“Oh shit!” Katie said.

“Hold on!” Shaw called out.

“It’s going, Shaw. It’s going over. Oh my God!”

The car was indeed going and there was nothing between it, them, and a hundred tons of oak. From where he was sitting Shaw could no longer even reach the branch with his belt rope.

“Shaw!” Katie screamed, gripping the seat with all her strength as the front of the car shot downward and the rear lifted up into the air like the Titanic about to take the final plunge.

Shaw swore, flipped backward over the seat, turned in mid-roll, and let the belt lasso fly out Katie’s window.

It somehow snagged the branch and Shaw pulled it tight.

Miracles did, it seemed, happen.

The car’s momentum had pulled Shaw, who was holding on to the belt with both hands, halfway out of the window.

“Katie, grab hold of my legs. Now!”

He felt her grip his legs. The car was going all the way, no stopping it now.

Shaw slid neatly out of the window but then something felt wrong.

“Katie!”

She wasn’t there. He hit dirt hard; a jut of rock nailed him right in the gut. The belt slipped out of his hand and he tumbled down the steep hill. He looked in front of him and watched as the car gained more and more speed. His momentum caused him to flip over and land hard on his back. When he managed to sit back up he saw the car slam into the trees at the bottom. A second later an explosion ripped the air as the gas tank ignited.

Shaw grabbed on to everything he could get hold of, bushes, branches, dirt, and rock to stop his slide. If he went another twenty feet, there was no stopping and he would end up in the inferno down there too. He finally slammed against an old stump.

“Katie!” he yelled. “Katie!”

She didn’t answer him.

THE PHONE CALL WOKE FRANK from a sound sleep.

It was the FBI agent they’d been working with.

Frank sat up, already groping around for his clothes that he’d dropped on the end of the bed when he’d turned in. “What’s up?”

“One of the people on the St. Albans list, Richard Pender, was just found murdered in his home.”

Frank’s feet hit the floor. He pinched the phone against his ear with his shoulder while he hopped into his pants. “Sonofabitch!”

“And that’s not all.”

“Yeah?” Frank said warily.

“A neighbor of Pender’s phoned the police; that’s how they discovered the body.”

“Why’d they phone? Did they see something? Pender’s killer?”

“He saw what looked to be two people being carried out of the house and put into a car.”

“Two people! Could they ID them?”

“It was dark. He couldn’t be sure. But the man was big. It took three guys to carry him. And the other appeared to be a woman.”

“Did they see anything else?”

“He got the license plate of the car they were put in.”

“And?” Frank slid into his shirt and tucked it into his pants and then slipped on his socks. “Oh shit, don’t tell me.”

“We traced the plate. It was James’s rental car.”

Frank stuck his feet in his shoes and roared, “What the hell were they doing there? We hadn’t gotten a search warrant yet.”

“Looks like they were doing a little independent snooping.”

“Have the police tracked the car down yet?”

“No. They put out an APB, but nothing yet.”

“Has anyone tried to call Shaw or Katie?”

“Yes. No answer. We sent people to their rooms. Nothing.”

“When did the neighbor phone this in?”

“About two hours ago.”

“Christ! They could be already dead. They probably are already dead. What’s the take on Pender? When did they pop him?”

“Twenty hours ago or more, according to the prelim.”

“Shit, that trail’s cold. Wait a minute, if they killed Pender that long ago, what the hell were they doing watching his house?”

“Waiting for someone to come by?”

“You mean waiting for Shaw and Katie to come by. Just like the funeral in Wisbach. What the hell were they thinking going there?”

“The officers on the scene at Pender’s home said it looked like a burglary gone bad.”

“Burglary my ass. So what’s the story on this Pender? Who is he?”

“He owns a firm called Pender amp; Associates based in northern Virginia. The picture isn’t completely clear, but it seems to be some sort of PR firm.”

Frank called Royce, filled him in, and arranged to meet the MI5 agent in the lobby in five minutes. He grabbed his gun, ripped open the door, and ran down the hall, pulling out his cell phone and punching in a number as he jogged along.

“Shaw and James are in serious trouble. Track him. Now!”

Frank hooked up with Royce in the lobby and the two agents raced to their car.

As they drove off Frank called the FBI agent.

“I want a strike team to hit Pender amp; Associates right now.”

“We don’t have the search warrants yet.”

Frank yelled, “What are the odds of a guy on our list getting popped and Shaw and James getting snatched from the guy’s house not being tied into this whole damn conspiracy?”

“About a billion to one,” the agent admitted.

“So screw the warrants. Nail Pender amp; Associates. Now!”

Yet Frank’s gut was telling him it was already too late. For Pender amp; Associates.

And too late for Shaw and Katie.

SHAW SLOWLY ROSE FROM THE MUD and brush and steadied himself against a leaning, shallow-rooted pine. He stared down at the wreckage of the car; the flames started to burn down as the gas was used up. He had stopped yelling for Katie because he’d grown hoarse. He made his way down the hill, holding on to whatever he could. As he neared the burning car, he didn’t want to even think about what was inside it. The charred fragments of Katie James.

The small groan caught him so off guard he nearly toppled forward and down into the flames. He whirled around, staring into the darkness to his left.

“Katie?” He was almost afraid to say the name for fear of hearing nothing back.

There was definite movement now. And it was too big for a rabbit or squirrel. He lunged forward, tripped, fell down, picked himself up, and raced to her side.

Katie was lying facedown next to an oak but struggling to rise. Shaw knelt beside her, gently turned her over.

“Damn, I thought you were dead.”

Her face was bloody, her arm bent at an odd angle. She looked up at him, smiled weakly, but then grimaced in pain.

“So I’m not dead?”

He shook his head. “Not unless I am too. And I’m hurting too much to be anything except alive. Can you walk?”

With his help Katie got to her feet, holding her right forearm. “Think I might have busted my arm up.”

He looked at it. Part of her bone was sticking out through the skin.

“Shit!” he exclaimed. “We need to get you to a hospital.” He took off his jacket and fashioned a crude sling to keep the shattered bone as immobile as possible.

“Can you walk?”

She nodded. “If you can help me.”

He put a big hand under her armpit and his other arm around her waist, and they slowly made their way up.

“What happened? You were holding on to me and then you were gone.”

“Lost my grip and then I got snagged on the door handle.”

“How did you get out of the car, then?”

“Pure luck. On the way down, the car hit something, probably another chunk of rock. The door popped open and I fell out.” She looked back at the blackened mass of burned-out metal.

“A little close,” she said.

“A little.”

“Shaw, I think I’m going to be sick.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

He held her while she emptied her stomach.

“Sorry,” she said with an embarrassed look after she’d finished.

“Compound fractures always make me puke too,” he said, attempting a smile.