa.s.sport for Luz so we could get back to the States. But I've never gotten anything from him for free. Even as a little girl, I always had to earn it first."

I watched her as her eyes concentrated on the water but her mind was elsewhere. "Aaron was right all along. He told me that once it started and George knew we were desperate for the pa.s.sport, it would never stop because George wouldn't let it. And you know what? He was right, because here we are again. How can I let myself be with you until I know you've no longer got even a toe in that world?

"I've made the mistake of depending on you. Depending on you being there when I wake up in the morning. And, worse still, Luz has started to get used to you being around, too. I'm not going to run the risk of having to tell her that another person she loved, that she relied upon, is lying in some ditch with a bullet in the back of his head...."

I reached out to touch her but she stiffened and moved away.

"You could have applied for citizenship. You could have gone back to school, had a home, you could have had me. Doesn't any of that mean anything?"

I didn't answer her immediately. "I can't think of anything I'd like more. It's the full fairy tale, for me." I didn't know how she did it, but I always found myself saying things to her that I thought I'd kept well buried. "Perhaps the real truth is that I can't quite believe there's a place for me in your perfect world. Remember what I said to you in the jungle? My world may look like a pile of s.h.i.t-"

"-but at least you sometimes get to sit on top of it..."

I looked at her, hoping for even a hint of a smile, but I hadn't come close.

"That's not the issue here." Her voice was still sad and tired. "You lied to me, Nick, that's the long and the short of it. Nothing's changed. You betrayed what I thought we had. Oh, G.o.d, when I think what I said to you today, I feel so ridiculous."

My heart was pounding as I stood behind her, trying to think what I could say. "We just need time, Carrie. We just need time..."

She shook her head. The tears were running off her face now and onto her down jacket, staining the nylon a darker green. "You'd better go. Both of us have got to do some thinking. I don't think I can just now. When you're ready to come back to me on my terms, Nick, give me a call.

"Until then, if it has to be you who does my father's dirty work for him, Nick, it has to be you. I'll never forget what you did for us in Panama. I'll always admire the man you are, and I'll always love the man you might have allowed yourself to be. But don't expect Luz and me to come and put flowers on your grave...."

9.

N avigation lights flashing in the gloom, an American Airways jet thundered down the runway and took off, quickly disappearing into dense low cloud. I turned back from the window and looked at George. His finger was jabbing a copy of the avigation lights flashing in the gloom, an American Airways jet thundered down the runway and took off, quickly disappearing into dense low cloud. I turned back from the window and looked at George. His finger was jabbing a copy of the The Boston Globe The Boston Globe so I could see the front-page pictures of dead Taliban scattered across Afghanistan. so I could see the front-page pictures of dead Taliban scattered across Afghanistan.

"A wounded animal is the most dangerous of all, Nick. There will be another strike; it's just a matter of where and when." He gave me a look of such intensity that I began to realize I was going to be going sooner rather than later. "We've received grade-A int in the last few days that they're putting something together for Christmas. But we have no idea of the target-and that's where you come in."

We'd come straight to the Hilton at Logan Airport, and it had already been getting dark when we arrived. He had booked the room well in advance. The a.s.shole had known precisely how Carrie would react when she heard the truth, and had still been in the kitchen, waiting for me, when I got back to the house. He didn't exactly have to twist my arm to get me working for him again. I'd already made up my mind on the walk back to Gregory Street-or, rather, it had been made up for me. The fact was, I had nowhere else to go. What was I going to do? Check into a motel down the road and try to patch things up with her over the next few months, between serving beers at the yacht club? Go back to the U.K.? There was nothing for me there except trouble; George would make sure of that. No, if I wanted to stay in the U.S. to see Kelly and perhaps really get a life, I had to play by his rules. My immediate objective had to be to earn a real pa.s.sport, and when the job was over, just see which way the wind was blowing. Well, that was where my half hour of thinking had taken me, and it had seemed to make some kind of sense at the time.

