"Money," Neumann said immediately. "Lots of it."

"Something like the two million dollar reward they offered on the Oklahoma City bombing in '95?" the President asked.

"I think it's going to take a lot more than that," Neumann came back. "We're up against something we haven't seen before, sir. These people are good. They don't talk about what they've done, and they don't leave tracks. If anyone not involved had any knowledge and was going to tip us off, he would have done it by now. Mr. President, the reward's going to have to be enough to break loose one of the principals, and nothing they've done so far indicates they're motivated by money. A hundred million might cause one of them to revise his thinking."

At the mention of the dollar figure there was a collective intake of breath, and every head in the room save one swiveled to face the FBI agent. Harrison Potter, the retired Chief Justice, was watching the President. "Roland, do you agree with this recommendation?"

"Mr. President...the FBI does not support the concept of making terrorists into centimillionaires. However, Alex's arguments have a logic to them that cannot be ignored. I think we should be prepared for the eventuality of having to offer such a sum, if other measures prove ineffective. I would recommend against it at this time. If other avenues which we are currently pursuing prove successful, it may not need to be made at all."

"Are you of the opinion that a hundred-million-dollar offer should be made immediately?" the President asked of the younger FBI man.

"Yes, sir. The murders are an outrage, so we lose no face by being visibly and seriously outraged over them. We will almost certainly catch the men eventually without the reward. But the reward will speed things up, and that means saving lives. Also, if we wait until other methods fail, then we look terrible. That's a PR nightmare.

"Remember when O.J. Simpson's ex-wife and that waiter were killed? O.J. was stoic at the funeral, and didn't seem too outraged that someone had sliced up the mother of his children. Does he offer a reward for finding the killer? No, not until it's obvious that he's the only suspect, and he's botched his getaway wearing the fake beard and carrying a bunch of cash. That reward offer made him look terrible." He shook his head. "Mr. President, I think we should offer a hundred million right now, not after we've exhausted everything else." Neumann glanced around the room, then returned his gaze to the President.

"You make some good points," the President conceded. "Has there been any progress on the investigation? Any leads at all?"

"It is true that we have no hard evidence as to who is responsible. However, the things that these people have done, and just as importantly the things they have not done, are giving us some very definite direction to our search. I'll have a full report for you at our next meeting, Mr. President."

"Very good. George, when is your man coming in?" the President asked the CIA Director. "Hap and Nigel should arrive tomorrow morning, sir."

"Tomorrow at 2:00 too soon for you to have that report ready?" the President asked Alex Neumann. "Not at all, Mr. President."

"Does that time suit ev-" The President stopped in mid-sentence as a Secret Service agent opened the door and walked over to him.

"You said you were to be notified immediately, sir," the agent said. "This hit the Internet less than two minutes ago." He handed the President a thin stack of laser-printer output. "There are fifteen copies, sir, in case you need them for the whole group."

"Thanks, Bill." The Secret Service man nodded, then brought his head closer and said something that the others could not hear. The President's eyes widened slightly, but he gave no other visible reaction. The man then turned on his heel and left the room.

"It appears you were right, Roland," the President said as he read the words in front of him. Then he handed the pages to the FBI Director. "Give everyone a copy."

The Lessons of the Joe Columbo Shooting by Wilson Blair Joe Columbo was a well-guarded organized crime boss who operated in New York in the '60s and '70s. In 1972, a mob rival paid someone to murder Columbo during a New York parade. Knowing that the man might be caught and reveal who had hired him, the employer took additional precautions to silence the killer.

As planned, the hired assassin rushed Columbo during the parade and shot the mob boss. Columbo did not die, but was permanently paralyzed and soon lost control of his crime syndicate.

When the gunman tried to make his escape, however, five large Sicilian gentlemen tackled him and covered him with their bodies. When the five men stood up, the man who had shot Columbo lay dead with two bullet holes in him. A revolver wrapped in friction tape lay on his body. The entire incident was captured on film by several television cameras.

The five Sicilian gentlemen refused to talk to the police. So thorough was their refusal that the police were not sure whether the men spoke English, or any other language, for that matter. Attempted interrogations in various dialects were all fruitless.

All five men tested positive for nitrates on both hands. None of the five, as near as could be determined, had a Social Security number. All five were released by the police after being held for less than 20 hours. None of the five were charged with any crime.

Some people might ask why a charge of conspiracy was not brought. The fact was that since no one said one word to the police, there was no starting point from which to build a case. The five men could have been tackling the assassin to disarm him, and the trigger of his gun got squeezed twice in the struggle. Without testimony, the prosecution could not prove anything, and the DA knew this. The five men walked away.

The lessons of the Columbo shooting are clear and uncomplicated: 1. Eyewitness testimony is the least reliable in court, even when the actions are filmed. There can always be multiple explanations for what someone saw. 2. Forensic evidence is much harder to refute, but it can be completely neutralized with a little foresight.

3. You pick the time and place for action if you want to succeed--don't let someone else dictate the terms.

4. Never talk to the police. Ever. About anything. You will only give them rope to make a noose for you. This is just as important to remember when you are completely innocent. Open your mouth and a case may get built on some fragment of your testimony, and you will take the fall for someone who was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

Keep these lessons firmly in mind. They will serve you well in all circumstances, including the times when you've done nothing.

