"Simple enough. Ron goes away. I FedEx his passport and ten grand-I've actually got the cash in my safe-deposit box-"

"I'll pay you back."

"I got this. My guy in Houston flies the passport to Kuwait and walks it across the border into Iraq. We call up this Davenport guy, say that we're worried because Ron didn't show up for work on Wednesday and he doesn't answer his phone. We don't know where he's gone."

"And Davenport thinks it's possible that he's run for it."

"Yeah, because they send out a stop order on him, and because of his background, and what they think-that he killed Tubbs and Roman-they include the border people and the airport security, and they report back that his passport left the country, and then crossed the border into Kuwait and then out of Kuwait and into Iraq."

"Don't they take pictures, you know, video cameras of everybody going through the airport?"

"Sure. But IDs aren't synced with pictures. They ask for your passport when you check in, but going through security, they only ask for a government ID. This Houston guy shows Ron's passport to the airlines and the security people, who check him through. The cops look at the security video, and they never see Ron, so they figure he ran some kind of dodge, and got through behind security. It's easy enough to do. Listen, all kinds of people from this country are carrying all kinds of stuff into Kuwait and then across the border into Iraq. This is a very established deal... . This Houston guy, it's his thing. It can be done."

"If you're sure ..."

"It'll hurt, politically, but once it's done, we're really secure," Dannon said. "We'll be the only two who know the story. You're already a senator before the shit hits the fan, another guy goes missing ... but, if Ron's passport goes into Iraq, what's Davenport going to do?"

"How soon?"

"Tomorrow," Dannon said. "We can't afford to wait. I can't give Ron a chance to move on me." He was on his back and Taryn snuggled her head down onto his chest and he stroked her hair. Without Ron, he thought, the future had no horizon... .

TARYN WAS PRETTY TIRED of the sex by the time Dannon went to sleep. She listened to him breathe, then slipped out of bed, pulled on a robe, and padded through to the living room, closing the bedroom door behind her, poured some vodka over a couple of ice cubes, sat on the couch, and thought about it.

Dannon, once he'd gotten rid of Carver, was going to be a problem. She could see it already: he was looking at a permanent relationship. He was looking at love. When she got to Washington, an heiress and businesswoman already worth a billion dollars or so, a U.S. senator ... any permanent relationship wouldn't be with an exarmy captain who carried a switchblade in his pocket.

That their relationship wasn't going to be permanent would quickly become obvious. Then what? What do jilted lovers do, when they're men? What do jilted alcoholics with switchblades do?

Something to think about. Dannon, like Carver, would have to go away. But how? She sat on the couch for another hour, and another two vodkas, thinking about it: and what she thought was, Best to wait until we get to Washington.

THE NEIGHBORHOOD AROUND TARYN'S was quiet and dark and gently rolling. The highest nearby spot was between two pillared faux-plantation manors on five-acre lots, screened from the street by elaborate hedges. From the top of that low hill, any approaching cars could be seen three blocks away.

Lauren was behind the wheel of Kidd's Mercedes GL550, a large luxury vehicle and one that fit well in rich neighborhoods. Kidd sat in the passenger seat, looking at a hooded laptop that was plugged into an antenna and amplifier focused on one of the manors. Kidd was riding on the manor's Wi-Fi; and Lauren, looking over his shoulder, said, "We're not Peeping Toms."

"I'm not peeping, I'm trying to figure out who in the hell that is," he said, watching the scene in Taryn Grant's bedroom. "I think it's her security guy. The only security guy, if we counted right. I can't find anyone else."

"It's perfect," Lauren said. "They're both fully occupied."

"You're scaring the shit out of me," Kidd said.

"I'm so excited I'm gonna have an orgasm myself in the next two minutes," Lauren said. "Trade places. I'm going."

Kidd didn't bother to argue. He got out of the car-no interior lights, they had custom switches, and the switches were off-and walked around to the driver's side, as Lauren clambered into the passenger seat.

