Then Jack kissed her.

He didn't know if she would respond, but he had to find out. She did, putting her arms around his neck and pulling him down onto the sand with her.

They were soon caressing each other-Jack determined not to mess this up with some adolescent hormonal overload. He stopped, pulled back, and looked carefully at her.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," she said softly, then pulled him down again, and they slowly began peeling off each other's clothes.

He kissed and caressed her, and their passion grew. Jack wanted her more than anything on earth. But, more than the sex, he wanted a woman with whom he could have an honest relationship and a friendship-somebody who understood his weaknesses and wasn't dismayed by them; somebody who saw events for what they were and didn't try to arrange them to fit some narrow, self-involved definition.

Susan Strockmire was more of a hero than he had ever been… much braver and stronger. She had dedicated her life to supporting her wheezing, lumbering father. She had followed Herman, serving his needs, loving him without question, fixing his mistakes-standing in front of him, shielding him, often taking his punishment. For the first time in Jack's life he needed to give that kind of passionate dedication to someone.

Almost magically, they were entwined and he entered her. They held off for as long as they could, each giving pleasure to the other, exploring their newness. She held him tightly, kissing him, caressing him, taking him deeply inside her, until they both released, lying in the dew-damp sand, reveling in ecstasy.

Afterwards, he felt her hot breath on his ear, felt her tender hands stroking his wounded back, gently touching the welts and scars left by the North Hollywood Shootout.

"Don't worry," she whispered softly. "We'll do this together."

A little later they collected their clothes, dressed, and walked back to The Other Woman holding hands as then-shadows danced beneath them in the moonlight.

It wasn't until they turned to go down the gangplank onto the deck that Jack realized something was wrong. At first it was just a tickle in his head.

What is it? What's wrong with this picture?

Then it hit him.

The Rent-A-Wreck Chrysler was gone.

They ran aboard the boat looking for Herman, throwing open doors, but Herman Strockmire Jr. was nowhere to be found.

The DARPA van was parked almost a block awayfrom the Malibu beach house. Captain Silver was asleep on an air mattress next to Pan's cage while a video operator watched a bank of monitors. Captain Pettis was seated in the command chair looking at an infrared shot that focused on the street leading up to the house. They could both smell Pan's dank odor, hear his steady breathing.

Suddenly, Pettis saw a Chrysler drive up the street and pull into Barbra Streisand's driveway, parking in front of the closed garage door. He turned in the command swivel and tapped Captain Silver on the shoulder. "Got something here."

Captain Silver woke up from a sound sleep looking fresh and rested. They squinted at the glowing, green infrared image on the monitor.

Less than a minute later a yellow Toyota Corolla pulled up and parked next to the Chrysler. As a slender Asian woman exited the Toyota, Herman Strockmire heaved his big, wide body out of his car. He lumbered toward the woman, then the two of them appeared to be having some kind of an argument.

"Gimme her plate," Pettis ordered. The video operator pushed in on the back of the Toyota using his twenty-to-one lens, finally getting it full screen: eki 154.

Pettis picked up the phone, dialed DARPA headquarters in Virginia, asked for wants and warrants on California plate eki 154, and waited.

Moments later, a man in Virginia was back on the line.

"Sandra Toshiabi, 1656 Huntington Avenue, Santa Monica, California. No wants or warrants."

"Fax me her DL picture," Pettis said as he hung up. He was already entering Sandy Toshiabi's name into the satellite uplink that connected him to the DARPA mainframe databank in Virginia. Herman and Sandy were just deactivating the alarm on the side gate. The video operator chased after them with his zoom lens, moving in tight on the alarm. But Herman's squat frame blocked a clear view of the keypad.

"Couldn't get the number," the video man said.

Herman and Sandy went through the gate and closed it. The red light went back on as the alarm reset.

"Here she comes." Pettis watched as Sandra Toshiabi's DARPA file came up on the screen. "One of our old flames: Doctor of Veterinary Medicine, Committee to Protect Animal Rights, SPCA, Save the Whales, Greenpeace, Coalition of Conservationists… animal-rights activist." Then her picture came through and showed a pretty Asian woman with black hair and brown eyes.

"Whatta we do?" Captain Silver asked.

Pettis responded, "We got the gene map, so I think we should put your DU over the wall and jerk this problem out by the roots. But we first need to get Valdez to sign off."

"What if Strockmire made a copy of the map?" Silver wondered aloud.

"If he has one, we'll deal with it later. We've got to contain these people now."

"You shouldn't have come here," Herman said, still arguing with Sandy as they moved past the Olympic-size pool. "I told you I'd meet you at your place. Why won't you or Susan ever do what I ask?"

"Because we love you," Sandy grinned. "Besides, what are they gonna do, kill us?"

"Yeah. That's exactly what they're gonna do." Herman led Sandy into the pool house, turned, and locked the door.

Sandy watched as he punched numbers on the keypad, then waited for the alarm to beep, indicating it had rearmed itself. "You're really scared, aren't you?"

"You didn't read the coroner's report on Roland."

"On the phone, you said it's some kind of hybrid, a chimera?" she said.

He turned on his computer, found Zimmy's decoded e-mail, then brought it up. "Here's the gene map." He handed her the laptop, and while she scanned the pages of decoded base pairs he gathered up his extra batteries and cords, then stuffed them into his carry case.

"This is what they're trying to get their hands on?" she said, frowning at the pages.

"We left a copy of that for them at Carolyn's house. They don't know Zimmy sent this one to my computer."

"You say this hybrid is 99.1 percent of a human?"

"That's what the BLAST search indicated."

"That still doesn't make it human, Herman. To achieve standing in federal court, plaintiffs have to be pure Homo sapiens. Add to that the problem of representation and you're out of luck."

"Okay, I'll admit I'm not sure about the attorney-client thing yet, but I've got a great theory on how we can bust the shit out of that Homo sapiens restriction. If I'm right, I think I can get legal standing for this chimera. Once we break that barrier, all the others should crumble right behind it. But we can't stand around here and discuss it. They must have this address, so we need to keep moving. I'm gonna file a TRO against DARPA, but I need to collect my casebooks. I still have some legal precedents to research."

They went into a small bedroom that Herman had been using as an office, then began packing his Shilling Lawyer's Guide and several thick volumes of landmark federal precedents. After he retrieved his black suit, Herman grabbed his toilet kit, and they hurried back into the main room.

"Once an alarm blows in Malibu, the cops have a four-minute response time," Captain Pettis said over the secure sat-phone. "If Dave and I try to do this with just the two of us we might lose containment."