Is he in? Its Sara Evans.

A minute later Jordan Knights voice came on the line.

Sara?

I know this is terrible timing, Senator.

I heard what happened today. His tone was cold.

I know what you must think, and Im sure nothing I could say would change your mind.

Youre probably right about that. However, for what its worth Beth feels terrible about what happened. She was one of your strongest supporters.

I appreciate that. Sara held the phone away from her ear as she struggled to hold her nerves in check. Every second counted now. I need a favor.

A favor? Jordan sounded perplexed.

Some information on someone.

Sara, I hardly think this is appropriate.

Senator, I will never, ever call you again, but I really need to know the answer to my question, and with all your information resources, and your personal clout, youre the only person I can think of to ask. Please? For old times sake.

Jordan pondered this for a moment. Well, Im not at my office right now. I was just settling down to a late dinner with Beth, in fact.

But you could call your office, or maybe the FBI.

The FBI? he said loudly. She hurried on. A phone call would be all that it would take. Im at home. You can even have the person call me back directly. You and I wont even have to speak again.

Finally, Jordan relented. All right, whats your question?

Its about Agent McKenna.

What about him?

I need to know if he ever served in the Army. Specifically at Fort Plessy during the seventies.

Why in the world do you need to know that?

Senator, it would take me far too long to explain.

He sighed. All right. Ill see what I can do. Ill have someone from my office check and then call you. Youll be at home?

Yes.

Sara, I hope you know what youre doing.

If you can believe it, Senator, I really do.

If you say so, he replied, not sounding convinced. When he went back into the dining room about fifteen minutes later, Elizabeth looked up at him. What in the world did Sara want?

The strangest thing. You know that FBI agent fellow? The one you were complaining about?

She tensed. Warren McKenna? What about him?

She wanted to know if he had ever served in the Army.

Elizabeth Knight dropped her fork. Why would she want to know that?

I dont know. She wouldnt tell me. Jordan looked over at her curiously, noting her tension. Are you all right?

Im fine. This has just been the day from hell.

I know, honey, I know, he said soothingly. He looked down at his cold meal. I guess our relaxing evening just went out the window.

What did you tell her?

Tell her? I told her Id check. And that Id have somebody get back to her. Thats what I was doing, calling my office. I guess they can check on the computer or something.

Where is Sara?

At home, waiting for the answer to her question. Elizabeth got up, her face pale.

Beth, are you all right?

A headache just hit me. I need some aspirin.

I can get it for you.

No, thats all right. Finish your dinner. Then maybe we can finally relax.

A worried-looking Jordan Knight watched his wife go down the hallway. Elizabeth Knight did indeed get some aspirin, since she did have a very real headache. Then she slipped down the hallway to her bedroom, picked up the phone and dialed a number.

Hello, the voice said.

Sara Evans just called. She asked Jordan a question.

What was the question?

She wanted to know if you had ever been in the Army.

Warren McKenna loosened his tie and took a sip of water from the glass on his desk. He had just returned from the meeting at the Court. And what did he tell her?

That hed check and get back to her. Elizabeth did her best to fight back the tears. McKenna nodded to himself. Where is she?

She told Jordan she was at home.

And John Fiske?

I dont know. Apparently she didnt say.

McKenna grabbed his coat. Thanks for the information, Justice Knight. It might prove to be even more valuable than one of your opinions.

Elizabeth Knight slowly hung up the receiver and then picked it up again. She couldnt leave it like this. She dialed Information and got the number. The call was answered. Detective Chandler, please. Tell him its Elizabeth Knight and its urgent.

Chandler came on the line. What can I do for you, Justice Knight?

Detective Chandler, please dont ask me how I know, but you have to get to Sara Evanss house. I think shes in grave danger. Please hurry.

