“What little bastard?” Rapp asked.

“T-Mobile’s firewall. They must have brought in some new hot shot. It normally takes me a minute or less. This time it took me a full ten minutes.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Garret has two phones. One is a BlackBerry that he has with Verizon, and then he has a Motorola that he has through T-Mobile.” Dumond spun the small computer ninety degrees so Rapp and Kennedy could see the screen. “Here’s all of his calls.”

Kennedy looked nervous. “Marcus, I assume there’s no way this can be traced back to you.”

“Huh,” Dumond laughed. “Anyone with half a brain can hack into a system. When I do it, there’s no trace I was ever there.”

“Anything to Switzerland?” Rapp asked as he bent over to look at the screen. All it showed were the numbers that he had called or had called him. No names. There appeared to be no international calls. “Can you get us a reverse directory on these phone numbers?”

“No problem.” Dumond spun the computer, made a few keystrokes, and then spun it back. “Here’s the names associated with numbers he dialed and the time and date.”

Rapp leaned in close so he could read the tiny print. The calls were listed in descending order with the most recent one at the top of the screen. Rapp scanned the column, and halfway down the first page a name jumped out at him. “Why, I’ll be damned.”

“What?” Kennedy asked. She didn’t have her reading glasses with her.

“Our little buddy Tom Rich from theTimes called Garret right in the middle of your press conference this afternoon.”

“That seems like a bit of coincidence,” Kennedy replied.

Rapp scrolled down to the previous day’s calls. “Look here. Garret called Ross three times yesterday. And Ross called Garret five times. Look here. He called Garret at seven-oh-nine last night. I remember looking at my watch when we were in your office. It was seven-oh-four. He got off the phone with us and must have called Garret right away.”

Rapp grabbed his phone, opened it, hit talk, scrolled down to the number he wanted, and hit talk again. A few rings later Agent Rivera was on the phone. “How are the logs coming?”

“Slowly.”

“Have yesterday’s logs been filed?”

“Yes, but I don’t have them in front of me.”

“Can you get them?”

“Yes. I can pull them up on the computer.”

Rapp backed away from the kitchen table and waited.

“I’ve got them up on the screen. What are you looking for?”

“Who did Ross meet with yesterday?”

Rivera started reading a long list. Within fifteen seconds, Rapp lost his patience and asked, “Did he meet with Tom Rich?”

“The reporter?”

“Yes.”

“Mitch,” she said uncomfortably, “I’m not sure I should be giving you that kind of information.”

“I don’t have time for this right now, Maria. Trust me when I tell you it’s important.”

There was a long moment of silence, and then Rivera said, “They met yesterday evening in Ross’s suite at the Willard.”

“Thanks. I’ll call you later.” Rapp closed his phone and pointed at Dumond’s computer screen. “These calls match up perfectly. Garret set up the interview and Ross was the high-level source who fed Rich the story. Look.”

Kennedy bent forward and squinted, but before she could begin reading a new screen popped up and covered the T-Mobile page. Some type of ominous law enforcement shield sat in the middle of the screen. “Whoa,” Kennedy said, fearing their unlawful intrusion had been discovered. “Marcus, you’d better take a look at this,” she said as she backed away.

Dumond quickly set his coffee down and grabbed the computer. He spun it around, studied the screen for a split second, and then began hitting keys.

“What is it?” Rapp asked with no real worry in his voice. Dumond was the master of his own little universe. He would never initiate an incursion that could be traced back to him.

“Customs and Immigration web site. When I was in their database earlier today I put a flag on Garret’s passport.”

“A flag?” Kennedy said in a slightly alarmed voice.

“Not the normal kind of flag. I set it up so I would receive an alert if he tried to leave the country. I also tapped into the airline’s reservation system while I was checking his travel.” Dumond typed in several commands. The screen changed as quickly as his fingers flew. “Well, I’ll be damned.” Dumond stopped typing and stared at the screen.

“What?” Rapp asked.

“Garret just checked in for an Air France flight from Dulles to Geneva.”

Rapp and Kennedy looked at each other, their thoughts passing without words.

“When does his flight leave?” Kennedy asked.

“Twelve twenty.”

“I’ll call Jose and have him put his best people on it,” Kennedy said.

Rapp checked his watch. “There’s a chance I can get there first. Besides, I don’t think we want to use embassy people for this. Tell him I want NOCs only.”

“You’re probably right.” Kennedy watched Rapp punch numbers into his mobile phone. NOC stood for Non Official Cover. They were Langley ’s most coveted operatives. “Are you sure you should go?”

“You have any better ideas?”

“Not at the moment.”

Rapp could tell she still wasn’t sold on the idea. “Like you said, Irene. We have less than two days. If these guys were involved in any way in that attack, I’m willing to bet the answers are in Switzerland.” Rapp looked away from Kennedy and spoke into his phone. “Scramble the boys. We need to be in the air by midnight.” Rapp listened for a second and said, “Across the pond. Mostly surveillance, but you never know. I’ll see you in thirty.” Rapp closed the phone and looked at Kennedy. Her expression radiated concern. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

Kennedy frowned and said, “I’m not worried about you.”

“Then who in the hell are you worried about?”

“Stu Garret.” Kennedy shook her head. “I know how you think, Mitch. I don’t want you slapping him around.”

“Irene…come on,” Rapp said as if he was complaining.

“Well…at least not until he gives you a reason.”

Garret was in a supremely foul mood. He’d boarded his flight convinced he would sleep his way across the Atlantic. He had it all planned out. He’d have a vodka on the rocks before takeoff and two or three glasses of red wine with his meal, and then he’d kick off his shoes, recline his seat, put on the little mask they handed out, and he’d snooze until the sun was gleaming off the snow-capped Alps. Unfortunately, he didn’t account for his enlarged prostate. An hour into his slumber he awoke to make his first of three trips to the head. When he landed in Geneva, he was tired, grumpy, and more than a bit out of whack. He was at least happy, though, to be out of Washington. No one bugging him for photographs and advice.

A driver was waiting for him at the airport. The man took him to his hotel and on the way showed him where he would be meeting Mr. Speyer for dinner at 8:00. Garret was immediately put off that they were going to make him wait for six and a half hours to discuss business, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Speyer wasn’t answering his phone, and he wasn’t about to call Green.

He checked in to his hotel a little before 2:00 in the afternoon and asked for a 7:00 p.m. wakeup call just to be safe. When he got up to his room the jet lag hit him hard. He turned off both mobile phones and hit the Do Not Disturb button on the hotel phone. He must have been dehydrated from the flight because he slept straight through to his 7:00 p.m. wakeup call without disturbance from his prostate. Garret showered and shaved and put on a blue sport coat, white dress shirt, and dark gray slacks.

When he arrived downstairs a car was waiting for him. Garret walked outside with his puffy down coat and stopped for a moment on the sidewalk. Across the street was Lake Geneva. The city lights flickered on the surface. As a political consultant, Garret had a keen sense of awareness when it came to people. He liked Geneva. It was a city of scoundrels, many of whom tried to portray themselves as aristocracy. It was a voyeuristic heaven. You got to watch the charade of social pretense that masked insatiable appetites for food, drugs, drinking, gambling, and sex. It could be a very fun place to visit.