As he worked his way back to the neighbor's storage shed, he began to cling to the hope that neither of them had anything to do with it, but a sickening feeling in his gut told him otherwise. As Rapp prepared to make his move, a pair of headlights flashed across the front lawn. A car was coming down the driveway. Rapp put his plan on hold for a second and kneeled down next to Shirley. She hadn't made a peep so far, and he hoped her good behavior would continue. The car was actually a four-door SUV: Rapp watched with increasing interest as the driver got out. As the man walked across the driveway toward the front door, he knew instantly who it was. The sight of him sent Rapp's pulse racing and his mind scrambling to come up with a reason for this person nom his past to be here on this night. The man was like him. He was a killer, but one whom, until now, he thought he could trust.

Fear suddenly gripped Rapp. It was not a fear of the man but fear of something that he may have done. He looked at his watch. It was almost seven-thirty. Before he went forward with his plan, he needed to make a call. All of his discipline told him he shouldn't do it, but he had to. He had to know. Rapp retreated into the woods with Shirley and turned on his digital phone.

Just outside the main entrance to the West Wing, an almost nightly occurrence was taking place. Reporters from all the major networks and cable news stations were positioned in front of their cameras, loaded up with makeup and hair spray. They were waiting to tell the people in the mountains and on the West Coast what they had already said to the people in the eastern and central time zones an hour earlier. Anna Rielly was in her usual spot or, as her smart-ass cameraman Pete liked to remind her, «NBC's spot.» Pete kept things interesting; he was a little immature, but in a good way. Rarely serious, Pete loved to give people a hard time. Normally, Rielly was more than willing to play along, but today she hadn't been. The last several nights of sleep hadn't gone so well. She was worried sick about Mitch. He wasn't okay, she was convinced of that. If he were okay, he'd pick up the phone and call her. She had spent every spare minute of the day looking at the newswire, paying particular attention to the Middle East. That was where Mitch was trained to operate. Since the Israeli prime minister was in town for meetings with President Hayes, she had a tailor-made excuse for her interest in the region.

During lunch she broke down, and she'd been cursing herself ever since. She couldn't believe she had cried in front of two other reporters and a producer from CBS. Over a mediocre Caesar salad, Pete started razzing her about Mitch. He began with his usual, «Where's Don Juan? I haven't seen him in a while.» This led to more questions by the others, which gave Pete more material and an audience to entertain. Rielly tried to smile and roll with the punches, but it proved too difficult. The vision of Mitch lying dead in some faraway city was too much, and the tears came. They were there before she knew it. Embarrassed, she got up and abruptly left the restaurant. Pete showed up a short while later in Rielly's closet-sized office in the basement of the West Wing and apologized. Rielly tried her best to act as if it was no big deal, but it didn't work. Pete could see something serious was bothering her, but after already stepping all over it, he dared not delve into the matter.

Pete's camera was set up on a tripod, and he was standing behind it with his hands in his pockets. Underneath his headset was an Atlanta Braves baseball hat. Pete was chewing gum and in general looked very bored. He was still uncomfortable over having made Rielly cry at lunch. The control room in New York called out the time to Brokaw's intro, and Pete held up his left hand with two fingers extended. «Two minutes to Marble Mouth.»

Rielly smiled under the bright lights and nodded. She took this as a good sign. «Marble Mouth» was Pete's nickname for the network's top anchor. Rielly knew Pete felt bad and was about to tell him once again not to worry about it when she felt her cell phone vibrate. She checked the caller ID, but the number came up as unavailable. Her thumb sat poised over the talk button. Normally, this close to the broadcast she'd let it roll into her voice mail, but she decided to answer it with the hope that it was her significant other.

She pressed the button and held the phone to her ear. «Anna Rielly here.»

Rapp's heart melted at the sound of her voice. «Honey, it's me. Are you all right?»

Rielly was speechless for a second, and then she managed to say, «Mitchell.»

«Honey, it's me, but I can't talk long. Are you okay?»

Rielly turned her back to the camera. «No, I'm not okay. I've been worried sick for the last four days.»

«I'm sorry about that, but it couldn't be helped. You're fine, though… right? I mean, other than being worried.»

«I think I'm the one who should be concerned about you.»

«I'm fine.» Rapp sounded rushed.» Are you staying with our friends?»

«Yes. Where are you?»

«I can't answer that. Have you noticed anyone following you?»

«No. When can I see you?»

«I'm not sure. Maybe a few days, maybe a week.»

Rielly didn't like his answer. «Mitchell, I don't care what kind of errands you're running for you know who, I want you home immediately.»

«I can't. Not for a few days.»

«You said you were going to quit, and right now seems like a very good time to me.»

«I am going to quit, but I have to tie up a few loose ends first.»

«Mitch, honey, please. I can't take this anymore. Just please come home.»

«Honey, I'm safe… I'm here in town, and when I finish what I'm doing, I'm going to quit and we are going to spend the rest of our lives together. But you have to trust me on this. I have to take care of a few things before I can do that.» Rapp paused. «I love you, Anna. Will you please just trust me?»

«Yes, but…»

Rapp cut her off, «No buts, honey. You have to believe me.»

All right, but please be careful and hurry up.»

«I will, but I have one more question for you. Has our mend talked to Scott C., or have you seen him?»

Anna had to think for a moment. «I don't think he's talked to Scott, and no, I haven't seen him. What is his involvement in all of this?»

«Nothing. I have to go now. Keep staying where you have been until I tell you different, okay?»

Rielly hesitated briefly. «All right.»

«I love you, Anna.»

«I love you, too.» Rielly listened for a second, and then the line went dead.

RAPP TURNED OFF his phone, relieved that Anna w safe. Now it was time to get some answers. With Shirley in tow, he headed back to the small shed. Rapp had to do some guessing. He knew that Stansfield liked to keep a low profile. Hence no fence or gated driveway. No guards patrolling the grounds with dogs to provide good perimeter deterrence and early detection. Rapp could recite a long list of Stansfield's counterparts in Europe and the Middle East, intelligence chiefs from state-run and terrorist groups, who had five times the protection Stansfield did. In America it was a different story.

The director's only security would be his house itself. At first glance, it looked like any other dwelling on the quiet street, but Rapp suspected it was anything but. Just kicking the door in wasn't going to work. He would have to get them to open the door, and that was where Shirley would come in. Somewhere inside the house was a man from the Agency's Office of Security. The man was bored stiff, probably reading a novel, or, if Stansfield allowed it, he might even be watching TV. He was at, or near, a console that monitored the home's security through a web of cameras, laser tripwires, and probably a few more high-tech gadgets.