3rd Degree

Chapter 99.

CHARLES DANKO was wandering the streets of San Fran-cisco aimlessly and thinking about what had just happened in Berkeley, where his friends had died for the cause, died as martyrs just like William had a long time ago.I could kill a lot of people right now. Right here.He knew he could go on a rampage and they wouldn"t catch him for several hours, maybe longer if he got his head screwed on straight, if he thought this through - if he was a careful killer.You"re dead, slick young business creep in your expensive-looking black-on-black ensemble.You"re dead, too, blond fashionista.You. And you. You! You! You four frolicking a.s.shole buddies!G.o.d, it would be so easy to let his rage out now.The police, the FBI, they were pathetic at their job of "protecting" the people.They had everything wrong, didn"t they?They didn"t understand that this could be about justice and revenge. The two concepts were perfectly compatible; they could go hand in hand. He was following in his brother William"s footsteps, honoring his fallen brother"s inspired dream, and at the same time he was avenging William. Two causes were better than one. Twice the motivation; twice the anger.The faces he was pa.s.sing, the expensive clothes, the absurd shops, were all starting to blur before his eyes - all of them were guilty. The whole country was.They didn"t get it, though. Not yet.The war was right here in their streets of gold - the war was here to stay.No one could stop it anymore.There would always be more soldiers.After all, that"s what he was, just a soldier.He stopped at a pay phone and made two calls.The first, to another soldier.The second, to his mentor, the person who had thought of everything, including how to use him.Charles Danko had made his decision: tomorrow was a go for terror.Nothing had changed.

Chapter 100.

THE NEXT DAY, the G-8 meetings were scheduled to begin as originally planned. The hard-liners, the tough guys in Washington, wanted it that way. So be it.The proceedings were set for that night, with a reception in the Rodin Gallery at the Palace of the Legion of Honor overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge.It would be hosted by Eldridge Neal, one of the most admired African Americans in the country, the current vice president. Every available uniform was a.s.signed to security detail at the venues and along the routes. Every ID would be triple-checked, every trash can and air vent sniffed by explosive-detecting dogs.But Danko was still out there.And Carl Danko was still the only link to his son I had.I drove back to Sacramento while the rest of the depart-ment prepared for the G-8 festivities. Carl Danko seemed surprised to see me again. "Thought you"d be accepting some kind of Medal of Honor today. The killing of young kids seems to be a habit with you people. So, why are you here?""Your son," I told him."My son is dead."But Danko sighed and let me in. I followed him back tohis den. A fire was burning there. He knelt down and stoked the flames, then sat down in an easy chair. "Like I told you before, the time to talk about William wasthirty years ago." "Not Billy," I said. "Charles." Danko seemed to hesitate. "I told the federal boys -" "We know," I interrupted him mid-sentence. "We knowhis record, Mr. Danko. We know he isn"t dead."The old man snarled, "You people won"t stop, will you? First William, now Charlie. Go take your medals, Lieutenant. You caught your killers. What makes you think you can come in here and tell me Charlie is alive?""George Bengosian," I answered."Who?""George Bengosian. The second victim. He knew Billyback at Berkeley. More than knew him, Mr. Danko. He was the one who turned your son in." Danko shifted in his easy chair. "What"s that supposed to mean?""And Frank Seymour? He was killed in the Rincon Center blast the other day. Seymour was the lead agent on the Hope Street raid that killed your son. Charles is out there. He"s killing innocent people, Mr. Danko. I think he"s gone mad. I think you do, too."The old man took a deep breath. He stared into the fire, then got up and went over to a desk. He took out a pack of letters from a bottom drawer. Tossed them in front of me on the coffee table."I didn"t lie. My son has been dead to me. I"ve seen him once, five minutes on a Seattle street corner, in the past thirty years. Few years ago, these began to arrive. Once a year, around my birthday."Jesus, I"d been right all along. Charles Danko was alive....I took the letters and began to sort through them.The old man shrugged. "Guess he"s teaching college or something."I inspected the envelopes; no return addresses. But the last four had originated up north. Portland, Oregon. One, as recently as January 7, four months ago.Portland.A thought flashed through my head. It couldn"t be a coin-cidence. Stephen Hardaway had gone to college in Portland. Reed. I looked back at the old man. "You say he"s teaching? Teaching where?"He shook his head. "Don"t know."But I knew. Suddenly I knew with a clarity that was inescapable.Danko was at Reed, wasn"t he? All this time, he was up there teaching college.That was how he and Stephen Hardaway met.

