"Yes."

"Wait."

There was a long continuous tone; I was starting to think I'd been cut off again. Then, thirty seconds later, I heard Simmonds.

My call must have been patched through to London.

Unflappable as ever, he said, "It seems you're in a spot of trouble."

"Trouble's not the word."

In veiled speech I told him everything that had happened since my last call. Simmonds listened without interruption, then said, "There's not really a lot I can do. Obviously, you understand the situation I'm in?" I could tell he was pissed off with me big-time.

"You were told to return immediately.

You disobeyed an order. You should not have gone to see him, you know that." He was still cool about it all, but under the veneer I knew he was boiling.

I could just picture him behind his desk in his crumpled shirt and baggy cords, with the family photo and maybe Easter eggs for his family on his desk, next to a pile of red-hot faxes from Washington that had to be attended to.

"It's got nothing on the situation I can put you in," I said.

"I've got stuff that would make your lot look not very British at all. I'll blow it to whoever wants to listen. It's not a bluff. I need help to get out of this shit and I want it now."

There was a pause: the patient parent waiting for a child to stop its tantrum.

He said, "Your position is pretty delicate, I'm afraid. There is nothing I can do unless you have some form of proof that you're not implicated. I suggest you make every effort to discover what has happened and why, then we can talk and I might be able to help. How does that sound to you? You can carry out your threat, but I wouldn't recommend it."

I could feel his hand tighten around my balls. Whether they complied or called my bluff, I'd be spending the rest of my life on the run. The Firm does not like being strong-armed.

"I've got no choice really, have I?"

"I'm glad you see it like that. Bring what you find."

The phone went dead.

My mind racing, I wandered into the shop. I bought a bottle of hair color one wash in, twelve washes out and a hair-trimmer gadget. I also bought a full range of washing and shaving supplies because we couldn't look like a couple of scruffies at large in D.C. Then I filled the basket with bottles of Coca-Cola and some apples and candy.

I couldn't find a Mickey D's and ended up in a Burger King. I bought two meal deals, then went back to the hotel.

I knocked on the door as I opened it.

"Guess what I've got burgers, fries, apple pies, hot chocolate, coffee for me.. ."

By the wall next to the window was a little circular table and PVC chairs. The shopping bags went on the bed; I dumped the burgers on the table with a flourish, like a re turning hunter. Ripping the bags open to make a tablecloth, I tipped the fries out, opened the ketchup, and we both dived in. She must have been starving.

I waited until she had a mouthful of burger.

"Listen, Kelly, you know how grown-up girls are always dyeing their hair and cutting it and all sorts of stuff ? I thought you might like to try it."

She couldn't have looked less interested.

"What do you fancy, a really dark brown?"

She shrugged.

I wanted to get it done before she understood too much of what was happening. The moment she'd finished her hot apple pie, I led her to the bathroom and got her to take off her shirt. I tested the shower temperature and leaned her over the sink, quickly wetting her hair, then toweled and brushed it. I got the trimmer going but I wasn't entirely sure what I was doing. I realized it was for beards, really, and by the time I'd got the hang of it her hair looked like shit. The more I tried to sort it, the shorter it was getting. Soon it was up around her collar.

As I studied the bottle of dye, trying to read the instructions, she said, "Nick?"

I was still reading the bottle and hoping I wasn't about to turn her hair into a ginger fuzz ball "What?"

"Do you know those guys who were chasing you?"

I was the one who should have been asking questions.

"No, I don't, Kelly, but I will find out." I thought about it, put the hair dye down. I was standing behind her; both of us were looking at each other in the mirror. Her light blue eyes were now not so red around the edges. That only made my brown ones even more dark and tired-looking. I looked at her a while longer. Finally, I said, "Kelly, why did you go to the hidey-hole?"

She said nothing. I could see in her eyes that she was starting to question my hairdressing skills.

"Did Daddy shout "Disneyland'?"

"No."

"Then why did you go?" Already this was getting too in tense for me. I needed to do something. I picked up the dye.

"Because of the noise."

I started to comb the dye in.

"Oh, what noise was that?"

She looked at me in the mirror.

"I was in the kitchen but I heard a bad noise in the living room and I went and looked."

"What did you see?"

"Daddy was shouting at the men and they were hitting him."

"Did they see you?"

"I don't know, I didn't go in the room. I just wanted to shout to Mommy to come and help Daddy."

"And what did you do?"

Her eyes went down.

"I couldn't help him." When she looked up again, I saw her face was burning with shame. Her bottom lip started to wobble.

"I ran to the hidey-hole. I wanted to go to Mommy but she was upstairs with Aida, and Daddy was shouting at the men."

"You ran to the hidey-hole?"

"Yes."

"Did you stay there?"

"Yeah."

"Did Mommy come and call for you?"

"No. You did."

"So you didn't see Mommy and Aida?"

"No."

The picture of the two of them dead flashed into my mind.

I put my arms around her as she sobbed. I said, "Kelly, you couldn't have helped Daddy. Those men were too big and strong. Probably I couldn't have helped him, and I'm a grown-up. It's not your fault Daddy got hurt. But he is OK and wants me to look after you until he is better. Mommy and Aida had to go with Daddy. There just wasn't any time to get you."

