The room was Clark 's favorite in the house. It was where he went at the end of each day to unwind. Wife number three was not allowed to enter before knocking, and even then, she was not encouraged to stay long. Clark loved to collect beautiful objects. He had grown up in trailer parks and slept in the same bed with his brother until the morning he left for college. He would never again be deprived of the finer things in life.

Over the intro music for Hardball, the senator heard the doorbell. Caesar and Brutus didn't even bat an eye. They had grown soft over the years and were no longer interested in finding out who was entering the castle. Clark, however, was. He turned down the volume and slid his feet back into his shoes. He was very interested in talking to his visitor. With more effort than he would have liked, he slid his aged athlete's body to the edge of the chair and pushed his two-hundred-sixty-pound frame up. One of the other things Clark liked was good food. He'd have to head down to his compound in the Bahamas and spend a week eating nothing but fresh fruit and fish. He'd take hikes, swim in the clear blue water, and do some deep-sea fishing, just like Papa. With any luck, he'd shed some weight.

The door to the study opened, and the butler showed Peter Cameron into the room. The senator met him halfway across the parquet wood floor. Sticking out his hand, he said, «Good evening, Professor. May I get you a drink?»

«Please.»

Clark turned for the bar. He wished Cameron would shave his ridiculous-looking beard. It made him look unkempt.

Cameron walked over to the fireplace, and his eyes fell on the Winchester rifle as they did every time he entered the room. The gun was beautiful. A real piece of craftsmanship and, at the time, cutting-edge technology.

The senator returned with a drink in each hand. «Here you go.»

«Thank you.» Cameron grabbed the drink.

«I was expecting to hear from you this morning. What happened?»

«We had some problems.» Cameron took a drink of his chilled vodka.

«How serious?»

Cameron rolled his eyes in an exaggerated gesture. «It could have been very serious, but I took care of things.»

«Details, please.» The senator placed one hand on the mantel.

«The Jansens screwed everything up. They missed Rapp. It appears he's alive, and I presume he's on his way back to the States.»

Clark looked confused and displeased. «I don't understand. The message I received on Saturday said that everything had gone according to plan.»

«That's what I thought. That's what they told me when I met them at the airstrip in Germany, but they were wrong. I don't know how Rapp survived, but he did.»

Clark was enraged that Rapp was still alive, but he wasn't about to show it in front of Cameron. After taking a drink, he said, «The Jansens are a liability.»

«Not anymore. That's where I've been the last few days. I grabbed Villaume and a few of his people and flew out to Colorado where the Jansens live… or I should say lived.»

The senator nodded. «Details, please.»

«It went very smoothly. I put a bullet in both their heads as they were leaving their house on Sunday morning. No witnesses. I went through the whole house and checked for anything that might link them to me and came up empty. It could be weeks before the cops suspect anything.»

«You took the shot?» the senator asked, a little surprised.

«Yes. It was my mess to clean up.» Cameron was very proud of himself.

«Did you collect their fee?»

Cameron had, in fact, retrieved the fifty thousand dollars in cash, He was hoping the senator wouldn't bring it up, but there was no such luck. Hank Clark was not a man to lie to, «I got the money back.»

«Good, Use it to cover your other expenses, and pocket the rest.»

«Yes, sir,» Cameron couldn't have been more pleased.

«What did you do with their bodies?»

«I took them straight from Colorado down to the island on the plane, then loaded them onto the boat, brought them out about ten miles, and fed them to the sharks,» Clark owned a compound on Williams Island in the Bahamas with its own lagoon and private marina.

«Did anyone see you on the island?»

«Yeah, but I had the bodies folded up in two large duffel bag. I made sure your caretaker wasn't around when I loaded them onto the boat. I went out early this morning like I was going fishing. Came back five hours later with a few catch-and-release stories. No one was wise to what I'd done.»

«What about the pilots?»

«I loaded the cargo myself. They never saw it.»

Clark thought it over for a second. It appeared the Professor had cleaned up after himself. The question of Irene Kennedy and her still intact reputation remained, though, and possibly the more serious issue of Mitch Rapp on the loose.

«Any chance you could be tied to the Jansens by Kennedy or Rapp?»

Cameron shook his head. «No.»

«Peter, did you know that most criminals think they'll never get caught, right up to the moment that they get caught?»

Cameron tried not to be offended by the word criminal. He knew the senator didn't mean it in the common sense. «What would you like me to do, sir?»

«I'd like you to tie up this loose end. From everything I've heard, Mitch Rapp is not a man to be taken lightly. I would prefer it if he was out of the picture permanently.»

«I'll take care of it,» replied Cameron with confidence.

«Villaume and his people?»

«Yeah?»

The senator looked Cameron in the eyes. «They know too much.»

Cameron nodded. «Okay, but that's going to take some money.»

«Let me know how much, and I'll get it to you.»

«What about Kennedy?»

The senator looked over at the TV for a moment. Chris Matthews was flirting with some attractive reporter. Looking back to Cameron, he said, «I'm going to have to think about that for a little bit. I'll let you know as soon as you take care of these other things.»

Peter Cameron nodded and took a drink of his vodka. He strained to hide his smile of excitement. He would get his wish. He would lay a trap for Mitch Rapp, and d1en he would kill him.

ANNA RIELLY WASN'T doing so well. As NBC's White House correspondent, she couldn't let her personal life get in the way of her duties. She had just finished giving her last live update during the nightly news for the people on the West Coast. Israel 's prime minister was meeting with the president in the morning to discuss yet another impasse in the implementation of the peace accords. Standing under the bright lights just outside the West Wing, she took off her earpiece and handed it and her microphone to the camera-man who was packing the rest of the gear away. They would be back in the morning to say virtually the same thing, first to the people in the East and Midwest, and then again to the mountains and the West Coast.

Her mind was barely up to the task, and her heart was elsewhere. Thank God Brokaw hadn't thrown any impromptu questions at her. Anna thanked the cameraman and told him she'd see him in the morning. She couldn't stop worrying about Mitch. They hadn't heard a word from him since Saturday, and that had been nothing more than a cryptic message. On top of that, she also felt horrible for putting the O'Rourkes in such a bad spot. Liz was pregnant and deserved some peace. In a way, though, worrying about Liz's pregnancy had helped her get control of herself after her Saturday evening meltdown. She had apologized to Michael the next morning, and he had apologized for his lack of sensitivity. Liz had given her husband the cold shoulder for much of the day, until Anna told her to knock it of. «None of this was Michael's fault,» Anna had explained, «and he shouldn't be the one taking the heat.» Anna had tried to leave and go to her apartment, not wanting the O'Rourkes to have to get any more involved in this than they already were. This was her problem, her's and Mitch's. Poor Mitch. She didn't know whether she should be worried about him or mad. It was about ninety percent the prior and about ten percent the latter. She wanted him home safe, but there had been moments when through her tears she swore she was going to kill him for putting her through this.