A trauma team was waiting for us at the emergency entrance, and they took Kate directly into the trauma room. I quickly filled out some paperwork, then a nurse led me into a small surgery waiting room and said to me, "The surgeon will be Dr. Andrew Goldberg. He's the best vascular surgeon on staff. He will see you when he comes out of surgery." She suggested, "You should call whoever you need to call."

There was no one in the waiting room, so maybe that was all the accidents in Sullivan County on this Sunday in May. At least for now.

On that subject, I unzipped the pocket that held my Glock. I didn't know if the State Troopers were here yet, and I would not put it past Asad Khalil to know that this was where Kate would be taken, dead or alive, and that this was where victim number two, John Corey, would be. If a trained killer tells you he will kill you tomorrow, don't take that timeline too literally; tomorrow could mean later today.

A nurse came into the waiting room, and I was sure she had bad news for me. But she handed me a plastic bag and said, "These are your wife's personal effects."

I hesitated, then took the bag. "Thank you." I waited for her to say something about Kate, but she said, "When you get a moment, please stop at the nurses' station and sign for those items."

"Okay…" I asked, "How is she?"

"Being prepped for surgery."

I nodded and the nurse left.

I looked at the items in the bag and saw Kate's wallet with some cash inside. Also in her wallet was a photo of me. I took a deep breath and looked at the other items-a comb, a pack of chewing gum, tissues, and a tube of lip gloss. In the bottom of the bag I found her wedding ring.

I put the bag in a zippered pocket of my jumpsuit. I had to assume that Khalil had her gun. But what about her cell phone? Had it fallen out of her pocket? Or had she left it in the motel room or the car? I wouldn't want to think that Asad Khalil had her cell phone, complete with her phone directory.

Regarding cell phones, I went into the corridor and pulled out my own phone. You should call whoever you need to call. Meaning next of kin. I started to dial Kate's parents, who lived in Minnesota-but what was I going to say? Her father, as I said, was an FBI agent, now retired, and I could speak to him, man to man, law officer to law officer… husband to father. But maybe I'd have more news-better news-later.

The call I needed to make was to my office.

I was supposed to call the FBI Ops Center, but on weekends that would get me an FBI duty officer who could be a clueless rookie. That was who Investigator Harris would be speaking to now. But since 9/11, NYPD detectives could dial a direct, private number and get the watch command, manned by an NYPD detective, which I preferred-protocol notwithstanding.

I dialed the private number, and after a few rings a female voice said, "Detective Lynch."

I knew her and replied, "Hi, Janet. It's Corey."

"Hi, John. What's up?"

I replied, "I'm reporting an attempted murder of a Federal agent by a known terrorist."

"Oh… God. Who? I mean, who is the victim?"

"Kate."

"Oh my God! How is she? Where are you?"

"She's… critical. We're at the Catskill Regional Medical Center."

"Oh, John, I'm-"

"Are we recording?"

"Yes. Recording."

"All right. The assailant was Asad Khalil."

"Asad…? The Libyan?"

I made a full and hopefully intelligible report of all that had happened, up to and including me standing now in the hospital corridor, looking up and down the hallway to see if a nurse or surgeon was approaching to give me some good or very bad news.

Janet was upset and did not ask too many questions, except about Kate. She told me she would pray for Kate, and I thanked her. I said, "Call Walsh and Paresi and tell them The Lion is back."

"Okay…"

Janet was new to the Task Force, and she had little knowledge of Asad Khalil's visit to the U.S. three years ago, and what little she did know had mostly to do with the fact that Khalil had murdered three people from the Task Force-Nick Monti, NYPD, Nancy Tate, a civilian receptionist, and an FBI agent named Meg Collins. The details of Asad Khalil's last visit to the U.S. were classified and on a need-to-know basis, but the names of our people whom he had murdered were passed on to each new member of the Task Force.

Janet had also seen, hanging on the wall in the coffee room of the ATTF at 26 Federal Plaza, the wanted poster of Asad Khalil that over the past three years had been annotated by a number of agents with words such as "scumbag" and "cop killer." I myself had written, "You're mine, asshole."

Well… now I'd get my chance.

I said to Janet, "I've asked the State Police here in Liberty to call the FBI Ops Center and request e-mail or fax photos of Asad Khalil, and also the rap sheet on this bastard, and the wanted poster. Check with the Ops Center and make sure this was done, and done right."

"Will do."

"And we want a news blackout. This is classified."

"Right. John, I'm so sorry."

"Thanks."

I hung up and found a men's room, where I washed Kate's blood off my hands. I watched her blood draining into the sink, and I flashed back four years to 102nd Street when my own blood was draining out of me and into a storm sewer, and my partner, Dom Fanelli, now dead, was standing over me saying, "Hang in there, John. Hang on." Hang on, Kate. Hang on.

I splashed water on my face and drank from the tap.

When I came out of the men's room, a nurse was waiting for me, and my heart skipped a beat. She said, "There's a State Trooper here to see you."

I followed her to the nurses' station where a man with a sports jacket was speaking to one of the nurses and making notes in a detective's notebook. He saw me, glanced at my bloodstained jumpsuit, then walked toward me, extending his hand.

We shook and he introduced himself as, "Senior Investigator Matt Miller, Bureau of Criminal Investigation." He added, "Troop F, Liberty."

He already knew who I was and who Kate was, so I said, "Thank you for coming."

Investigator Miller had secured a small coffee room for us, and we sat on plastic chairs with a table between us. He wore jeans and a golf shirt under his sports jacket, and I had the impression-reinforced by the smell of charcoal smoke-that he'd hastily left a barbecue. He was an intelligent-looking man, as one would expect of a Senior Investigator with the state Bureau of Criminal Investigation, and I placed his age at about forty, which was young for this job, so he was either very smart or well connected. I hope smart.

He began by saying, "I'm sorry about your wife."

"Thank you."

Investigator Miller politely asked to see my identification and also asked me some preliminary questions.

The State Police are a good organization, highly trained and disciplined, and we actually had a few state troopers from the BCI assigned to the Anti-Terrorist Task Force. I was sure they were up to this task, though I was also sure that the FBI would descend on Sullivan County and take over. But for now, what I needed was for the State Police to flood the area with troopers and look for Asad Khalil before he got away. Or before he showed up here.

On that subject, Investigator Miller said to me, "I just got a call from the troopers who went out to the scene, and they found tire tracks at the edge of the woods. The tracks led to a road." He added, "We didn't find a jumpsuit or a parachute. But we're still looking." He filled me in on the manhunt, but concluded correctly, "If those tire tracks were from the perpetrator's vehicle, then he had about a twenty-minute head start on us, and we don't even know what kind of vehicle we're looking for. But we are setting up roadblocks and looking for a guy who fits the description. Or who maybe has a jumpsuit or a parachute in his vehicle."