Chapter 101.

I WAS PATCHED THROUGH to Molinari at the Palace of the Legion of Honor. The vice president"s reception was less than two hours away. The G-8 had begun."I think I know where Danko is," I barked into the hand-held phone. "He"s at Reed College. In Portland. He"s a teacher there. Joe, Reed is where Stephen Hardaway went to school. It fits."Molinari told me he would send an FBI team out to the college while I headed back to the city. I had the lights flashing and the siren on the whole way. South of Vallejo, I couldn"t wait any longer. I got the general number for Reed.I identified myself to an operator and was patched through to the dean of academic studies, a Michael Picotte. FBI agents from the Portland office were arriving as he got on the line."We desperately need to locate one of your professors. This is an emergency," I told the dean. "I don"t have a name or description. His real name is Charles Danko. He"d be approximately fifty years old.""D-Danko?" Picotte stammered. "There"s no one by the name of Danko connected with the college. We have several professors in their fifties, including myself."I was growing more exasperated and impatient. "Do you have a fax?" I asked. "A fax number I can have?"I radioed in to the office and got Lorraine on the line. I told her to locate the FBI wanted poster of Charles Danko from the seventies. The resemblance might still be there. Dean Picotte put me on hold as the fax came through.I was approaching the Bay Bridge; San Francisco Interna-tional was only about twenty minutes away. I could fly up to Portland myself, I was thinking. Maybe I should get on a plane and go to Reed right now."All right, I have it," the dean said, coming back on the line. "This is a wanted poster....""Look at it closely," I said. "Please... Do you recognize the face?""My G.o.d... ," the dean seemed to choke."Who is he? I need a name!" I yelled into the phone. I sensed that Picotte was hesitating. He might be giving up a colleague, even a friend.I pulled off the bridge into San Francisco and onto Harri-son Street. "Dean Picotte, please...I need a name! Lives are at stake here.""Stanzer," the dean finally said. "It looks like Jeffrey Stanzer. I"m almost certain."I pulled out a pen and hastily scribbled the name down. Jeffrey Stanzer. Stanzer was Danko!Danko was August Spies. And he was still on the loose."Where do we find him?" I said. "There are FBI agents at the college now. We need an address for Stanzer right now."Picotte hesitated again. "Professor Stanzer"s a respected member of our faculty."I pulled to a halt on the side of the street. "You have to give us a specific location where we can find Jeffrey Stanzer. This is a homicide investigation! Stanzer is a murderer. He"s going to kill again."The dean exhaled. "You said you were calling from San Francisco?""Yes."There was a pause. "He"s down there with you.... Jeffrey Stanzer is presenting at the G-8 meeting. I think it"s sched-uled for tonight."My G.o.d, Danko was going to kill everybody there.

Chapter 102.

CHARLES DANKO STOOD amid the bright lights outside the Palace of the Legion of Honor, and his body jittered with nerves and antic.i.p.ation. This was his night. He was going to be famous, and so would his brother, William.Anyone who thought they knew him would have been surprised he was speaking in San Francisco tonight. Jeffrey Stanzer had spent years in a secluded academic life, carefully avoiding the public eye. Hiding from the police.But tonight he was going to do something far bolder than deliver some boring speech. All the theories and a.n.a.lyses didn"t mean anything now. Tonight, he would rewrite history.Every cop in San Francisco was looking for him, August Spies. And the laugh was, they were letting him in - right through the front door!A chill cut through him. He clutched his briefcase tightly against his rumpled tuxedo. Inside was his speech, an a.n.a.ly-sis of the effect of invested foreign capital on the labor mar-kets of the Third World. His life"s work, some might say. But what did anyone really know about him? Not a thing. Not even his name.Up ahead, security agents dressed in tuxedos and gowns were poking through the pockets and purses of economists and amba.s.sadors" wives, the kind of self-important, self-involved functionaries who flocked to this sort of thing.I could kill all of them, he was thinking. And why not? They came to carve up the world, to put their economic thumb-print on those who could not compete, or even fight back. Bloodsuckers, he thought. Ugly, despicable human beings. Every-one here deserves to die. Just like Lightower and Bengosian.The line made its way past a cast of Rodin"s The Thinker. Another flutter of nerves rippled through his limbs. Finally, Danko presented his special VIP invitation to an attractive woman dressed in a black evening dress. Probably FBI. No doubt a Glock was strapped underneath her gown. Chicks with d.i.c.ks, Danko thought."Good evening, sir," she said and checked his name against a list. "We apologize for any inconvenience, Professor Stanzer, but can I ask you to place your case through security?""Of course. It"s just my speech, though," Danko said, handing her his briefcase like any nervous academic. He extended his arms while a security guard waved a metal-detector wand up and down his body.The security man felt around his jacket. "What"s this?" he asked. Danko removed a small plastic canister. There was a pharmaceutical label on it and a prescription made out to him. The canister was another of Stephen Hardaway"s masterpieces. Poor dead Stephen. Poor Julia, Robert, and Mich.e.l.le. Soldiers. Just like him."For my asthma," Danko said. He coughed a little and pointed to his chest. "Proventil. Always need it before a speech. I even have a backup."The guard regarded it for a moment. This was good fun, actually. He and Stephen had perfected the canister. Who needed guns and bombs when all the terror in the world was right in the palm of his hand.William would be proud!"You can go inside, sir." The guard finally waved Charles Danko ahead. "Have a good night.""Oh, I plan to."

