"Which way did he go?"

"Downtown on Lex, but that was three or four minutes ago; he could be anywhere by now."

"Outstanding," Lance said sourly.

"I don't need the attitude, Lance; there was nothing I could do, except watch him drive away. Tell me, how did he get away from you?"

"The living-room television was on when we burst in," Lance said. "It was displaying the images from four video cameras that we never saw. He saw us enter the building and scampered, first cleaning out the safe."

"Well, at least you have photographs of the passports in the safe and the serial numbers on the currency."

"Yes, there is that. I'll flag the passports at all ports of entry and exit."

"What would you like me to do now?"

"Do you actually own a firearm?"

"Several."

"I want you to go home, select one, strap it to your body in some fashion and don't take it off until I tell you to, unless you're in the shower. Is that perfectly clear?"

"Stop giving me orders, Lance."

"While you're at home, read your contract with us; it allows me to give you orders and obligates you to follow them."

Stone thought about that.

"Trust me, it does. Until we find this man I want you to think of yourself as on active duty with us. Keep your cell phone handy at all times. If I need you, drop whatever you're doing and follow my instructions. Is that perfectly clear?"

"I'll read the contract," Stone said.

"Sorry we can't drop you," Lance said, getting into the car and driving away.

Stone got a cab home, went straight to his office and pressed the intercom button on his phone. "Joan, please get me that contract that I signed with Lance Cabot last year."

"Right." A moment later she came into his office and handed him the contract.

"Thanks."

"You'll be glad to hear that Woodman and Weld sent over a check for fifty thousand dollars."

"I am very glad to hear that."

Joan went back to her office, and Stone began to read the contract with increasing alarm. How the hell had he ever signed such a document? Lance could do with him as he wished and probably shoot him, if he objected. He went upstairs, opened the big safe in his dressing room, and chose a Colt Defender that he'd had custom-converted from a.45 to a 9mm. He shoved it into a holster and threaded that and a double magazine holder onto his belt.

"All right, Lance, goddammit," he said aloud, "I'm armed."

TlFF WAS LATE for their dinner date at Elaine's, and Stone was on his second Knob Creek when she arrived.

"I want one of those," she said, sitting down. "A double."

Stone gave her order to a waiter. "Rough day?"

"You don't know the half of it. Because of your CIA buddy, I had to sit still for an hour on a conference call with the AG, while he chewed me out in front of a dozen people."

"I take it Lance's claim to Billy Bob trumped yours?"

"The AG tried to take it to the president, but the White House chief of staff slapped him down. He is very, very pissed off."

"The experience will be good for him," Stone said.

Tiff sucked up a quarter of her drink, swallowed it and sighed. "Okay, how did you get involved with the Agency?"

"I can't tell you much," Stone said. "I read my contract this afternoon, more carefully than the first time, and well…"

"You mean, if you tell me, you'll have to shoot me?"

"No, but if I tell you too much, they'll probably shoot me. I met Lance a couple of years ago in London, and I became embroiled in an Agency operation that I didn't even understand. I thought the whole thing was completely screwed up, until Lance explained that that was what I was supposed to think. He asked me to sign on as a consultant-Dino, too, and another friend of mine named Holly Barker. I was flattered, the money was good, and it sounded intriguing."

"And none of that turned out to be the case?"

"All of it turned out to be the case, but I find myself in a position where I have to follow orders, something I have never enjoyed doing."

"Welcome to the club. Why does the Agency want Rodney Peeples?"

"Look, we've got to agree on what to call him; it's too confusing. Can we just call him Billy Bob?"

"Oh, all right. Why do they want Billy Bob?"

"I can't tell you that, on penalty of God knows what. Why do you want him, Tiff? Surely that can't be a secret, since you're out of the picture anyway."

"The guy has pulled off a series of scams. He used the car dealership in San Mateo to screw a dozen loan companies out of millions, financing nonexistent cars; he used the accounting firm in Oklahoma to set up phony tax shelters that nobody in his right mind, except a doctor or dentist, would invest in, soaking a group of them for more than thirty million dollars; and now there are half a dozen Dallas zillionaires-all of them heavy contributors to Republican causes- who got rooked out of millions and who are screaming bloody murder and wanting Peep… Billy Bob's balls nailed to the barn door, and people like that get listened to by this administration."

"Okay, I get the picture."

"And, as far as the AG is concerned, I dropped the ball. Shit, I went to that apartment to arrest him. I can't help it if the Agency one-upped us."

"No you can't," Stone said sympathetically.

"Try explaining that to the AG."

"What you need is a good dinner and lots of sex."

"You're right, and that's the only good idea I've heard all day." She picked up a menu. "Let's get started."

STONE GAZED UP at Tiff, who sat astride him, lit by shafts of moonlight through the window. Tiff was moving rhythmically up and down, a small smile on her face.

"I've got an idea," she said.

"Better than this one?" Stone asked, panting.

"Nothing to do with this."

"Then let's concentrate on this and talk about it later."

"What's the matter, can't you think about two things at once?"

"Not at the moment." He gave her a bigger thrust.

"Oooo," she said. "Being able to hold two opposing thoughts at once is a sign of high intelligence."

"I'm thinking about this and doing it at the same time. That's as smart as I get."

"Come now, Stone."

"I'm trying."

"Can you watch a TV movie and do a crossword at the same time?"

"If the movie's bad enough."

"So, the sex would have to be bad for you to be able to discuss my idea at the same time?"

"Bad sex is an oxymoron."

"Surely you've had bad sex at some time."

"Not that I can recall."

"You're getting smaller, I can feel it."

"You're distracting me."

She reached behind her and took his testicles in her hand. "Is this distracting?"

"Not in the least." He thrust again.

"I see I've got your undivided attention."

"You have."

"So, can we discuss my idea now?"

Stone thrust again.

"Now you're trying to distract me."

"Is it working?"

"Sort of."

"Then concentrate on the task at hand."

"You think of this as a task?" she said.

"I was speaking figuratively."

"You like my figure, then?"

"Oh, yeah."

She bent over him and swung her breasts across his lips. "Have some."

He caught a nipple and gently bit it.

"What were we talking about?" she asked.

Stone thrust again. "Coming."

She increased her tempo. "Now?"

"Yes, oh, yes!"

"Me, too!"

They both made noises for a little while, then she rolled over and lay beside him. "Now can we talk about my idea?"

"Talk?" Stone panted. "I can't even move my lips."

"You don't need to; I've seen to that."

He took a deep breath and expelled it. "Okay, what's your idea?"

"My idea is that you should tell me everything you know about the CIA's investigation of Peep… Billy Bob."