«Give me a minute.»

«All right.» Rapp turned to Coleman. «What's bothering you?»

«I don't know if l like letting him know we're onto him just yet. I'd like to get some more info.»

«I'd like to spook him into doing something stupid. Besides, there's a chance I might know this guy. Get a hold of your guys and make the arrangements. Then we'll make the call.»

Peter Cameron was in his small office at George Washington University reading a paper one of his students had written. Cameron taught a special topics course on the CIA for GW's Elliot School of International Affairs. The course was nothing earth-shattering, rather a mundane look at how the bureaucracy of the CIA functioned with its counterparts in the intelligence community. One section met on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays at eleven in the morning for one hour, and the second class met at six in the evening for two hours on Mondays and Thursdays. The day class was made up of fourteen professional students who thought they were smarter than everyone, including their professor. The evening class, however, was far more interesting. At least half of his students were military officers or other intelligence types who had a little better grasp of reality and the practical side of the business. The professional students in his night class tended to listen more and pontificate less, which he rather enjoyed.

Cameron's mind tended to wander when he was reading, and right now he was wondering why he hadn't gotten into teaching earlier. He worked an average of about ten hours a week, had ample vacation time, and was paid forty d1ousand dollars a year. The job was a complete boondoggle. The respect he was given when introduced as a professor at GW was amazing. And he could actually talk about his job. When he was at Langley, about all he could say was that he worked there. Cameron had decided he could easily teach into his seventies. It might be the perfect position to have when President Clark called on him to help out with his new administration.

Cameron set the paper down and stared aimlessly at his watch. Would national security advisor be too lofty a post? Maybe not. He had the practical experience and now the academic title. If anyone could make it happen, it would be Clark. His pie-in-the-sky daydream was rudely interrupted by the ringing of one of his phones. He knew it wasn't his office phone – that had an entirely different ring. But he could never tell his two cell phones apart. One was legitimate, meaning it was purchased under his real name. The second phone was purchased using a bogus name. He had paid for a year's worth of service using a money order. One thousand minutes a month, anywhere, any time.

The phones were in his leather briefcase. Cameron reached in with two hands and grabbed both phones. The Motorola was the one ringing. No number came up on the caller ID, but that wasn't unusual.

He pressed the send button and said, «Hello.» There was no immediate response, so Cameron repeated himself.

«Professor, how are you doing?» came the slightly menacing voice.

Cameron leaped from his chair-the voice on the phone caused the hair on his neck to stand on end. He knew instantly who was on the line. He had listened to that voice in Germany: Attempting to sound unfazed, Cameron lied, «Ahhh… fine. And you?»

«I would say I'm doing very well.» Rapp offered nothing further, intentionally letting the tension build.

Cameron went over to the window and looked down on the street to see if anyone was watching him. Silently, he cursed himself for not preparing for this contingency. «I'm sorry, but you're going to have to help me out. I have no idea who this is.» He did not sound convincing.

«Oh, I think you do.» Rapp's voice was steady and direct.

«No… I really don't.»

«Come on, Professor. We have mutual friends, or should I say had mutual mends?»

«I don't follow.»

«The Jansens of Evergreen, Colorado, or should I say the Hoffmans of Germany?»

Cameron was shaking. How in the hell had Rapp found him? Grasping for words, he finally managed to say, «I have no idea what you're talking about.»

«Oh, I think you do.»

«Who is this?»

«I told you… I'm an old friend of the Jansens. In fact, I think we almost bumped into each other in the woods once.»

Cameron grabbed his forehead with his free hand and squeezed. How in the hell did Rapp know he'd been in the woods that night? He hadn't even told the Jansens. «Listen, I don't know who you are or what you're talking about.»

«Why don't you drop the act, Professor? We need to negotiate.»

«Negotiate?» asked an incredulous Cameron. «For what?»

«Your life.»

«My life.» Cameron's voice cracked under the strain. «Just what in the hell are you talking about?»

«Cut the bullshit.» Rapp's voice took on a harder edge. «I'm going to call you back in one hour. In the meantime, I suggest you calm down and gather your thoughts. My offer is simple. You tell me what I want to know, specifically who hired you, and I'll let you live. And if you have half a brain, you won't tell your employer about this caII.» Rapp paused, giving Cameron a second to think about things then added, «If you screw with me in the slightest way, I'm going to do to you what you did to the Jansens. Except I'll be much closer than you were. I promise you, the last thing you'll feel before you die is my warm breath on the back of your neck.»

The line went dead. Cameron was left standing in the middle of his office staring at his phone – shaking. «How in the hell did he find me?» Cameron felt the urge to run. He needed to get out of his cramped office. He shoved the phones back in his briefcase and grabbed his laptop. He left everything else where it was and locked the door behind him. He needed to find someplace safe. A place where he could think things through and figure out what he was going to tell Clark.

It had been more than an hour. Eighty-seven minutes, to be exact. Rapp paced in frustration from Dumond's kitchen through the dining room and into the living room. He stepped over a lime-green Nintendo Game Boy that was on the floor in front of the fifty-two-inch TV and looked out the window. Rapp's new companion, Shirley, came up beside him and rubbed her neck against his leg. Rapp scratched the top of her head. Kevin Hackett and Dan Stroble, two of Coleman's men, were supposed to be arriving any minute. They were bringing more firepower in case they needed it. That had been Coleman's idea, and Rapp didn't argue. Rapp felt more than secure with his 9-mm Beretta. Anyone who was foolish enough to try to take them down would lose a lot of men.

Rapp checked his watch. It was twenty past four in the afternoon. The rain had started to fall again in a slow, steady trickle. He had tried the Professor's phone five times, and each time he had received a recorded message telling him the customer was not available. Something was wrong. Coleman had listened to the first call on another extension and had agreed with Rapp. The Professor sounded scared, and he was lying. He knew exactly who Rapp was and what had happened in Germany and Colorado.

Now Rapp feared they may have lost the man. They may have spooked him into disappearing entirely. Rapp worried about how long this would take to tie up. He was going to see it through to the end, no matter how long it took, but if this Professor decided to disappear, it could be years, and it would mean using the Agency's legitimate assets, something Rapp was loath to do.

Coleman approached Rapp at the window and said, «I hope he didn't decide to tell his employer about the call.»

«Yeah, I know.» Rapp watched the drops falling in a puddle that had formed between two heaved sections of sidewalk. «They need to know what we know.»