"She is not a killer. She is an a.s.sa.s.sin."

"Why would an a.s.sa.s.sin go after a successful but relatively unimportant businessman like Lawless?"

"Exactly," she said.

"I don't follow."

"Unlike the death of William Wilson, this murder was an afterthought," Maria said. "Someone wanted Wilson out of the way, so they hired a very skilled individual who made it look as if he had died of natural causes. They did not want a murder. Otherwise, they could have hired a sniper to shoot him from Lafayette Park. When you destroyed that scenario, they were forced to target someone else, to make the Wilson death seem like the first high-profile strike of a hypodermic serial killer who was chasing down wealthy businessmen. Lawless happened to be the man she picked."

"What makes you think that Lawless was an arbitrary choice?" McCaskey asked his wife.

"Look at the dissimilarities in the approach to the death," the former Interpol agent told him. "William Wilson had bodyguards. The a.s.sa.s.sin had to approach him as a lover to get past them and make sure they stayed away. And because she was the lover of a high-profile individual, the hotel staff would have made a point of paying her very little attention. She came to the hotel, they did their business, she left-all of it relatively invisible. Tonight was different. Listen to these interviews," she said, pointing at the TV. "The woman spoke with another man in the courtyard but never looked up at him. The dead man's a.s.sistant noticed her, but she did not let him see her face. She was being very cautious."

"Right. She did not want to be identified, because she was waiting to kill him," her husband said.

"No. After the killing, she got off on the mezzanine," Maria said. "She had already cased out the hotel, knew how to leave with minimum visibility. Why do that and then go back back outside and expose herself to all of this scrutiny? If Lawless had been the intended target all along, she could have posed as his wife or daughter and gotten into the room. She could have ambushed a housekeeper and taken a master key. She could have knocked on his door after he had gone in. Who would not admit a young woman? She could have used a syringe to inject hydrochloric acid into the lock to dissolve it. She took none of those safer routes because our a.s.sa.s.sin did not know Lawless was going to be her victim. Not until she spoke with him, found out he was successful enough to fit the serial killer motif she-or whoever hired her-had invented, and learned that he was staying in the hotel alone." outside and expose herself to all of this scrutiny? If Lawless had been the intended target all along, she could have posed as his wife or daughter and gotten into the room. She could have ambushed a housekeeper and taken a master key. She could have knocked on his door after he had gone in. Who would not admit a young woman? She could have used a syringe to inject hydrochloric acid into the lock to dissolve it. She took none of those safer routes because our a.s.sa.s.sin did not know Lawless was going to be her victim. Not until she spoke with him, found out he was successful enough to fit the serial killer motif she-or whoever hired her-had invented, and learned that he was staying in the hotel alone."

McCaskey was silent while he processed everything his wife had said. "You're saying that making this appear to be a pattern actually underscores the uniqueness of the first hit," McCaskey said.

"That is how I see it," Maria replied.

"It's possible," he muttered after a long, long moment. "Dammit, it really is. Brava, my love."

She smiled at him.

"Paul, did you hear any of that?"

"I did, Darrell, and I'm still processing it," Hood told him. "But tell Maria 'well done.' "

"Thank you!" she said from under her husband's arm.

"It sounds like we're going to have to stay involved with this, then," Hood said.

"Maybe even deeper than we were before," McCaskey said.

If Maria had nailed this, they were not looking at a vengeful escort or industrial espionage. They were looking at something strongly reminiscent of what the FBI called an IOS, an improvised operational scenario. One in which the carefully devised plans for a strike team, undercover personnel, or sometimes both had to be quickly and effectively reconfigured because something had gone wrong.

An operation that was traditionally handled by seasoned intelligence personnel.

TWENTY.

Washington, D.C. Tuesday, 7:13 A.M.

Paul Hood had gone home for a long sleep, shower, then returned to Op-Center. He was wiped out from a day that was spent mostly with Ron Plummer, reviewing the restructuring of Op-Center. The investigation was also draining. It was not just a chess game but a chess game on multiple levels. Overinvolvement to help Scotland Yard might damage relations with the Metro Police. A concession to the police might weaken Hood's credibility not just with the Yard but with other intelligence agencies. Spending money on a non-core operation might hurt Hood's standing with the CIOC and with Op-Center employees who were going to be hard-pressed to do their existing jobs. In one sense, it was a h.e.l.l of a challenge. In another, it was daunting and exhausting.

The previous afternoon had been so full that Hood did not have an opportunity to call his former wife. When he finally did have the time, it was nearly eleven P.M. Sharon would probably be asleep or with Jim Hunt. In any case, Hood preferred to talk with her when he was fresh. It helped him deal with whatever feelings of ent.i.tlement or bitterness she might spray his way.

