"I got a snack machine over there and a Coke machine. You need change?"

I surrendered. "Yes, please."

So we got change, bought some petrified snacks from the machine, plus two Cokes, used the restroom, and got a few gallons of gas.

Back in the tiny office, I paid for the gas with one of my government MasterCards. Agents carry two credit cards, one for food, lodging, and miscellaneous, and one specifically for gasoline. My gasoline card said CORPORATE, and R AND I ASSOCIATES, which meant nothing, but nosy Rudy asked, "What's R and I Associates?"

"Refrigerators and Ice Makers."

"Yeah?"

I changed the subject and asked him, "You got a local map?"

"Nope. But I can draw you one."

"For free?"

He laughed and rummaged through a stack of junk mail and found a flyer advertising a moose-wrestling contest or something, and began writing on the back with a pencil. He said, "So, you got to look for Stark Road first, and make a left, but there's no signs, then you get to Joe Indian Road-"

"Excuse me?"

"Joe Indian." He went through it again in case I was stupid, then concluded, "You hit this here loggin' road with no name, and stay on for about ten mile. Now, you're looking for McCuen Pond Road on the left, and that takes you right up to the Custer Hill property. Can't miss it, 'cause you get stopped."

"Stopped by who?"

"The guards. They got a house there and a gate. The whole property got a fence around it."

"Okay, thanks, Rudy."

"Why you headin' up there?"

"We're doing a service call for the refrigerator. Problem with the ice maker."

"Yeah?" He looked at us. "They expectin' you?"

"They sure are. They can't make a cocktail until we fix the ice problem."

"They didn't give you no directions?"

"They did, but my dog ate them. Okay, thanks-"

"Hey, you want some advice?"

"Sure."

"I gotta warn you, but you didn't hear it from me."

"Okay."

"Get your money up front. They's slow payin'. That's the way the rich are. Slow payin' the workin' people."

"Thanks for the warning."

We left, and I said to Kate, "We're on Candid Camera. Right?"

"I'm starting to think so."

We got in the car and doubled back on Route 56, entered the park, and kept an eye out for Stark Road.

I found it and turned onto this narrow road, which ran through a tunnel of trees. "You want some beef jerky?"

"No, thank you. And don't litter."

I was hungry enough to eat a bear, but I settled for the beef jerky, which was gross. I threw the cellophane wrappers in the rear seat, my contribution to ecology.

We were close to the Custer Hill Club, and according to Walsh, an air-and-land search was supposed to be under way around the club property, but I didn't hear any helicopters or fixed-wing aircraft, and I didn't see any police search vehicles around. This was not a good sign, or it was a very good sign.

Kate checked her cell phone and said, "I have service now, and I also have a message."

She started to retrieve the message, but I said, "We're out of contact. No messages, no calls."

"What if they've found Harry?"

"I don't want to know either way. We're going to see Bain Madox."

She put her cell phone back in her pocket, then her beeper went off, and so did mine a minute later.

We followed Rudy's directions, and within twenty minutes, we turned onto McCuen Pond Road, which was narrow but well paved.

There was a big sign up ahead that stretched above the road, fixed to two ten-foot poles with floodlights attached. The sign said: THIS IS PRIVATE PROPERTY-NO TRESPASSING-STOP AT GATE AHEAD OR TURN AROUND.

We passed under the sign, and ahead I could see a clearing where a rustic log house stood behind a closed steel security gate.

Two men in camouflage fatigues exited the house as though they knew we were coming long before we got to the gate, and I said to Kate, "Motion or sound detectors. Maybe TV cameras, too."

"Not to mention those guys are wearing holsters, and one of them is looking at us with binoculars."

"God, how I hate private-security guys. Give them a gun and some power, and-"

"That sign says slow down to five miles an hour."

I slowed down and approached the closed gate. Ten feet from the gate was a speed bump and a sign that said: STOP HERE. I stopped.

The gate, which was electric, slid open a few feet, and one of the guys walked toward our car. I lowered the window, and he came up to me and asked, "How can I help you?"

The guy was in his thirties, all decked out in military cammies, hat, boots, and gun. He also wore an expression suggesting he was very cool and possibly dangerous if provoked. All he needed to complete the look were sunglasses and a swastika. I said to him, "I'm Federal Agent John Corey, and this is Federal Agent Kate Mayfield. We're here to see Mr. Bain Madox."

This seemed to crack his stone face, and he asked, "Is he expecting you?"