"What we're trying to find out is if there is some link between Lease-Aire and the terrorists or between anybody else in Philadelphia and the terrorists," Castillo continued. "If we can do that, then maybe we can find out exactly what they're planning and when. That's why we're going to the airport, to talk to the Lease-Aire people."

The Ford suddenly accelerated.

Miller glanced over at the speedometer.

"We don't want to get pinched for speeding, Sergeant," he said.

"There's blue flashers under the grille," she said. "If there's a Highway Patrol car out here, he'll see them."

"Or die young in a fiery crash," Miller said. "You're going almost ninety."

She laughed.

"Relax," she said. "And you can call me Betty, too. I thought I told you."

Castillo saw her eyes on him in the rearview mirror.

"Chief Kramer said you were a Secret Service supervisory agent," she said.

"I am."

"You told the White House operator-I assume that was the White House operator:?"

"It was."

": that you were Secretary Hall's executive assistant."

"I am."

"Curiouser and curiouser," she said and returned her attention to the road.

The corporate headquarters of Lease-Aire, Inc., was on the second floor of an unimpressive two-story, concrete-block building attached to the end of an old and somewhat run-down hangar on a remote corner of Philadelphia International Airport.

There was a sign-it looked as if it had been printed on a computer's ink-jet printer-on the steel door announcing, CLOSED DUE TO

"Now what?" Miller asked.

Sergeant Schneider took a cellular phone from her purse and pushed an autodial button.

"Jack, Betty," she said a moment later. "I need a favor. Look in the lower drawer of my filing cabinet. There's a folder called 'Lease-Aire.' I need the home address of a guy named Terry Halloran. And a phone number, if there is one."

"Who's he?" Castillo asked.

"President of Lease-Aire, right?" Miller asked.

Betty nodded.

"How'd you happen to have that information?" Castillo asked Sergeant Schneider.

"The FBI came to us asking what we had on them," she said. "We'd never heard of them. But Captain O'Brien told me to have a look at them in case there was something we should know."

"And what did you find out?" Castillo asked.

She held up her hand in a signal for him to wait and then repeated the address and telephone number that Jack Whoever on the other end of the line gave her.

"Thanks, Jack," she concluded and turned the phone off.

"Aren't you going to write that down?" Miller asked.

She returned her cellular to her purse and came out with a voice recorder.

"It's a bugger," she said. "It bugs my cellular. I turn it on whenever I make a call like that."

She pushed buttons on the digital recorder and from its memory chip it played back her voice reciting the address and phone number.

"I'm impressed," Castillo said.

"Me, too," Miller said.

"Well, we're not the Secret Service, but we're getting fairly civilized. There's even a rumor that we're going to get inside plumbing in Building 110 next year."

Castillo and Schneider smiled at each other. Miller's smile was strained.

"Hey, no offense," she said. "The problems I have with Feds are with the FBI."

"He's worried that I'm going to make a pass at you," Castillo said.

"Jesus, Charley!" Miller said.

Betty asked Castillo, evenly, "Are you?"

"From what I've seen so far, I would be afraid to," Castillo said.

"Good. Let's keep it that way."

"You were telling me what you found out when you had a look at Lease-Aire?" Castillo said.

"Shoestring operation, family owned. The president's-Terry Halloran's-wife is secretary-treasurer. Her brother, name of Alex MacIlhenny, is vice president and chief and only pilot. Also chief mechanic. He learned how to fly in the Air Force, got out, went to work for the airlines-several of them-kept getting placed on unpaid furlough when business wasn't good, got sick of that and went in business with his brother-in-law buying and reselling worn-out airliners. Nothing on any of them except the pilot's wife had him arrested one time on a domestic violence rap that didn't hold up. They're divorced. Until you told me about this terrorist business, I was almost willing to go along with the FBI theory that they were trying to collect the insurance."

"You did your homework," Castillo said, admiringly.

"The sister and husband seem okay. They checked out; no prior record, etcetera. He's a muckety-muck in the Knights of Columbus. I never met the pilot, but I can't imagine the sister or her husband getting involved with terrorists no matter how much they needed money."

"I think that 'illness in the family' business is not the reason they're closed," Castillo said, nodding at the sign. "I want to talk to them."

She took her cellular from her purse again.

"I'll give them a call and see if they're home," she said and punched in the number from memory, which also impressed Castillo.

"If there's an answer, hang up," he ordered.

She raised her eyebrows momentarily and then nodded.

"There's no answer," she said, finally.

"I still think we should go to their home," Castillo said.

"It's off Roosevelt Boulevard," Betty said. "The other side of town."

"Which means another blood-chilling ride down the interstate?" Miller asked.

"Only if you're a coward," Castillo said.

"Or you can ride in the backseat," Betty said. "Statistics say it's safer there."

Castillo thought: I don't think there is anything more in that comment than what she said.

When they got to the unmarked car, he got in the backseat.

But when she turned on the seat to back the car away from the building, their eyes met again.

[TWO]

2205 Tyson Avenue

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

1040 9 June 2005

Two-two-zero-five Tyson Avenue was a neat brick three-story house just about in the middle of the block. The other houses, built wall to wall, were apparently identical, differing only in the color of the paint trim and the style of awnings and screen doors.

There was no answer to the doorbell, which played chimes. The third time Sergeant Schneider pressed the button, Castillo noticed that one of the chime notes was missing.

"No answer," Miller said, quite unnecessarily. "What do we do now?"

"I don't know how the Secret Service does it," Betty Schneider said, "but we simple cops listen for sounds of life. I heard either a radio or a television."

I didn't, Castillo thought, because I wasn't listening. She's good!

"Well, they don't want to answer the doorbell," Miller pursued. "What do we do? Keeping punching the bell until they do?"

"No," she said. "Yahoo."

"What?" Castillo asked.

"You know," she said. "Yahoo on the Internet? It stands for 'You Always Have Other Options.' "

She went down the steps, waving for Castillo and Miller to follow her, and got behind the wheel. This time Castillo got in the front seat. Her eyebrow rose when she saw him there and their eyes met momentarily but she didn't say anything.

Miller rested his elbows on the back of the front seat.

"Where are we going?" Miller said. "Can I ask?"

"Harrisburg," she said.

"Harrisburg?"

"Harrisburg," she repeated. "If I step on it, we can probably make it in a little under three hours."

Castillo, who sensed she was pulling Miller's chain, said nothing. Miller shook his head, and then sat back on the seat and buckled his seat belt with a sure click.