She was wearing trim, soft black cotton slacks, a silky white blouse, a red nylon runner's jacket with reflective strips front and back, and black running shoes. She had a thin black nylon ski mask in her pocket. The ski mask could be instantly buried; and no burglar in his or her right mind would be out with a red jacket, a shiny white blouse, and all those reflective strips.

Kidd started the SUV and they eased on down the hill toward Grant's house. As they rolled along, Lauren turned the jacket inside out: the lining, now the outer shell, was jet black. She pulled it back on, and was now dressed head to toe in black. A hundred yards out, Lauren said, "I'll call." Kidd tapped the brakes-no red flash on the custom-switched brake lights-and when they were stopped, Lauren dropped out and quietly closed the car door.

Five seconds later, with the hood over her head, she vanished into the woods between Grant's house and the neighbor's.

THE GROUNDS WERE PROTECTED by both radar and infrared installations, but Kidd had switched off the alarms on the rear approach, and had fixed the software so that they couldn't be turned back on without his permission. Lauren had one major worry: that the dogs would be turned loose. If that happened, she was in trouble. She had a can of bear spray, which should shut them down, but she had no idea how effective that would be.

For the time being, the dogs were in the house-one of them in the living room, where it could see the front hallway and the hall coming in from the garage; and the other outside the bedroom door.

Inside the tree line, she pulled a pair of starlight goggles over her head. They were military issue, and she'd had to pay nine thousand dollars for them six years before. With the goggles over her eyes, the world turned green and speckled: but she could see.

She began moving forward, like a still-hunter, placing each foot carefully, feeling for branches and twigs before she put weight down. Long pauses to listen. Fifty yards in, she crossed a nearly useless wrought iron fence. Any reasonably athletic human could slip right over it; Grant's dogs could jump it with three feet to spare, and a deer would hardly notice it. Once over the fence, she took nearly fifteen minutes to cross the hundred yards to the edge of Grant's back lawn. By that time, she knew she was alone. She took out her phone, a throwaway, and messaged Kidd, one word: "There."

One word came back. "Go."

Kidd was back on top of the hill, back on the manor's Wi-Fi. Nothing inside the house had changed. Grant's lawn was dotted with oak trees and shrubs, and Lauren stuck close to them as she closed in on the bedroom. There were motion and sonic alarms outside the bedroom windows, but Kidd had them handled. When she was below the windows, she took out a taped flashlight with a pinprick opening in the tape. She turned it on, and with the tiny speck of light, looked at the windows. Triple glazed, wired, with lever latches. Fully open, there'd be a space three feet long and a foot high that she'd have to get her body through. She could do that... .

She pulled back, listened, crept down the side of the house. A light came on in the living room and she froze. Nothing more happened and she felt her phone buzz. She risked a look: Grant moving. She listened, then began to back away from the house, heard a crunch when she stepped in some gravel, froze. Moved again ten seconds later, backing toward the woods.

From her new position, she could see the lighted living room, and Taryn Grant looking out the window. She was wearing a robe and had what looked like a drink in her hand. A dog moved by her hip, and Lauren thought, Bigger than a wolf.

The phone vibrated. She was into the tree line, and stopped to looked again: "Dogs may know ... dogs may be coming."

She thought, Damnit, and texted, "Come now," and began moving more quickly. She crossed the fence, which should give her some protection from the dogs, and made the hundred yards out quickly, but not entirely silently. At the street-side tree line, she knelt, stripped the goggles and mask off, stuffed them in her pockets, and then Kidd was there in the car.

She was inside and pulled the door closed and they were rolling and Lauren looked out the window, toward Grant's house, but saw no dogs. "She let them out?"

"I think so-into the backyard, anyway. Didn't seem like there was any big rush. Maybe she was letting them out to pee."

"That's probably it," Lauren said. "I never saw them. They didn't bark."

"They don't bark, not those dogs," Kidd said.

"I know." She took a breath, squeezed Kidd's thigh. "I haven't felt like this in years. Six years."

They came out of the darkened neighborhood to a bigger street, and Kidd went left. They could see a traffic light at the end of the street, where the bigger street intersected with an even bigger avenue.

Kidd asked, "What do you think?"

"Piece of cake," Lauren said.

CHAPTER 20