I let her cry a bit, then asked, "Did you see any of the men who were chasing us today?"

She shook her head.

"Did the men who were with Daddy have suits on?"

"I think so, but they had like painting clothes over them."

I guessed what she meant.

"The sort Daddy would wear to paint the house?" I did the actions of putting on a pair of overalls.

She nodded.

"So do you mean they had suits on underneath, but had the painting things on top?"

She nodded again.

I knew it; these boys were good they were players. They hadn't wanted to get nasty red stuff all over their nice suits.

I asked her how many men came out and what they looked like. She was confused and scared. Her lip started to quiver again.

"Can I go home soon?" She was fighting back the tears.

"Yes, very soon, very soon. When Daddy is better. Until then, I'm looking after you. Come on, Kelly, let's make you look like a big girl."

After a rinse I combed her wet hair and got her dressed right away in her new clothes. If we had to move, I needed her dressed, so I told her that the only things she could keep off were her hat, coat, and shoes.

She inspected herself in the mirror. The new clothes were much too big and her hair was--well, she didn't seem too sure.

We watched Nickelodeon, and eventually she fell asleep. I lay staring at the ceiling, going through the options, or rather, trying to kid myself that I had some.

What about Slack Pat? He would certainly help if he could, as long as he hadn't turned into some drugged-up New Age hippie. But the only way I could think of contacting him was through the restaurant he used to rave about. The way he described it, he practically lived there. The problem was, I couldn't remember the name of it, just that it was on a hill at the edge of Georgetown.

What about Euan? He was no good yet because he'd still be operating in Northern Ireland, and there was no way I could make contact with him until he was back in England.

I looked over at Kelly. That was how she would have to live now, always dressed, ready to run at a moment's notice. I put the comforter over her.

I piled all the trash together and put it in the wastebasket, made sure the sign was still on the door and her shoes were in her pockets. I checked chamber in both weapons--the 9mm in Kev's jacket and the Sig in my waistband. No doubt Kelly was going to be in all of tomorrow's papers, but at least if the shit hit the fan we were ready to go. I knew my escape route and would not hesitate to shoot my way out.

I got my new clothes out of the bag and took them into the bathroom. I shaved, then undressed. I stank; Kev's things were stained with blood from Aida or Marsha, I couldn't remember which. The sweat had thinned it, spreading it right up the back and shoulders of his shirt and the inside of his jeans. Everything went into a plastic laundry bag, which I'd throw away in the morning. I had a long, hot shower and washed my hair. Then I got dressed, checked the door lock, and lay on the bed.

I woke up at about 5:30 in the morning after a terrible night's sleep. I wasn't sure if all the bad stuff was a dream. The only good result was that I remembered the name of Slack Pat's restaurant.

I thought again about money. I definitely couldn't use credit cards because I had to assume they'd either been frozen or would be used as a trace. It was cash or nothing--not easy in the West nowadays. Pat, if I got to him, would fund me, but I knew I'd have to take advantage of any spare time to get hold of more. Kelly was snoring big-time. I picked up the key card, gently closed the door behind me, checked that the sign was up, and went looking for a fire extinguisher. As I passed the open door to the chambermaid's storeroom I spotted half a dozen wedge-shaped door stops on a shelf. I helped myself to a couple.

I found the fire extinguisher on the wall by the elevators. I quickly unscrewed the top of it and removed the carbon dioxide cylinder, a nine-inch black steel tube. I put it in my jacket and walked back to the room.

I put the three spare magazines for the Sig .45 in the left-hand pocket of Kev's jacket and decided I was going to keep the USP in the room. I hid it in the toilet tank. A weapon can stand getting wet in the short term. I just didn't want her to find it and start putting holes in herself.

I dozed some more, woke up, and dozed again. By 7 a.m. I was bored and hungry. Breakfast was included in the room price, but to get it I'd have to go downstairs to the lobby.

Kelly started to stir. I said, "Good morning. Do you fancy something to eat?"

She was all yaw ny sitting up and looking like a scarecrow because she'd gone to sleep with wet hair. Immediately I put the TV on for her, because I didn't really know what to say.

She looked down at her clothes, trying to work it out.

"You fell asleep," I laughed.

"I couldn't even undress you last night. Hey, it's like camping, isn't it?"

She liked that.

"Yeah." She smiled, still sleepy "Shall I go and get you some breakfast?"

She didn't look up, just nodded at the television.

"Remember, you must do this every time; you never ever open the door. I'll come back using the key. Don't even open the curtains, because the cleaning ladies will think it's OK to come in, and we don't want to talk to anyone, do we? I'll leave the do not disturb sign, OK?"

She nodded. I wasn't sure how much of it had gone in. I picked up the tray the ice bucket was on, put on my glasses, and went down to reception.

It was already fairly crowded: people with RVs who couldn't be bothered to sleep in them, and salesmen looking clean, fresh, and straight out of the "appearance counts" section of the manual.

The breakfast area was made up of two or three tables by the coffeepots under the TV. I took three packets of cereal, bagels and muffins, some apples, then two cups of coffee and an orange juice.

The desk clerk had just finished her shift and came over.