A SHELL CORPORATION owned by Nicolas Creel held title to a thousand-acre estate in Albemarle County, Virginia, within a short drive of Thomas Jefferson’s beloved University of Virginia. It was a working farm with stables of horses bred to run and then stud out. It had some cattle, some crops, and a mansion so large that it could fit several Monticellos inside of it comfortably. Creel had fl own in today and his chopper had delivered Dick Pender here to discuss and implement the next step in the plan.

The men sat at a small conference table in a room that was totally sound- and bugproof. Pender asked, “Did your wife come back with you from overseas?”

“No. That relationship is now over.”

Miss Hottie was still in the South of France and would be receiving the divorce papers just about now, Creel silently calculated. And the odds were better than even that she would be completely naked when that event occurred. He wondered briefly how she would be able to manage on the $5 million a year “stipend” the prenup provided for the next decade. Well, at least her predilection to nakedness should save the lady some money on clothes. And then Miss Hottie disappeared from his mind completely.

“I see.”

Pender noticed the architectural sketches on the table. “Building another grand palace somewhere?”

“No, an orphanage in Italy.”

“Your range of interests never ceases to amaze me, Mr. Creel.”

“Glad to hear it,” the billionaire said coldly.

“James’s one story has already surpassed everything we did,” Pender added. “I have never seen media activity like this before. Never.”

“Wait until we finish the story for her.”

“Let me see, that includes Chinese ownership of The Phoenix Group,” Pender said, glancing at his papers. “And files showing that Phoenix was behind the Red Menace campaign were found in the building, but the police have covered it up to prevent an international crisis.” The man recited these items as though he were reading off a grocery list. He looked up and smiled. “That, may I say, is a true showstopper. You’ve never risen to greater heights, and I don’t bestow that compliment lightly considering what you’ve accomplished in the past.”

“The situation would require no less, Dick,” Creel said sharply. “How soon can you let it fly?”

“Give the word and it’s all over the Internet. Five minutes after that, every major news outlet will have it in their greedy little claws.”

“You sure they won’t sit on it? Try to verify things?”

Pender laughed. “Verify? In this day and age? Who cares about verifying anything? It’s all about speed. Who gets there first defines the truth. You know that as well as any man living.”

“Then do it. Now.”

Pender typed on his BlackBerry one word. Launch. He said the word out loud as he typed it. “I thought the term appropriate for someone in the defense industry,” he said.

“Inspired,” Creel said dully.

The two men worked for several more hours and then Pender packed his bag.

“What’s next?” he asked the billionaire.

“Another boots on the ground,” Creel answered. “Have a nice ride back to D.C. Oh, and Dick, when we sign the official deals with China and Russia I believe a substantial bonus will be in order for you.”

Pender couldn’t hide his pleasure. “Just doing my job.”

“Oh, does that mean you don’t want the bonus?”

Both men laughed, Pender a little nervously.

“Thank you, Mr. Creel.”

After Pender left, another door to the conference room opened. Caesar sat down across from his master.

“Of course you still know where James is,” Creel said. It wasn’t a question.

The other man nodded. “Hiding out in London, but we kept her on a tight leash after we took care of Lesnik.”

“Aron Lesnik. I never trust people who do things for altruistic reasons. You never know when they might want to do the right thing again and end up screwing you.”

“He was pissed about his old man getting killed by the Soviets, that was for sure. So do you want us to kill this guy Shaw?”

“No. At least not yet. If I were a betting man, and occasionally I am, I would say the time will come when the answer to that question will be yes.”

“How about James?”

“She’s performed her part and I see no reason to keep her around for a return engagement. She did reveal the Russian piece in her story so the solution is fairly obvious.” He eyed Caesar suggestively.

“Not polonium- 210,” Caesar protested. “That shit is dangerous to handle and it’ll take me a while to get some.”

“It would be stupid to make it that obvious.” Creel sat forward and peered directly into Caesar’s eyes. “But once upon a time there was a Bulgarian dissident named Georgi Markov, who ironically enough was killed in London with an umbrella. I trust you’re familiar with the tale?”

Caesar grinned wickedly. “I am.”

“Then do it.”

Creel waved his hand and Caesar vanished as quickly as he’d appeared.

SHAW WATCHED SILENTLY as Royce’s men continued to scour the interior of the massacre site for clues that just wouldn’t come. The MI5 agent had gone outside to meet with someone, leaving Shaw to wonder if things could get any worse. Royce had been furious about the story Katie James had written but he could hardly blame Shaw for that, because he’d told the man nothing about his involvement with James and the late Aron Lesnik.

Lesnik had been pulled from the Thames with the slug that ended his life still parked in the back of his brain. He wouldn’t be giving any answer sessions.

Frank walked down the hallway and joined him. “You never told me where you took off to after we left Anna’s apartment.”

“That’s right, I never did.”

“Have anything to do with Katie James or her exclusive?”

“I don’t hang out with the woman, Frank.”

“Right. So how the hell did she get that story with the Polish guy? And who killed him?”

“No clue,” Shaw said dully as Frank scowled at him.

A forensic tech Shaw had never seen before passed by him at the same time that he heard the front door downstairs slam shut. The tech said, “You mind? I need to use the facilities.”

Shaw looked over his shoulder and realized he was standing in front of the bathroom door. He moved aside and the man went to open the door, or at least tried to.

Feet were stomping up the stairs. Shaw could hear Royce yelling. The agent was clearly upset about something, and from what Shaw could make out, that something was him.

The tech jiggled the handle of the bathroom door as a uniformed sergeant who’d been on duty here from the first day passed by.

The sergeant said, “You must be new here. You’ll have to use the loo in the basement, lad, that one’s busted.”

Shaw could hear Royce clearly now.

“Shaw? Damn it, Shaw!”

The MI5 agent appeared at the top of the stairs, breathless and red-faced. He charged right at Shaw waving a piece of paper.

“What the hell do you know about this?” he demanded.

Shaw read the paper. It was a printout from an online news service. The story was short but to the point. The Chinese government owned or had ties to The Phoenix Group. And it was also revealed that evidence found inside the building allegedly proved that The Phoenix Group was behind the Red Menace campaign, which implied, of course, that the Chinese had been behind it. That, according to the news service’s unnamed source, was why Gorshkov’s men had attacked the place. It was a simple connect-the-dots explanation that would play very well all over the world.

“This is all over the Net,” Royce yelled, pointing a finger at Shaw. “And now all over the bloody world.”

Frank had read the story over Shaw’s shoulder. “So why is that his problem?”