"You have to ask yourself, Nick, which is scarier, the noise or the silence? Even before nine-eleven, we knew that there were al-Qaeda active service units-ASUs-out there, and they haven't gone away." He was sitting at the desk to the left of the TV and minibar; the chair had been turned to face the bed, where I was lying against the headboard.

"You got anything on them?"

"I wish..." He jabbed at the newspaper again. "The word is they'll all have mad eyes and beards-not so. This side of the Atlantic they're just ordinary, respectable people. Computer technicians, accountants, realtors; sometimes even born and raised here." He looked around the room. "Even hotel receptionists, some of them married with two-point-four children, a minivan, and a mortgage.

"They don't have to hide themselves in ethnic ghettos, Nick. They live in our neighborhoods, shop in our malls, wear Gap, hey, even drink c.o.ke." He took a can from the minibar and lifted the pull tab. "These folks are well-spoken, intelligent pillars of the community. They come here as kids, lie low, blend in, bide their time-cla.s.sic sleepers. But they don't even have to be foreigners. Guys are converting to Islam by the hundreds in our own prisons and, believe me, they're not turning into Allah's answer to Billy Graham...."

He sat back, the can resting on his knee. "We don't know who, or how many, are in the ASUs. All we know is these sons of b.i.t.c.hes are ready and waiting to press the b.u.t.ton on December twenty-fourth."

He pulled some papers from his alloy briefcase, along with a fistful of airline tickets for Nick Scott.

"These are copies of stuff found by Special Forces in Afghanistan, transcripts from tactical interrogations of prisoners, and more in-depth material from al-Qaeda, rendered in Pakistan." He sat back in the chair while I scanned the first few pages. "It confirms three things. One, al-Qaeda has the know-how to build radiological bombs. Two, they've gotten their hands on substantial quant.i.ties of radioactive material in the U.S. And three, they plan to use it December twenty-fourth. Dirty bombs-you know what I'm saying, don't you?"

I knew what he was saying. These things had radioactive material packed around conventional explosives. When detonated, the immediate explosion would cause just as much damage as a conventional weapon, but it would also blast radiation into the surrounding atmosphere. An area the size of Manhattan-or bigger, if the wind blew-would have to be cordoned off while they sandblasted buildings, replaced pavement, bulldozed contaminated earth-and for years after, the lines of cancer victims would grow outside every hospital. Dirty bombs are a perfect terrorist weapon; they don't just blow you up, they rip out the nation's heart.

George was reading my thoughts. "We're talking Chern.o.byl, Nick. Chern.o.byl, in our own backyard..." He paused, holding up his hands, fighting back the words. "And if that happens, they've won. No matter what happens after. Just imagine what will happen if a truck with maybe four thousand pounds of HE-homemade explosive-and radioactive waste drives at ninety miles an hour into the White House fence, right onto the lawn, maybe into the house itself. Now, imagine another heading into Rockefeller Plaza, when you can't move for Christmas shoppers, and another, say, on Wall Street. Or maybe not trucks, maybe twenty people on foot, in malls across Boston, carrying two, three, four pounds of contaminated HE in a shopping bag or strapped under their winter coats. Imagine them detonating all at the same time. Imagine that, Nick. I do, and haven't slept for weeks."

He squeezed the empty can of c.o.ke like he was throttling the life out of it, and this time it wasn't part of the act. "According to these doc.u.ments, their guys have been stealing and storing isotopes for two years, the stuff used in hospitals and industry. We're talking a big enough stockpile to make either a lot of small devices or maybe five or six Oklahomas-we could be talking about both truck and pedestrian attacks."

He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "We have one straw to grasp at. These guys are on a suicide mission. But," he raised his right index finger, "but-they're not going to do a d.a.m.ned thing until they know family business is taken care of."

"You mean, the ASUs won't commit until they get confirmation that Dad has a new Land Cruiser with all the extras?"

