His exact title in America 's intelligence empire was unknown to Knox. The man performed a curious-and as far as Knox was aware an unprecedented-straddle between military- and civilian-sector intelligence factions. It was a powerful position and anyone under his control had to play by his rules or risk the consequences. He had been a close friend and protégé of Carter Gray, and no one could have had a better mentor. Knox would do his best to gauge the general's true intentions and then hope to fulfill them. Any way one looked at the task it was a formidable challenge.

He closed the door, stoked up the fireplace and picked up his novel with the intent of finishing it tonight. He might not get another chance for a very long time. When the wheels started to spin in his profession, they tended to spin very fast.

And from what Knox had seen in that box of secrets tonight, this time things could easily spin right out of control.

KNOX WATCHED the earth disappear from underneath him as the tri-engine Falcon Dassault jet shot skyward with enormous thrust. The luxurious, wood-paneled interior of the plane only held three occupants, other than the two pilots up front-Knox, Macklin Hayes and a uniformed steward who'd discreetly disappeared as soon as the plane leveled off and the coffee and continental breakfast was served. When Knox had called Macklin at seven a.m. he'd been told to report to a private airstrip near Front Royal, Virginia, that he had no idea even existed. Five minutes after he'd pulled up in his Rover, the plane had lifted from the tarmac.

Hayes had an office in some building in some undisclosed part of Washington, Knox knew, but the man obviously preferred conducting his meetings at thirty-five thousand feet, as though the altitude made for better decision-making, or at least fewer opportunities to be spied on. Knox knew that just the fuel burn for this flight would have paid for some really nice digs in the heart of D.C. Yet it should have come as no surprise that some high-up government folks treated the U.S. Treasury as though it would never run out of dollars. At least it kept gainfully employed the feds who sold T-bills to the Chinese and the Saudis to keep America running.

The former general was dressed in civilian government standard issue, namely a boring suit and an equally boring tie and black wingtips on the feet. His socks were too short, Knox noted, and revealed pale ankles and the bottom of a hairless calf. The man had definitely not scaled the walls of power based on his fashion sense. He'd done it, Knox was well aware, on nerve and brains. The only sign of his former illustrious military career were the three stars on his tie clip.

They made casual conversation while munching an overabundance of carbs, and then the white-haired Hayes took a final sip of coffee and sat back in his leather seat looking expectant.

"Impressions from your reading session?"

"Many. None of them crystallized. I have to say the record is about as garbled as any I've seen. There're enough holes to fly a jet five times the size of this one right through it without even nicking a wingtip."

Hayes nodded approvingly. "I had the same initial reaction."

Knox didn't bother asking about the significance of the emphasized word because he knew from past dealings with Macklin that he would get zip for his troubles. "And I have to say I'm still not clear on the agenda. Where do you want this to go?"

Hayes spread his long, bony arms. "Where? To the truth. I suppose."

"You don't sound convinced of that," Knox said warily.

"But that could change, depending on what you find out. You know how this drill works, Knox."

"Gray and Simpson are dead. Do we let sleeping dogs lie?"

"We need to know. What we do after we know? Now that's another question entirely and one that does not involve you."

The man has always been subtle about putting subordinates in their place.

"So I go full-bore on this? Is that what you're telling me, sir?"

Hayes simply nodded. It struck Knox that the former general might have suspected Knox was somehow taping this conversation.

If only I had the balls to.

Knox decided not to press the man on actually verbalizing his answer. For all he knew there was government muscle hidden on the jet somewhere who might be summoned to relieve him of his ride at nearly eight miles up if he pushed Macklin too far. Far-fetched? Perhaps. But Knox didn't want to find out.

"Tell me how you'll proceed."

"I've got some leads I can follow up. I take it DCI is off-limits," he said, referring to the director of Central Intelligence.

"I doubt he'd be much good to you anyway. Intelligence begins at home and his house is unfortunately empty."

Okay, he definitely knows I'm not taping this.

"Then the FBI agents who investigated the bombing at Gray's house. The Secret Service agent Ford. What about Triple Six?"

"What about it? Officially it never existed."

Knox had tired of the word games. Even his natural deference to the man had its limits. "There were subtle references in the papers intimating that somebody was popping retirees from the division and that Gray was aware of it."

"You can run that down if you want, but a dead end is what you'll find."

"How about the unauthorized Soviet op from decades ago?"

"History not worth repeating or dredging up. None of us would look good."

"You're not making this easy, General."

A smile eased across Hayes' face. "If it were easy why would we call you in, Knox?"

"I'm not a magician. I can't make things just appear or disappear."

"We have the disappearing end quite well covered. All we need to find is what we need to make vanish. How about the man Gray met with on the night his home blew up?"

"The famous film director, Oliver Stone?" Knox could not hold back his smile.

"He used to have a little tent in Lafayette Park. Was there longer than anyone else. I believe his sign read, 'I want the truth.'"

"Looking for the truth right across from the White House? Sort of like hunting for Nazis in a synagogue. You consider him important?"

"The fact that he is no longer where he used to be, yes, I consider him important."

"What else do you know about him?"

"Not nearly enough. That's also why I consider him somewhat important."

"The grave being dug up at Arlington?"

"I was actually in the office on the day Carter Gray ordered that."

"Did he say why he wanted it done?"

"He was always better at giving orders than explaining them."

"So who was in the coffin? John Carr? Another body?"

"Neither. In fact there was nothing in the coffin."

"So Carr might still be alive?"

"He might."

"Was he a Triple Six? I read part of his military record. He would've fit the bill."

"Take that as your working hypothesis."

"So that would be the connection to Gray. Do you have reason to believe that Carr and Stone are one and the same?"

"I have no reason to believe that they're not."

"So why would Carr kill Gray and possibly Simpson?"

"Not all Triple Six personnel ended their deployment there on good terms. Carr may have been one such."

"If so, he waited a long time to pull the trigger. And he had just been to Gray's house. Did he have anything to do with blowing it up?"

"We don't think so."

"He could've killed Gray when he met with him."

"Maybe he didn't have the motivation then."

"So what changed?"

"That's for you to find out, Knox. There was the flag and grave marker. A clear sign, I think, that it's connected to this John Carr and his grave being dug up."

Knox marveled at how Hayes had gone from knowing very little and letting him find his own way in the investigation to, in a few short moments, shepherding him down the path he wanted. "I don't disagree. The man just seemed to have done it ass-backwards."