MICHELLE, NATURALLY ALWAYS DRAWN to the water, decided to go kayaking. It helped her think and she wanted to take another pass by Camp Peary’s river frontage. If they were going to try to break into the place at some point, a little extra reconnoitering couldn’t hurt. When she got down to the boathouse she saw her kayak on the pier.

How did that get here? she wondered.

After a half-hour on the water she’d scrutinized the camp from several different angles. The chain link fence wouldn’t be difficult to get past, but after that? For the first time she really thought about what would happen to them if they were caught. And what could they really expect to find amid thousands of acres of mostly undeveloped, forested land? Was that enough to give up her life for? And while it seemed that Sean was having second thoughts, what if he changed his mind and decided to go through with it? Would she stick by him or do the only logical thing and decline? And if he went by himself and was killed, when her presence might have made the difference? Could she live with herself?

These thoughts were interrupted when a boat’s horn sounded nearby. She looked around. The RIB was puttering up to her from behind. Ian Whitfield was at the helm dressed in camie pants and a white T-shirt that revealed his chiseled physique. He was wearing a Yankees ball cap and a friendly expression.

He expertly drew the boat alongside her kayak and then shifted the throttle to neutral, as she slipped her paddle over the RIB’s gunwale to hold her craft steady.

“Ian Whitfield,” he announced, throwing up a hand in greeting.

Michelle tried to hide her surprise.

“Much nicer day to be out than yesterday,” he said cheerfully.

“So you were out in the storm?”

“A little. I found that kayak you’re sitting in floating downriver. Anything happen?”

“A friend of mine took a dunk in the water. We finally got her out.”

“Good thing. The York’s current can be a little tricky, Miss, uh?”

“Michelle Maxwell. Just call me Michelle.” She glanced across the river.

“So how are things on the other side of the York?”

“Don’t recall saying I was from any side of the river.”

“Just things you hear. And I hear more than most. I used to be with the Secret Service. But I’m sure you already knew that.”

He continued to gaze out over the water. “My dream was to play shortstop for the Yankees, but the talent wasn’t up to the dream. Serving your country wasn’t a bad second option.”

Michelle was a little taken aback by this tacit admission of the man’s employment. “Riding on Air Force One and protecting the Man was one of the greatest honors of my life.” She paused and added, “I knew some guys in Delta who were in Vietnam.” He gave her a penetrating stare. “Like I said, I hear more than most.”

He shrugged. “That was a long time ago.”

“But you never forget.”

“Some do; I never have.” He pointed to Babbage Town. “So how goes it on your side of the river?”

“Slowly.”

“I often wondered why they set up shop down here.”

“You mean across from you?”

“You’ve got a partner here with you?” he said, ignoring her question.

“Yes.”

“Monk Turing’s death was unfortunate, but hardly the basis for a murder investigation.”

“You told my partner it was a suicide.”

“No, I told him there had been four other suicides in and around Camp Peary. And I also told him that the FBI had concluded that Turing killed himself.”

“I’m not sure they still believe that. And then there’s Len Rivest.”

“The local paper said he’d had a lot to drink and was found drowned in his bathtub. Doesn’t sound all that sinister really.”

“Two deaths so close together?”

“People die all the time in all different ways, Michelle.”

He looked, Michelle thought, like a man who knew what he was talking about.

“That almost sounds like a warning,” she said.

“I have no control over how you interpret my words.” He swept his hand toward the other side of the river. “There’s a big federal presence down here and that includes the Navy. People working for their country, doing dangerous things, risking their lives. You should understand that. You risked your life for your country.”

“I do understand it,” Michelle said. “And where exactly is this conversation going?”

“Just keep in mind that this stretch of the York can be very dangerous. Whatever you do, don’t lose sight of that. You have a nice day now.”

Michelle slipped her paddle off the gunwale as Whitfield put the throttle in reverse, turned and slowly puttered off. Michelle maneuvered her kayak so that she could continue to watch him as he headed downriver to the Camp Peary boat dock. The man never once looked back.

When he was out of sight Michelle turned around and paddled slowly away. Ian Whitfield had given her a lot to think about. And a good reason to be afraid.

OVER COFFEE IN THE MANSION’S dining room Michelle filled Sean in on her conversation with Ian Whitfield.

“He strikes me as a guy who doesn’t make empty threats.”

“My skin was tingling the whole time he was talking to me.”

“That makes me even less inclined to go over the fence.”

“Then we need to find some new angles to work,” she said. “I’m just not sure what they are.”

“Let’s go over what we know. Monk went to Germany and he died at Camp Peary. There were German POWs kept at Camp Peary during the war. Len Rivest wanted to talk to me about Babbage Town and now he’s dead. He thought there were spies here. Alicia Chadwick was having a fling with Rivest and is Viggie’s guardian. Champ doesn’t have an alibi for Len’s death but we have no evidence he had anything to do with it. Ian Whitfield warned me and then you off and his wife is a dead end. The morgue got blown up. To mess up the evidence that Rivest was murdered?”

“Wait a minute,” Michelle said. “You suspected that Rivest was murdered because of the absence of towels, bath mat and the plunger.”

“Right. I told Hayes and he asked the ME to check into whether any trace from the plunger was on the body.”

“And?”

Sean said, “And we hadn’t heard back before the ME died.”

“If the morgue got blown up because someone knew you suspected murder, how would they have found out you did suspect something?”

“Well, Hayes could have carelessly let it slip to someone.”

“Or deliberately told someone,” Michelle countered.

“Why would he do that?”

“Just playing devil’s advocate. What do you really know about him?”

“He’s a county sheriff.”

“But we don’t know where his true loyalties lie.”

“You getting paranoid on me?”

“With Babbage Town and Camp Peary right across the river I’d say you’re totally screwed up if you’re not paranoid.”

Sean nodded. “All we can do is keep chipping away. See if Alicia comes up with anything. Run down the German angle. I don’t see another alternative right now.”

“And maybe it still comes down to us going over that fence,” she said.

After Michelle left Sean pulled out a piece of paper with a phone number on it. He punched in the numbers, and after the beep said, “Valerie, it’s Sean Carter. Can I see you?”

As Michelle was walking back to the cottage, she saw something up ahead that made her flat-out sprint.

“What the hell are you doing?” she screamed.

Viggie stopped and stared at her, the wide smile on her face melting away as she let go of the trash bag she was holding and it fell to the ground.

Michelle looked inside her truck. It was spick-and-span clean. She turned to the girl. “How dare you mess with my things? This is my truck. Who gave you permission to go inside my truck and touch my things? Who!”