Chandler didnt waste time asking questions. He raced out of his office without even hanging up the phone. Elizabeth Knight slowly put down the receiver. She had thought her work at the Court was pressure-filled, but this . . . She knew that no matter how this turned out, her life was going to be devastated. For her, there was no way out. How ironic, she thought, that justice would end up destroying her. *����*����* The figure was outfitted in dark clothing, a ski mask pulled over his face. He had followed Sara down to Richmond and then trailed her and Fiske and the FBI agents back to Washington. He was very grateful that she had lost the FBI agents; it would make his job much easier. Crouching down, he made his way over to the car and opened the drivers-side door. The dome light came on when he did so, and he quickly twisted the control to dim it. He looked at the windows of the house. He saw Sara pass by once, but she didnt look outside. He pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and swept the beam around the cars interior. He saw the papers on the floorboard, glanced at them and noted the encircled name. He gathered up the files and put them in a knapsack he was carrying. He pulled a pistol from his holster and attached a silencer to the muzzle. Looking up at the house again, he saw no sign of Sara this time. But she was in there. Alone. He put out the light and headed toward the house. *����*����* Sara had been nervously pacing the kitchen, constantly checking her watch and waiting for a phone call from Jordan Knights office. She stepped out onto the rear deck and watched as a jet slid past under the canopy of dark clouds. Then she looked down at her sailboat as it nudged against the rubber tires that were affixed to the dock to act as buffers between the smooth fiberglass and the rough wood. She had to smile as she thought back to the events of last night. The smile disappeared as she recalled what she and Fiske had discussed after their encounter at the nursing home. She pressed her bare toes against the damp wood, and took a moment to breathe in the soothing smells of the wet, rustic surroundings. She went inside and up the stairs, stopping at the doorway of her bedroom and looking inside. The bed was still unmade. She sat down on the mattress and picked up one edge of the sheet as she recalled their lovemaking. She thought of how Fiske had pulled his T-shirt back down. The scar went from navel to neck, Ed had told her. As if it could ever actually make a difference to her. And yet Fiske obviously believed it could. She listened as another jet passed overhead and then the complete silence returned in its wake, as though all sound had disappeared into a Pratt & Whitney-made vacuum. The silence so profound she could clearly hear the side door of the cottage open. She jumped up and raced to the stairs. John? There was no answer, and when the downstairs light went out, a shiver of fear hit her spine. She ran into her bedroom, shut and locked the door. Her chest heaving, her own pulse bursting in her eardrums, she looked around desperately for a weapon, because there was no way to escape. The window was small and even if she could manage to wriggle through, the grade of the land was such that the room was two stories off the ground, with a concrete sidewalk down below and breaking both her legs didnt seem like a good idea. Her sense of desperation turned to panic when the sounds of the footsteps reached her. She now cursed herself for not having a phone in the bedroom. She held her breath as she saw the doorknob slowly turn until the lock halted the movement, but both the lock and the door were very old. As something hit the door with a solid blow, she instinctively jumped back, a small scream escaping her lips. She scanned the room before her gaze settled on the four-poster bed. She raced over and grabbed one of the pineapple-shaped finials off one of the bedposts. Thank God she had never gotten around to having the bed actually canopied. The finial was solid wood and weighed at least a pound. She held it in one upraised hand and stepped quickly over to the door. It shook as another blow landed, the lock bending under the force of it; the doorframe started to splinter. After that impact she reached over, quietly unlocked the door and then stood back. With the door unbolted, the next blow sent it and the man flying into the room. Saras arm came down swiftly and the finial hit flesh. She raced through the doorway and down the hallway. The man she had struck lay on the floor holding his shoulder and moaning. Sara knew that Rayfield and Tremaine were dead. Then the man she had just hit was either Dellasandro or she shuddered at the thought of the man being in her home Warren McKenna. She navigated the stairs in two jumps, grabbed her car keys off the table and threw open the door on her way to the car. She let out a shriek of terror. The second man stared back at her, calmly, coolly. As he stepped forward, Leo Dellasandro pointed a pistol directly at her. The man in black came racing down the stairs holding his shoulder, his gun trained on her as well. Dellasandro closed the door. Sara looked at the man behind her. It must be McKenna. But then her expression changed. This man wasnt nearly big enough to be the FBI agent. The ski mask came off and Richard Perkins glared at her. Then he smiled at her obvious astonishment and pulled some papers from his knapsack. You must have overlooked my name on the Fort Plessy service roster, Sara. How sloppy of you.