"Exactly. They may be crazy, but they're not stupid. So, here's my thinking. The setup funds for these attacks have been coming into the U.S. for nearly three years, and they'd have had everything in place before hitting the World Trade Center because they'd know the shutters would come down straight afterward.

"We know from the Zeralda connection that al-Qaeda channeled the cash to their ASUs in the U.S. via three hawalladas hawalladas based in the South of France. These guys would also get the compensation money to the ASUs' families, via their counterparts in Algeria." He smiled for the first time since we'd entered the room. "But that isn't going to happen now, since you did your John the Baptist trick with Zeralda. All based in the South of France. These guys would also get the compensation money to the ASUs' families, via their counterparts in Algeria." He smiled for the first time since we'd entered the room. "But that isn't going to happen now, since you did your John the Baptist trick with Zeralda. All hawallada hawallada activity has come to a halt in Algeria, and other al-Q money-movers have followed suit. activity has come to a halt in Algeria, and other al-Q money-movers have followed suit.

"So, the way it looks is that these French hawalladas hawalladas have a ma.s.s of cash-around three million U.S.-which they still have to get to the families. If not, no attack. have a ma.s.s of cash-around three million U.S.-which they still have to get to the families. If not, no attack.

"We know from our source in France that an al-Qaeda team is on its way there-they're going to physically package up the money and take it back to Algeria." He paused, to make sure I got the message. "Your job, Nick, is to make sure that doesn't happen."

In George's language, we had to "render" them. In mine, once we had identified the three hawalladas hawalladas with the help of information from the source, whom I'd be contacting once I got into France, we were to lift them, drug them, and leave them at a DOP (drop off point). From there, they'd be picked up and taken aboard an American warship that would be anch.o.r.ed near Nice on a goodwill visit. Once on board, a team of interrogators would get to work on them right away, to find out who their U.S. counterparts were. There'd be no time to bring them back to the States, it had to be done in-theater. They wouldn't enjoy coming around in the belly of that warship; the inquisitors would be doing their stuff to protect their own flesh and blood back home, not some far-off bit of desert or jungle. It makes quite a difference. Once the with the help of information from the source, whom I'd be contacting once I got into France, we were to lift them, drug them, and leave them at a DOP (drop off point). From there, they'd be picked up and taken aboard an American warship that would be anch.o.r.ed near Nice on a goodwill visit. Once on board, a team of interrogators would get to work on them right away, to find out who their U.S. counterparts were. There'd be no time to bring them back to the States, it had to be done in-theater. They wouldn't enjoy coming around in the belly of that warship; the inquisitors would be doing their stuff to protect their own flesh and blood back home, not some far-off bit of desert or jungle. It makes quite a difference. Once the hawalladas hawalladas had been sucked dry, maybe they'd have their heads chopped off, too. I didn't want to know, and I didn't much care. had been sucked dry, maybe they'd have their heads chopped off, too. I didn't want to know, and I didn't much care.

"The FBI and CIA are doing everything they can to locate these ASUs," George said. "But as far as I'm concerned, these hawalladas hawalladas are the quickest route to fingering the guys sitting at home in New Jersey or wherever with a truckload of cesium wrapped around some homemade explosive." are the quickest route to fingering the guys sitting at home in New Jersey or wherever with a truckload of cesium wrapped around some homemade explosive."

"What if the source doesn't come up with the goods?"

George waved this aside. "Everything's in a state of flux. Just get down there, meet up with the two guys who'll be on your team, and wait for my word on the source meet."

He looked me directly in the eye. "So much depends on you, Nick. If you succeed, none of these guys gets to see December fourteenth, let alone the twenty-fourth. But whatever happens, that money must not make it to Algeria."

He sat back in his chair once more and spread his hands. "And it goes without saying, this has to be done without the French knowing. It takes time to go through all that human rights and due process bureaucratic c.r.a.p-that's time we don't have."