Ironically, just before he phoned her, Matt Stoll called. He said that he understood the staff cuts and could do a lot of the maintenance work, paperwork, "the gruntwork" himself. But he said he needed at least another set of hands to help him. Cheap hands. "Monkey hands," he said.

There was something about that image which amused Hood. He knew a chimp they could hire.

He was disappointed with the crankiness in his soul, but the hurt was there and it wasn't going away. As long as he didn't communicate that to Sharon, no harm was done.

Sharon was rushed, as usual, when he called. She was going to work out, and her trainer-another addition to her new life-did not like it when she was late. She was also polite but formal, as Hood had come to expect. He got the words out quickly. Otherwise, he would have changed his mind about telling her that he had found an internship for Frankie Hunt.

"It's with Matt Stoll," Hood told her. "He'll be working on put-the-square-peg-in-the-square-hole stuff. Inventory and routing software and hardware upgrade notifications."

"Great," Sharon said. "Thanks."

She really did sound grateful. That made him uncomfortable. Sharon was happy because he was helping his G.o.dd.a.m.n replacement. replacement. There was a point at which a good soldier became an idiot. He felt he had crossed that. There was a point at which a good soldier became an idiot. He felt he had crossed that.

"E-mail me his contact information," Hood told her, continuing because he had no choice. "I'll order an expedited background check, and we can go from there."

"Will do," she said. "Frankie is a good kid."

"I'm sure he is," Hood said pleasantly. It was filler, but he could not think of anything else to say. Anything civil, that is.

Since the children had already left for school, the call ended with a pair of unsentimental good-byes. Hood sat there for a moment, looking at the phone. He wanted to slam his fist on it but did not. The phone was not his enemy. He was. Mr. Cooperative, the mediator, the nice guy.

The idiot.

As with Senator Debenport the day before, an early-morning phone conversation ended with Hood feeling as if he had been someone's stooge. He hoped this did not become a pattern. It might make him insecure, and crises did not yield to men of caution. At the same time, Hood could not afford to become overly bold and push Op-Center deeper into areas where it had no legitimate business.

Both extremes were tested when Darrell McCaskey arrived. McCaskey came to see Hood with something that had been on his mind all morning: the name of the only individual who fit Maria's quick-sketch profile.

"Admiral Kenneth Link," McCaskey said. "He's a former head of covert ops with the CIA, he's got an anti-European agenda, and he knew where William Wilson was staying."

"Okay, so Link did not like the man's policies," Hood said. "What does he gain by removing Wilson?"

"I'm not sure," McCaskey admitted. "But I can't dismiss the possibility."

"Fair enough. Talk it out."

"A prominent Brit dies abroad after a s.e.xual encounter," McCaskey said. "The Fleet Street tabloids are all over that. Wilson's death not only cripples and probably terminates the new banking venture, it affects the stock price of his company. The tawdriness of what happened hurts the value even more. In short, Wilson's death shuts down a potential threat to the American economy."

"Right," Hood replied. "But doesn't that help the current administration and not Senator Orr?"

"Just the opposite, I would think," McCaskey said. "If the rumors about Orr are true, he is going to come out and effectively promote a strong policy of isolationism. Wilson's death gives the senator a salacious, Eurocentric target, someone the president's endorsed successor can't hit."

"Because, like us, the president has overseas alliances to protect."

McCaskey nodded. "Orr wouldn't care about that. His only concern is the American electorate."

"That might also be a rival's concern," Hood said. "Someone could be looking to frame Link and stop a credible threat to the two-party system."

"It's possible," McCaskey admitted.

Hood shook his head. "One problem I have with your theory, Darrell, is that Wilson was as viable a target for Orr alive as he was dead. In fact, if Wilson were alive, his European banking operation might have won Don Orr even more support."

"But we're not talking about the senator," McCaskey reminded him. "We're talking about Admiral Link."

"I understand that. But I'm still not clear what he could possibly gain. Why would he want to hurt Orr's rhetoric by eliminating William Wilson?"

"That is is the big question," McCaskey said. the big question," McCaskey said.

"It's also one I'm not sure Op-Center needs to answer," Hood said. "We agreed to stick a finger in this for Scotland Yard. The more I look at it, the more it does not seem like a crisis."

"That depends on your definition of crisis," McCaskey said. "I see a person or persons who were able to move quickly when their killing was exposed. That suggests a conspiracy, one that may involve the office of a United States senator. Give me a little more time to research this, Paul. Let me take a closer look at Kenneth Link and Orr's staff."

"What about Mike?" Hood asked. "Would you involve him?"

"I'm not sure," McCaskey said.

Neither man said what was obviously on both of their minds. Would Mike give his loyalty to the old team or the new? Was it even fair to put him in that position?

