^{Brockman opened his mouth and sucked on the straw. He rinsed bile from his tongue. He spit it out, unable to project it far, some of it landing on his pants. He sucked more water, swirling it, swallowing, purifying his throat.}

^{"I promise to protect you from Carl Duran," Ali said.}

^{"He kind of seems in control, don't you think?" Brockman murmured. "All the protectors who've already died. Nobody could protect them."}

^{The shadows in the room were luxurious. He wanted to close his eyes and--}

^{"I can fix it so you seem to disappear, Gerald. He'd never be able to find you."}

^{Disoriented, Brockman realized that Ali had managed to engage him in a conversation, a sin of being interrogated that had to be avoided at all cost.}

^{At all cost? Brockman thought groggily. Look at what it's already cost me. After the last three years, do I care anymore? Do I want to keep living like this?}

^{He licked his coppery tasting lips. "What if . . ."}

^{Ali waited.}

^{"What if he's not the one I'm afraid of?" Brockman asked.}

^{"Then who are you afraid of?"}

^{"All of you. Need more water."}

^{Ali extended the straw.}

^{Brockman sipped.}

^{Ali prompted him. "Afraid of all of us?"}

^{"Protectors. Afraid of what you'll do if you find out."}

^{Ali set down the glass and raised an electrical box with a switch on it and numerous plugs attached to it. When he flicked the switch, the room blazed again. All the lamps were attached to the box, all the bulbs suddenly glaring.}

^{"No." Brockman groaned. The heat swept over him.}

^{From the shadows behind the glare, Ali asked, "What are you afraid we'll find out?"}

^{"Suppose I did something."}

^"Something?"

^{"Sleepy. Feel sleepy."}

^{"Don't worry, Gerald. The glare and the heat of the lights will keep you awake. What did you do?"}

^{"How can you protect me from . . ."}

^{"Stay awake, Gerald, or I might need to tear your other rotator cuff. Protect you from what?"}

^{"Keep me from being punished."}

^{"A deal, Gerald? Is that what you're asking me to make with you? A promise to protect you from Carl Duran and from your fellow protectors?"}

^{"Can you do it?"}

^{"I promise you this. You tell me what I want to hear, and I'll look after you as if you're my closest friend. I'll do everything in my power to get you out of whatever trouble you're in."}

^{"It'd be a . . ."}

^{"Be a what, Gerald?"}

^{"Relief. The bastard held it over me for so long."}

^{"Tell me," Ali said.}

^{Chapter 18.}

^{The building was made of weathered boards. It was twenty-feet-square, single-level, with a dusty window on two sides and a black stovepipe protruding from its sloped roof. The door was blank wood. On leashes, two dogs sniffed at it.}

^{"They don't seem interested," one of their handlers said.}

^{"The same as the other buildings. So far, no indication of explosives," the second handler told Cavanaugh.}

^{Cavanaugh looked around--at men coming in and out of the farmhouse, whose door they'd rammed in; at other men searching the barn, whose padlock they'd cut.}

^{"No indication of radiation, either," a man said, walking over with a Geiger counter. "A dirty bomb or anything like that."}

^{"Or smallpox or anthrax," another man said. He held a compact device programmed to identify the DNA of selected bacteria and viruses. His hands were covered with latex gloves.}

^{"And the place tests negative for stashes of drugs," Rutherford said, joining them.}

^{A man with bolt cutters indicated the building's locked door. "Shall I do the honors?"}

^{Cavanaugh walked to where a window provided an inside view of the door. Through the dusty glass, he didn't see any sign of a booby trap, but even though trained dogs had failed to indicate that they smelled explosives, he needed to be sure.}

^{Reaching into a windbreaker, he pulled out a twist tie. "Free the lock," he told the man with the bolt cutters.}

^{When the lock fell to the ground, Cavanaugh eased the door open a quarter inch, knelt, inserted the twist tie through the narrow gap, and slowly raised the pliant strip from the ground, alert for any sign of resistance from a wire attached to a detonator. While Jamie aimed her flashlight, searching for a reflection off a wire, Cavanaugh drew the twist tie along the entire door.}

^{"Anybody care to step back?" he asked the group.}

^{They thought about it.}

^{"Wouldn't hurt to crouch behind that car," one of the dog handlers said.}

^{"John, why don't you and Jamie go with them?" Cavanaugh asked.}

^{What Jamie did instead was cautiously open the door.}

^{Sunlight pierced shadows. Dust on the floor showed the footprints of someone who'd recently gone in and out. The marks were large, presumably a man's. They led past a metal stove that the old man had used for burning wood in the winter. They passed a dusty anvil and a table of equally dusty forging tools. Cavanaugh had worked with them so often that, even after many years, he recognized them as the old man's, especially the battered anvil. The footprints veered around a waist-high metal container that had a propane tank attached to it: the old man's forge. They led to another dusty table, upon which an envelope was set against a small wooden box.}

^{The box was made of oak so polished that it reflected Cavanaugh's flashlight.}

^{The box was open. It was lined with green felt into which was nestled the most beautiful knife Cavanaugh had ever seen.}

^{Hey, he warned himself, pay attention. He and Jamie looked for wires stretched across the shadowy floor. As Cavanaugh approached the far table, he stayed clear of the footprints, preserving them as evidence. But the closer he came, the more he found it difficult to take his eyes from the envelope and the contents of the box. At last, he stopped before them.}