Without warning, Burnout stepped into the light just as a guard walked leisurely past them. The man turned toward them in what seemed like slow motion. Burnout had closed the distance before the man's expression changed and had snapped the guard's neck a fraction of a second later.

Lethe was stunned. Such sudden violence. How could it be necessary?

Burnout stashed the guard's body behind the building before anyone saw him. He searched the man's clothing and found an ID card. "This," he said, "should get me access to their power grid."

Burnout quickly moved out into the light again, dashed across the short space to the building's entrance, and scanned the card through the maglock scanner. The door popped and they were in a small room filled with machines and cameras and…

An alert guard.

Burnout and Lethe found themselves staring down the yawning barrel of an Ares Predator II.

The guard gave an involuntary start when he saw the ruin of Burnout's face, but the gun never wavered from its mark. "On your belly, freakshow. Now!" The guard's voice didn't even quiver.

Lethe knew what was going to happen, and even as Burnout moved, he screamed in the cyberzombie's mind. "No!"

Then the night lit up with a muzzle flash and the thunder of gunfire.

Ryan and Matthews made the ride to the mansion in relative quiet. Phelps had stayed with the destroyed vehicle, to wait for a Secret Service tow-truck, and Matthews didn't seem too interested in talking. That suited Ryan just fine. He wasn't at all happy being the target of any investigation, let alone one in which he might be accused of murdering Dunkelzahn.

The next thirty minutes would be very telling. He thought of Nadja, and his apprehension grew. They hadn't spoken directly since the incident at Hells Canyon, and the messages he'd received had been too short. Too businesslike.

Ryan's smile was grim. Well, he thought, / guess having the man you love hold you hostage and nearly get you killed just might put a damper on the warm fuzzies.

Matthews, sitting opposite him, caught the smile. "Don't worry, Mercury. Strapp's had a chip on his shoulder ever since he got off the booze, but for the most part, he's a good man. They pulled him out of retirement for this. His last major investigation was over ten years ago, and he's been a bit tense since this whole thing started. But he's no match for you when you turn on the charm."

Ryan rubbed his fingers in slow circles around his temples. "I'm not feeling too fragging charming right this minute."

Matthews grinned. "You? Not charming? Just look at the way you charmed me out of my car and right into your big old limo. You're not even my type."

Ryan laughed. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Matthews. Believe me, it's appreciated."

"Null sheen, old friend. Just cooperate with Strapp, and everything will work out. Besides, you're not the most politically correct suspect."

Ryan leaned forward. "What does that mean?"

Matthews sighed. "Much as it bugs me, not to mention how much it bothers Strapp, politics are playing a big part in this investigation." People like you aren't even supposed to exist. Independent… trouble shooters like yourself are the megacorps' worst nightmare. The corp boys like to think they've got a lock on all the muscle; that all others are just puppets they can push around when they need a pacifier for the populace."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?" Ryan said. "That would make me the perfect fall guy. I can just see the trid talk shows screaming about a deranged operative, working solo."

Matthews nodded. "On the surface, you're correct. But the corps would much rather have it be some terrorist group, preferably someone big. If they could pin it on the Azzies, that would be a wet dream come true. But to have to admit that one man, no matter how well-trained, could slot things up like this, and leave an entire planet baffled, scares them even more than the possibility that it might be true. Even if you had done it, that story would never go to press. They'd still publicly blame it on some fringe group, like Alamos 20K, then kill you in your sleep."

Ryan sat back. "You can't imagine how much better I feel."

He looked out the window and saw that they were finally pulling up to the mansion's front gate. A Draco Foundation security team, undoubtedly trained by Carla Brooks, combined with a small Secret Service unit stopped them for a moment to double-check their identities before allowing them through the old-fashioned wrought iron gate.

Security here was heavier than it had ever been, and Ryan knew it was tighter even than it looked. There was an invisible monowire mesh interwoven with the iron bars while hidden cameras and drone weapons continually scanned the perimeter.

The gate pivoted, and Dhin rolled up the circular drive, past the long grove of cherry trees that were still in full bloom. Ryan had never figured out how the mansion's gardener did that, keeping everything blooming well into the late summer and fall. The only thing Ryan could come up with was that the man must have some latent druidic ability because the things he did with plants were nothing short of miraculous.

Ryan's gut clenched up into a tight ball as the limousine approached the entrance to the main building. She 'II never be able to forgive me.

Then the Nightsky limo was rolling to a stop, and Ryan stepped out into the warm sunshine. For the first time since arriving in the Federal District, the air smelled of something besides rot, death, and burned plastic. The smell from the cherry blossoms was a lurid, sweet fragrance that almost overwhelmed the delicate aroma of the lush Mr. Lincoln tea roses lining the marble steps of the mansion.

The mansion itself was a rolling colonial structure, made mostly of red brick, but re-faced in the front with huge marble columns. The steps leading up to the main entrance were shallow and very wide. They sprawled up to the front doors, which had been re-done when Dunkelzahn had bought the place. The doors were massive and made of real oak, inlaid with bands of wrought iron. Each door was nearly ten meters tall, extending to the roof of the high-ceilinged first floor, and three meters wide. Just the right size for a dragon to enter and exit without having to change form.

As Matthews climbed from the limo, Ryan stood transfixed. All worry forgotten.

Nadja, in a simple loose-fitting dress of emerald green, was walking down the steps. Tall and thin. Her elven features more gorgeous than he had remembered. She'd done something different with her hair; its ebony darkness curved around the china doll skin of her heart-shaped face.

Without thinking, Ryan was moving. His whole mind swam at the sight of her, watching for any kind of sign from her. Then, she was in his arms, and his face was buried in the curve of her neck, taking in the subtle scent of her skin.

"I've missed you," he said, as her arms went around his neck. "I'm so sorry."

Nadja's delicate hand stroked his head. "Shush now, my love. All is forgiven."

He pressed her supple body to his, nearly crushing her in an effort to touch all of her at once. She kissed him, a soft, intimate thing that made a mockery of his rugged embrace.

The moment was ruined by a voice from further up the steps-a slow drawl that bespoke a childhood spent in the Confederate American States. "Well, y'all, I hate to break up this touching scene, but time is short."

Ryan pulled back from Nadja. On the top step stood a man of about forty. Thick black hair, marred with a single shock of white sprouting from his sharp widow's peak. His face was broad, with a strong jaw and chin, and very thin lips. Bushy eyebrows grew together in between dark-brown eyes that were constantly moving, looking everywhere. Not missing a thing.