O'Rourke had said nothing to his wife, and he hadn't lifted a finger to try to confirm his suspicions. As a member of the House Intelligence Committee, O'Rourke knew that to start asking around about such individuals could raise unwanted attention, and O'Rourke was trying his best to maintain a low profile. He had his own secrets to hide.

Now, whether he liked it or not, he would have to start asking questions. Mitch Rapp was much more than a computer salesman, that was for certain. The very fact that he knew there was a relationship between his grandfather and Scott Coleman said that he had access to some very delicate and highly classified information.

O'Rourke exited off of Route 50 midway between Bowie and Annapolis. The thought of how his wife looked when he'd left made him cringe. Almost six months pregnant, everything going smooth, and now this. Stress was bad, that's what the doctor and the nurses had told them over and over. The look of fright on her face was right there as he backed out of their short driveway. He had left her with Duke and his Detonics pocket 9-mm. The gun was small and fit perfectly in her hand. She had fired it on at least ten different occasions. There had been a time in the early stages of their relationship when she would have freaked out over a kitchen knife, let alone a gun, but some unwanted circumstances had changed her opinions.

O'Rourke knew the look of fear on her face was not for herself. Liz was a tough woman, and she would be locked in a home that had recently undergone an eleven thousand dollar security upgrade. The look of fear was for him. They had called Anna's apartment and Rapp's house and had got- ten the answering machines at both. Rather than send her husband to investigate, Liz had wanted to call the police. Michael explained to her why this wasn't a good idea, and she had reluctantly agreed after a good five minutes of heated debate. It was during this time that she had announced her intention to come with him. This initiated another five minutes of debate that made the first five look cam. It finally ended when Liz doubled over with a severe abdominal cramp. Her maternal instincts won out, and she realized Michael would be better off without her.

Michael promised that he would call her before he pulled up to Rapp's house and stay on the phone with her the whole time he was there. He was about to do just that when his mobile phone rang. O'Rourke grabbed it from the center console and said, «Hello.»

«Where are you?»

«I'm almost there.»

«You said you were going to call.»

Michael ignored that and instead asked, «How are you feeling?»

«Better. I think I should have come with you.»

Again, he ignored her as he turned the dark green truck onto the road that Rapp lived off. «How is Duke?»

«Duke's fine. He's sitting right next to me on the couch eating popcorn.»

O'Rourke shook his head and stopped at the end of Rapp's driveway. Duke was supposed to be a hunter, not a house dog. They had gone around and around on this, and as in most of their little battles, he had lost. O'Rourke scanned the tree-lined street for cars and saw none. Just as he turned into the driveway, the rain started falling. It was coming down hard. O'Rourke pinched the phone between his ear and shoulder while he turned the wipers on.

«Shit.»

«What's wrong?»

«Nothing. It just started raining very hard.» O'Rourke sighted Anna Rielly's car and asked, «Anna drives a little BMW; right?»

«Yes. Is it there?»

«Yeah. When was the last time you tried calling her?»

«Just before I called you.»

O'Rourke looked over at the small house. The sky had grown dark with the falling rain, but there were no lights on. Things didn't look so good. «Honey, I'm going to have to get out and take a look.»

«Michael, I don't think that's a good idea.» Liz's voice sounded panicked. «I think you should wait right there until the police show up.»

«Take it easy. I'm just going to look in the windows. If anything happens, call the cops, and then call that other number I gave you.»

«Michael, please be careful, and don't do anything stupid.» O'Rourke promised he would try to do one and not the other and then made a dash for the small front porch. His hair and jacket were wet by the time he reached cover.

After shaking the water from his head, he reached under his jacket and pulled out a. 45-caliber Colt pistol. He couldn't see any signs of Anna through the small window on the front door, so he pressed the doorbell with the tip of the pistol. O'Rourke waited several seconds and then pressed it again. He could hear the bell ring somewhere inside.

«What do you see?»

O'Rourke tried to look through one of the larger windows to the right of the door, but the shades were drawn. «Nothing.»

«Is there any broken glass or toppled furniture?»

O'Rourke peered through the small window. «No.» His face was inches away from the glass when he saw something move. Startled, he dropped the phone and jumped back, bringing the gun up in both hands. O'Rourke stood off to the side of the door, his heart racing, trying to decide if he should pick up the phone or find better cover. The frightened squawking of his wife's voice won out, and he snatched the phone from the floor just as the front door swung open.

Peter Cameron was having his doubts about calling on Villaume. The man was a little too independent for his liking. He was right about Duser, though. What carpet bombing was to air strikes, Duser was to black ops. The man and his people liked to bring a lot of firepower to the party and weren't afraid to use it. Villaume, although he was very adept at keeping a low profile, presented an entirely different problem. He lacked loyalty, and not just to his adopted country but also to his faithful employer of thirty years – the CIA.

Cameron looked out the front window of the rented van and watched the road. It was a quarter to five in the evening, and the afternoon sun was throwing long shadows off the peaks of the mountains. The van was backed into a spot near the office of the Buffalo Bill Motel. It was a quaint twelve-room motel on the outskirts of Evergreen, Colorado. Evergreen was a beautiful town in the mountains forty minutes due west of Denver. It was surrounded on all sides by huge hills that anywhere other than the Rockies would have been referred to as mountains. A half dozen creeks sliced through the hills from all sides and met in the middle of town. In the last decade, Evergreen had fought a battle that towns just like it had fought across the nation. Multimillion-dollar homes were being thrown up and golf courses developed. The place now sported four coffee shops and one of the nicest post offices in the country. The old-time locals were torn between increased wealth, provided by all of the dollars their new neighbors threw into the town, and the loss of their serenity.

Peter Cameron could care less about any of this. He was waiting in the van as Villaume had instructed. Villaume was inside the manager's office taking care of things, and he had told Cameron on no fewer than three occasions that he wasn't to leave the van. Cameron was getting sick of being treated like a neophyte. He had been in the intelligence business for almost as long as the Frog. Granted, he didn't have as much practical field experience, but it wasn't as if this was rocket science.

Villaume had split the group into two upon arriving in Colorado Springs. A van and a Jeep Cherokee had been rented from National Car Rental with the aid of false IDs and credit cards. He and Cameron had driven up in the van, and Mario Lukas and Mary Juarez had taken the Jeep. Lukas and Juarez were up in the mountains right now scouting out the Jansens' A-frame. If they saw anything unusual, they were to report in right away; otherwise, they were to set up the surveillance equipment and go to dinner. At no time did Villaume want anyone to see the four of them together.