Chapter 103.

I GUNNED MY EXPLORER, careening through a red light on Ness heading toward Geary. The Palace of the Legion of Honor was all the way out at Lands End. Even without traffic, I was ten minutes away.I punched in Molinari"s number. His cell phone wasn"t accepting.I tried to get patched through to the Chief. One of his a.s.sistants answered and said he was out in the crowd. "The vice president is coming in the room at this very moment," he said. "There he is.""Listen to me!" I shouted as I swerved, siren blaring, through parting traffic. "I want you to find Tracchio or Moli-nari, whomever you see first. Put this phone in their ear. This is a matter of national emergency. I don"t care who the h.e.l.l they"re talking with! Go! Now!"My eyes flashed to the clock on my dash. A bomb could go off at any time. All we had was a thirty-year-old likeness to identify Charles Danko. I wasn"t sure if I could pick him out myself.A minute pa.s.sed very slowly. Then a voice crackled back over my cell phone. Molinari. Finally."Joe," I said into the phone, "just listen, please. Charles Danko"s there! Right now! He"s going by the name Jeffrey Stanzer. He"s a speaker at the conference. I"ll be there in about three minutes. Take him down, Joe!"Quickly, we argued the pros and cons of emptying the Palace or making some kind of warning announcement using Stanzer"s name. Molinari decided against. The first sign of alarm, he might decide to set off whatever he was planning.Finally I spun onto Thirty-fourth, into the park, then up the hill to the Legion of Honor. The park was banded by demonstrators. Barricades blocked the way.Patrolmen were checking IDs. I lowered the driver"s win-dow and held out my shield - pounding the horn as hard as I could.I was finally able to maneuver through the narrow lane of stretch limos and police cars that led up to the main circle of the Palace. I ditched the Explorer in front of the arced, columned gate. Started to run. I kept b.u.mping into Feds transmitting on radios - flashing my badge. "Let me through!"At last I pushed my way inside the main building. The halls were packed - statesmen, dignitaries.I spotted Molinari, giving orders into a handheld radio. I rushed up to him. "He"s here," he said. "His name"s checked off on the guest list. He"s already inside."

Chapter 104.