A chess game with multiple levels, Hood thought. Hood thought.

Hood called Liz Gordon's office. She was not in yet, and he left a message for her to see him when she arrived. He wanted her to whip up a quick-sketch profile of Link. Then he turned to his computer and brought up the Senate's secure home page. The staff directory was accessible only to government officials. Hood looked up Orr's office staff. Admiral Link was not there, of course, since he was only involved in the United States First Party.

"Do we know anything about Katherine Lockley and Kendra Peterson?" Hood asked.

"A little," McCaskey said. He leaned over Hood, typed his pa.s.sword on the keyboard, and opened the file he had collected on Senator Orr's staff.

"Lockley was a journalist before joining Orr," McCaskey said, looking at his notes. "I checked her bylines, her college records. She checks out. Peterson was a Vietnam war baby, Marine dad, came to live here when she was a kid. She's a gymnast, a national champion in her early teens who missed out on the Olympics because of tendonitis in her fingers. She joined the Marines and managed to pa.s.s the physical, though the tendonitis returned, and she ended up working in Camp Pendleton on the DANTES program."

"Which is?"

"Not as ominous at it sounds," McCaskey told him. "It's the Defense Activity for Non-Traditional Education Support certification program. She pushed paper to make sure qualified Marines got a good shot at civilian jobs."

"Is that all she did?"

"It's the only job on record," McCaskey said. "When her enlistment was up, Ms. Peterson used her DANTES connections to get herself a job as a clerk in the U.S. emba.s.sy in j.a.pan. That often means a spook."

"Did she pick j.a.pan?"

"That was what the Military Outplacement Specialty Office came up with," McCaskey said.

"No obvious red flags there," Hood said. "Who else is on the senator's staff?"

McCaskey went through the remainder of the list and what he had gathered about each individual. No one stood out.

Hood sighed as McCaskey walked back around the desk. "I don't know, Darrell. You've shown me how Link is qualified to mastermind this but not a single reason why he would."

"Why was Wilson at that party?"

"According to the news reports, so that Orr's friends could make a connection, try to temper his plans," Hood said.

"Is that easier to believe than the fact that Wilson was being set up?" McCaskey asked.

"Frankly, yes. I don't see the trail of bread crumbs that leads from Wilson to Link. Senator Orr is wealthy, and he has extremely wealthy friends. They could have set up a program to challenge Wilson. In fact, that would have made a very strong campaign plank. Even if Link wanted to sabotage Orr's campaign for some reason, make it appear that he was behind the murder, why kill a second businessman? No," Hood said, "I don't see how they connect."

"Okay. Here's a reason Link might have wanted Wilson dead," McCaskey said. "Publicity for Orr. Guilty by innuendo, then exonerated by the second murder."

"Possibly."

"Or maybe Link is a sociopath who misses the thrill of undercover operations," McCaskey said. "I know I do."

"You were stopping transgressions, not instigating them," Hood pointed out.

"Whether you snort, smoke, or inject, danger is a tonic," McCaskey said. "Look, Paul. I don't know why he would do this. I only have a feeling that there's something here."

"How much time will you need to explore this feeling?"

"Forty-eight hours?"

Hood frowned. "Take a day and see where it leads. I can't promise you more than that."

"All right."

"You also have to decide about Mike," Hood went on. "Until I have his resignation, he's still working with us."

"What do you think?"

"Tough call. If he finds out, he'll think we couldn't trust him. But he'd also feel obligated to tell Link. Best to give him plausible deniability for now."

"Good call. Speaking of calls, I'm going to let Maria know what's up. She might have some ideas."

"Good idea," Hood said. He thought for a moment. "Mike is an honorable man. He may not like what we're doing, but if he smells something wrong, he'll act."

McCaskey smiled.

"Did I miss something?" Hood asked.

"The smile, you mean? Yeah. You never leave us out to dry."

"You lost me," Hood said.

"You said that Mike may not like what we're we're doing," McCaskey told him as he turned to go. "You don't pa.s.s the buck, Paul." doing," McCaskey told him as he turned to go. "You don't pa.s.s the buck, Paul."

Hood did not realize he had done that.

When McCaskey had gone, Hood went to his E-mail. He just stared at the monitor. He had just received another pat on the shoulder for being a good and responsible man. If Paul Hood was so good and responsible, how did he get to this place in life? Rationing McCaskey's hours like they were water in the desert, working as cabin boy on the Good Ship Sharon and Jim, playing defense instead of offense with the CIOC and the William Wilson investigation. When Hood was the mayor of Los Angeles, he used to feel that fighting the city council or one of his commissioners to a draw was unsatisfactory. Right now, a stalemate sounded sweet.