Lastly, I have learned that some of my former colleagues want immunity from the current program. That's easy-resign, and announce the fact in the Wall Street Journal classified section under "Jobs Wanted."

END.

"God bless the Information Superhighway," the President said with a grimace. He looked very tired as he put down the sheet of paper. "I am informed that this Internet transmission originated in Lincoln, Nebraska. Roland, I'd like you and Alex to get on this. Maybe you can have something for us by tomorrow. I understand you're bringing in your expert with a psychological profile of the terrorists?"

"Yes, sir."

"George, your people all set for tomorrow?"

"Yes, Mr. President."

"Dwight, what about you?"

"I have two people giving testimony. Uh, Mr. President?"

"Yes, Dwight?"

"Uh...do you think maybe by tomorrow we'll be able to announce that whoever's doing this is not anyone in the Treasury Department? Morale at ATF is at an all-time low."

"We'll see," the President said noncommittally. "Looks like tomorrow's going to be 'Outside Expert's Day'. Anything else before we break?"

"Mr. President?"

"What is it, Helen?"

"Would it make sense for us to put an ad in the Journal? To ask Wilson Blair-or whoever he is-what he wants?"

"He wants to kill ATF agents!" Carl Schaumberg interrupted. "That's what he's been encouraging people to do, and now he's telling them how to get away with it," Schaumberg said, shaking the photocopy in his hand. The Congresswoman from Vermont looked back and forth between the New York Congressman and the Chief Executive.

"Congressman Schaumberg, Mr. President-if all this man wanted was to kill people, why does he now distribute this announcement?"

"What are you saying, Helen?"

"I'm saying that his first message seemed to me to be both a veiled threat and a call to action. His second one was a pat on the back to the people that listened to him and some advice on the...tactics his followers should use, but there was also that sentence about 'immunity'.

"Now we get a third message, and it's mostly this Columbo story-more advice on how not to get caught. But here at the end," she said, pointing, "is this instruction to put an ad in the Wall Street Journal. What's that for?"

"You mean you don't know?" Harrison Potter asked. All heads turned toward the retired Chief Justice. "I thought it was obvious."

"Tell us, Harry," the President said.

"This man who calls himself Wilson Blair doesn't want ATF agents to all die. He just wants them to go away."

'"Evening, Ray. Been a while. Gin?"

"Just a draft beer, Peter, and some huevos rancheros." Ray Johnson casually looked around the Woody Creek Tavern. It had been almost a month since he'd dropped in. "Been in Boulder the last few days. Anything new going on?" he asked.

"Other than the dead narcs?" Peter asked, setting the beer glass on the bar in front of his customer. Ray's eyebrows knitted in query. Dead narcs? he thought. Around here?

"You mean you haven't heard about that?" the barman asked in surprise. 'Three of 'em," he explained. "Gutted like deer and dumped in the woods. Guy on his mountain bike found 'em last night."

"Where?"

"Up near North Starwood."

"North Starwood? " Ray asked in disbelief. "What about the guard?" Starwood was the private drive on the shoulder of Red Mountain eight miles northwest of the town of Aspen. John Denver had a house there, and the constant flow of drifters in the '70s who had dropped in to meet him had prompted the singer to erect and staff a guardhouse at the drive's only entrance. Starwood's other, less-famous residents had welcomed this addition and were more than happy to assist in the expense of a 24-hour gatekeeper to keep out unwanted visitors.

"Guard says he doesn't know a thing. Logs show the only people he let in were ones lived there. Word is the three narcs were tortured to death."

"Who'd they piss off?" Ray asked as he lifted the bottle to his lips. The bartender shrugged. "You know those transformers you see on utility poles?"

"Yeah?"

"You weren't here then, but back in '79 or '80,1 think it was, it came out that one of those transformers was a dummy. Inside it was a surveillance camera. Feds had put it up so they could watch this guy's house in Missouri Heights, and they'd been watching it for something like six months. Guy found out when his neighbors were flipping around on their satellite dish, and one of the channels was this guy's house. They called him, he came over to look at the screen, and they figured out where the camera had to be. Pissed off a lot of people."

"Yeah, I can imagine."

"Right. Well, word is, it's been a long time, and the feds thought they'd do it again. Only on a larger scale. Ten or twelve of them, this time."

"Damn."

"Damn is right. Feds'll nail some guy at Denver International every now and then with a hundred kilos in a steamer trunk, but they've pretty much left everyone around here alone. Aspen cops won't cooperate with them-you know that. Guy with ten, twenty million dollars comes here and buys a place to live, he assumes he's buying a little privacy, least around his own house. Then this comes along."

"But, three feds tortured to death? Who around here could've done it?" The bartender shook his head in reply as he picked up another glass to polish.

"A week ago, I'd've said nobody. Today? Shit. Could be any one of a couple dozen people. I tell you, Ray, this thing with the ATF guys has got a bunch of people thinking. Lot of folks around here just want to be left alone, but they always jumped to attention with 'Yes, sir' and 'Yes, ma'am' when the feds came in. Not now." The bartender smiled. "I guess you don't know about Hunter," he said, referring to the Woody Creek Tavern's most famous regular patron.

"No, what?"