"And have you seen anything that Mrs. Marel could use to her advantage in that action?"

"No, I haven't."

This got Parker's attention.

The man continued, "In fact Mr. Kincaid seems to me to be a…" Sloan's voice faltered.

Cage prompted, "Flawless."

"Flawless father…" Sloan hesitated. He said, "You know, I'd probably say 'perfect.' I'd feel more comfortable saying that."

"All right," Cage said. "You can say 'perfect.'"

"A perfect father. And I've never witnessed anything… uhm." He thought for a moment. "I've never witnessed him do anything that would jeopardize his children or their happiness."

"And you didn't get any videotape of him doing anything dangerous?"

"Nosir. I didn't take any tape at all. I didn't see anything that might be helpful to my client by way of evidence."

"What are you going to go back and tell your client? About tonight, I mean?"

Sloan said, "I'm going to tell her the truth."

"Which is?"

"That Mr. Kincaid went to visit a friend in the hospital."

"What hospital?" Cage asked Sloan.

"What hospital?" Sloan asked Parker.

"Fair Oaks."

"Yeah," Sloan said, "that's where I went."

"You'll work on that?" Cage asked. "Your delivery was a little rough."

"Yeah. I'll work on it. I'll get it down real good."

"Okay, now get the hell out of here."

Sloan ejected the tape from what was left of the video camera. He handed it to Cage, who tossed it into a burning oil drum.

The private eye disappeared, looking back uneasily as if to see which of the agents was going to shoot him in the back.

"How the hell'd you do that?" Parker muttered.

Cage offered a shrug Parker didn't recognize. He understood it to mean "Don't ask."

Cage the miracle worker…

"Thanks," Parker said. "You don't know what would've happened if-"

"Kincaid, where the hell was your weapon?" Lukas's abrupt voice interrupted him. He turned to her.

"I thought I had it. It must be in the car."

"Don't you remember procedure? Every time you deploy at a scene you check to make sure your weapon is with you and functioning. You learned that the first week in the Academy."

But Lukas's face was again contracted with cold fury. In a gruff whisper: "What do you think we're doing here?"

Parker began, "I keep telling you I'm not tactical… I don't think in terms of weapons."

"'Think in terms'?" she spat out cynically. "Look, Kincaid, you've been living life on Sesame Street for the last few years. You can go back to that world right now and God bless and thanks for the help. But if you're staying on board you'll carry your weapon and you'll pull your share of the load. You may be used to baby-sitting but we're not. Now, you going or staying?"

Cage was motionless. Not even the faintest shrug moved his shoulders.

"I'm staying."

"Okay."

Lukas looked neither satisfied with his acquiescence nor apologetic for her outburst. She said, "Now get that weapon and let's get back to work. We don't have much time."

The large Winnebago camper rocked along the streets of Gravesend.

It was the MCP. The mobile command post. And it was plastered with bumper stickers: NORTH CAROLINA AKC DOG SHOW. WARNING: I BRAKE FOR BLUE RIBBONS. BRIARDS ARE OUR BUSINESS.

He wondered whether the stickers were intentional-to fool perps-or if the Bureau had bought the van secondhand from a real breeder.

The camper eased up to the curb and Lukas motioned Cage and Parker inside. One whiff of the air told him that it had belonged to dog owners. Still, it was warm inside-with the cold and the scare from the private eye Parker was shivering hard and he was glad to be out of the chill.

Sitting at a computer console was Tobe Geller. He was staring at a video monitor. The image on the screen was broken into a thousand square pixels, an abstract mosaic. He tapped buttons, spun the trackball on his computer, typed in commands.

Detective Len Hardy sat nearby and C. P. Ardell, in his size 44 jeans, was wedged into one of the booths against the wall. The psychologist from Georgetown University hadn't yet arrived.

"The video from the Mason Theater shooting," Geller said, not looking away from the screen.

"Anything helpful?" Lukas asked.

"Nuthin' much," the young agent muttered. "Not yet anyway. Here's what it looks like full screen, real time."

He hit some buttons and the image shrank, became discernible. It was a dim view of the interior of the theater, very jumbled and blurry. People were running and diving for cover.

"When the Digger started shooting," C. P. explained, "some tourist in the audience turned on his camcorder."

Geller typed more and the image grew slightly clearer. Then he froze the tape.

"There?" Cage asked, touching the screen. "That's him?"

"Yep," Geller said. He started the tape again, running it in slow motion.

Parker could see virtually nothing distinct. The scene was dark to begin with and the camera had bobbed around when the videotaper had huddled for cover. As the frames flipped past, in slow motion, faint light from the gun blossomed in the middle of the smudge that Geller had identified as the Digger.

Hardy said, "It's almost scarier, not exactly seeing what's going on."

Parker silently agreed with him. Lukas, leaning forward, stared intently at the screen.

Geller continued. "Now, this ones about the clearest." The frame froze. The image zoomed in but as the pixel squares grew larger they lost all definition. Soon the scene was just a hodgepodge of light and dark squares. "I've been trying to enhance it to see his face. I'm ninety percent sure he's white. But that's about all we can say."

Parker had seen something. "Back out again," he said. "Slowly."

As Geller pushed buttons the squares grew smaller, began to coalesce.

"Stop," Parker ordered.

The image was of the Digger from the chest up.

"Look at that."

"At what?" Lukas asked.

"I don't see anything," Hardy said, squinting.

Parker tapped the screen. In the center of what was probably the Diggers chest were some bright pixels, surrounded by slightly darker ones in a V-shape, which were in turn surrounded by very dark ones.

"It's just a reflection," Lukas muttered, distracted and impatient. She looked at her watch.

Parker persisted. "But what's the light reflecting off of?"

They stared for a moment. Then: "Ha," Geller said, his handsome face breaking into a grin. "Think I've got it."

"What, Tobe?" Parker asked.

"Aren't you a good Catholic, Parker?"

"Not me." He was a lapsed Presbyterian who found the theology of Star Wars more palatable than most religions.

"I went to a Jesuit school," Hardy said. "If that helps."

But Geller wasn't interested in anyone's spiritual history. He pushed himself across the tiny space in his wheeled office chair. "Let's try this." He opened a drawer and took out a small digital camera, handed it to Parker. He plugged it into a computer. He then bent a paper clip into the shape of an X, unhooked two buttons of his shirt and held the clip against his chest. "Shoot me," he said. "Just push that button."

Parker did and handed the camera back. Geller turned to the computer, typed and a dark image of the young agent came up on the screen. "Handsome fella," said Geller. He hit more buttons, keeping the bright silver of the paperclip in the center of the screen as he zoomed in. The image disappeared into exactly the same arrangement of bright squares as in the picture of the Digger.

"Only difference," Geller pointed out, "is that his has a yellowish tint. So our boys wearing a gold crucifix."

"Add that to our description of the shooter, send it out," Lukas ordered. "And tell them we've confirmed he's white." Cage radioed Jerry Baker with the information and told him to pass the word to the canvassers.