We flew all the way out there, nearly got slaughtered and we came back empty-handed, Sara muttered. Brilliant idea on my part.

Thats where youre wrong, Fiske said. They reached the car and climbed in. So what exactly did we learn? she asked.

Quite a few things. One, we saw Rufus Harms face-to-face. I think hes telling the truth, whatever the truth happens to be.

You cant be sure of that.

He came to Riders office, Sara, when he should be doing his best to get out of the country. He came to get the appeal he had written. Why would he do that unless he believed it to be true?

I dont know, Sara admitted. If it was his appeal, why not just write it again?

Rider had filed his own document with it. You saw that in my brothers briefcase. Now that Riders dead, that was something Harms couldnt duplicate. He also mentioned something he got from the Army. A letter. Maybe he thought that would help, so he came to get both.

That makes more sense.

The Army guys were on a blood hunt. They didnt come there to look for Rufus Harms. They came there to search Riders office.

How do you know that?

They didnt even ask us if wed seen anyone suspicious, anyone who looked like Rufus. I had to volunteer the information. And they werent doing it in their official capacity. The middle of the night, machine guns. They werent MPs or anything. They were of fairly high rank, judging from their age and attitude. Barging into civilian offices with machine guns at midnight, thats not how the Army does things.

Maybe youre right.

So Im thinking whatever was in that appeal had something to do with those guys personally.

But we dont even know who they are.

Yes, we do. Rufus said their names at Riders office. Tremaine, Vic Tremaine and the other guys name is Rayfield. Theyre in the Army, which means they must be connected with Fort Jackson somehow. Rufus said they did something to him. Im sure he meant back in the stockade.

John, even if they somehow encouraged him to kill that little girl, or even ordered him to do it for some hellish reason, the most theyd get pinned on is some sort of accessory. And after all these years? If thats all Harms has, he has nothing, you damn well know that.

The problem is we dont know enough about the actual events back then. If some people visited Harms in the stockade on the night the little girl was killed, there should be a record of that.

Sara looked skeptical. After twenty-five years?

And then theres the letter from the Army that Harms mentioned. What sort of letter would the Army be sending a court-martialed con?

Do you think the letter somehow triggered this?

It could have had some information that Harms didnt know about before. I dont know what it could be or why he wouldnt have known it before, though.

Wait a minute. If Tremaine and Rayfield are from Fort Jackson, why would they let that kind of a letter reach Harms? Isnt a prisoners mail censored?

Fiske thought for a moment. Maybe it just slipped through.

Or maybe it didnt come to the prison at all. Josh Harms seems to know all about it; maybe he got the letter, put two and two together and told Rufus about it.

And then Rufus maybe fakes a heart attack somehow, gets taken to the nearest hospital and thats where Josh breaks him out?

That works.

I just wish we knew what happened at Fort Jackson that day. Its pretty clear from what Josh and Rufus said that my brother visited him at the prison.

Why not call or go to the prison? Then we can find out if Michael was there.

Fiske shook his head. If those two guys are at the prison, theyll have covered that up, maybe transferred anyone who saw Mike out of the place. And we cant go to Chandler with it, because what would we say? Two Army guys are looking for a prisoner who escaped from their custody. So what?

Well, if Rayfield and Tremaine work at the prison, then Michael walked right into the lions den. Even though you two werent close, Im really surprised Michael didnt try to call you for help. He might still be alive if he had.

Fiske froze at her words and then closed his eyes. He said nothing more as they drove along. *����*����* When they reached Saras cottage, Fiske went directly to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer.

Do you have any cigarettes?

She raised her eyebrows. I didnt think you smoked.

I havent for years. But I really need one right now.

Well, youre in luck. She pulled a chair over and set it next to the kitchen counter. She slipped off her pumps and stepped onto the chairs seat. Ive found that if I make it as difficult as possible to get to my little stash, I crave them less. I guess I have a real lazy streak.

Fiske watched as she stood on tiptoe and reached up over the highest cabinet, her fingers barely scraping the top edge.

Sara, come on, let me do that. Youre going to kill yourself.

Ive got it, John. Just about there. She stretched her body as far as she could and Fiske found himself staring at the tops of her exposed thighs as her dress had risen. She started to sway a bit, so he placed a hand on her waist to steady her. On the back of her right thigh was a small birthmark, almost perfectly triangular in shape and a dull red in color. It seemed to pulse with each of her exertions. He glanced down at her feet as he continued to hold on to her, the bottom of his hand resting lightly on the softness of her hip. Her toes were long and uncramped, as though she went barefoot often. He looked away.

Got em. She held up the pack. Camels okay?

As long as you can light one end, I dont really care. He helped her down, took out a cigarette, and then looked at her. You in? You did all the work. She nodded and he nudged one out for her. They took a moment lighting up and Sara joined Fiske with a beer. They went out onto the small rear deck that looked out over the river and sat down in a faded wooden glider.

You made a good choice in housing, he commented.

The first time I saw it, I could see myself living here forever. She drew her legs up under her, tapped her cigarette against the deck rail, and watched as the breeze carried the ash away. She arched her long neck and took a long sip of beer.

Impulsive of you.

She put the beer down and studied his face. Havent you ever felt that way about something?

He thought about it for a moment. Not really. So whats next? Husband, kids? Solely the career path? He took a puff and waited for her to answer. She took another swallow of beer and watched the car lights pass over the Woodrow Wilson Bridge in the distance. Then she stood up. Want to go sailing?

He looked up at her in surprise. A little late for that, isnt it?

No later than our last boat trip. Ive got the permit and the boat lights. Well just do a lazy circle and come back in. Before he could answer, she disappeared into the cottage. Within a couple minutes she came back out wearing jean cutoffs, a tank top and deck shoes, her hair pulled back in a bun. Fiske glanced down at his dress shirt, slacks and loafers. I didnt bring my sailor suit.

Thats okay. Youre not the sailor, I am. She had two fresh beers. They walked down to the dock. It was miserably humid, and Fiske quickly broke a sweat helping Sara ready the sails. While standing on the bow to rig the jib sail, Fiske slipped and almost tumbled into the water. If you had fallen into the Potomac, we wouldnt need the moon to sail by, youd be glowing all by yourself, Sara said, laughing. The water was flat, no shore wind evident, so Sara fired up the auxiliary engine and they motored out into the middle of the river, where the sails finally caught a breeze and swelled with the warm air. For the next hour they moved in slow ovals across the river. The boat had a light, and the moon was at three-quarters and there were no other craft on the river. Fiske took a turn at the helm, with Sara coaching him at the tiller until he felt comfortable. Each time they tacked into the wind, the mainsail would shudder and drop, Fiske would duck and Sara would swing the boom around and watch as the canvas filled again and propelled them along. She looked over at him and smiled. It feels magical to catch something invisible and yet so powerful, and compel it to do your bidding, doesnt it? The way she said it, so girlish, with so much frank wonder, he had to smile. They drank beer and both smoked another cigarette after several humorous attempts at lighting up in the face of a stiff wind. They talked about things unrelated to present events, and both felt relieved to be able to do so even for a short time.