THERE WERE AMBa.s.sADORS, cabinet members, business leaders everywhere, chatting in crowds, sipping champagne. Any second a bomb could go off. The vice president was being moved to safety. But Charles Danko could be any-where. What he had in mind, G.o.d only knew. We didn"t even know what the b.a.s.t.a.r.d looked like now!Molinari handed me a walkie-talkie dialed to his fre-quency. "I"ve got the wanted sheet. I"ll go left. Keep in touch with me, Lindsay. No heroes tonight." I started to weave through the crowd. In my mind I drew an image of Charles Danko thirty years ago and transposed it onto every face I saw. I wished I"d asked the dean at Reed for some kind of current description. Everything had happened too fast. It still was going too fast.Where are you, Danko, you son of a b.i.t.c.h?"I"m searching the main room," I spoke into the walkie-talkie. "I don"t see him.""I"m here in the annex," Molinari replied. "Nothing so far. But he"s here."I was staring intently at every face. Our only advantage was that he didn"t know we knew. A few Feds were quietly escorting people toward the exits. We couldn"t cause a panic and give ourselves away.But I didn"t see him anywhere. Where was Danko? What was he planning tonight? It had to be big - he was here himself."I"m heading in to the Rodins," I told Molinari. There were large, recognizable bronzes on marble pedestals all around me, and people sipping champagne. I came upon a crowd gathered near one of the statues."What"s going on here?" I asked a woman in a black gown."The vice president," she said. "He"s scheduled here any moment." The vice president had been whisked away, but no one had been told. These people were milling around for an introduction. Would Danko be here, too?I scanned the line, face to face.I saw a tall, thin man, balding on top. He had a high brow. Close, narrow eyes. A hand in his jacket pocket. I felt a cold spot near the center of my chest.I could see the resemblance to the picture from thirty years ago. There were people milling about, blocking my view. But there was no mistaking it - Charles Danko was the image of his father.I turned my head away and spoke into my walkie-talkie. "I found him! Joe, he"s here."Danko was in line to meet the vice president. My heart was beating furiously. His left hand was still in his jacket pocket. Was he holding some kind of detonator? How could he get it in here?"I"m in the room with the Rodins. Joe, I"m looking right at him."Molinari said, "Stay there. I"m coming. Don"t take any chances."Suddenly Danko"s gaze drifted to me. I didn"t know if he"d seen me on TV as part of the investigation, or if I had "cop" written on my face. Somehow he seemed to know. Our eyes locked.I saw him get out of the line he was standing in. He kept his eyes on me.I took a step toward him. Opened my jacket for my gun. At least a dozen people were blocking my way. I had to get through. I lost sight of Danko for just a second. No more than that.When the opening cleared again, Danko was no longer there.The white rabbit was gone again.

Chapter 105.

I PUSHED MY WAY UP to where he"d been standing seconds ago. Gone! I scanned the room. "I lost him," I spat into the walkie-talkie. "He must"ve ducked into the crowd. Son of a b.i.t.c.h!" For no good reason, I was mad at myself.I didn"t see Charles Danko anywhere. All the men were wearing tuxedos, looking the same. And all those people were exposed to danger, maybe even death.I badged my way through a barricade and ran down a long corridor that led to the closed-off section of the museum. Still no sign of Danko. I ran back to the main ballroom and b.u.mped into Molinari."He"s here. I know he is, Joe. This is his moment."Molinari nodded and radioed that no one, under any cir-c.u.mstance, was to leave the building. I was thinking that if any kind of device went off in there, with all those people, it would be a total disaster. I"d die, too. And Molinari. It would be worse than the Rincon Center.Where are you, Danko?Then I caught a glimpse of him again. I thought so any-way. I pointed toward a tall balding man. He was circling away from us, ducking in and out of the crowd. "That"s him!""Danko!" I yelled, pulling my Glock from its shoulder holster. "Danko! Stop!"The crowd parted enough for me to see him remove a hand from his jacket pocket. He caught my eyes again - and then he smiled at me. What the h.e.l.l did he have?"Police!" Molinari shouted. "Everybody down!"Charles Danko"s fingers were wrapped around something. I couldn"t tell if it was a gun, or maybe a detonator.Then I saw it - a plastic canister in his hand. What the h.e.l.l was it? He raised his arm and I charged. There was no other choice.Seconds later I crashed into Charles Danko, grabbing at his arm, hoping the canister would break free. I latched on to his hand, desperately trying to pry the canister free. I couldn"t budge it.I heard him grunt in pain, saw him twisting the canister toward me. Right at my face.Molinari was on the other side of Danko, trying to wrestle him down, too. "Get away from him!" I heard him yell at me. The canister turned again - toward Molinari. Everything was happening fast, in just a few seconds.I held on to Danko"s arm. I had some leverage. I was try-ing to break his arm.He turned toward me, and our eyes met. I"d never felt such hatred, such coldness. "b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" I yelled in his face."Remember Jill!"In that second, I squeezed the canister.Spray shot into his face. Very close in. Danko coughed, gasped. His face twisted into a horrified mask. Other agents had him now. They pulled him away from me.Danko was breathing heavily. He was still coughing, as if he could spit back the poison from his lungs."It"s over," I gasped. "You"re over. You"re done. You lost, a.s.shole."His eyes smiled vacantly. He motioned me closer. "It will never be over, you fool. There"s always another soldier."That"s when I heard shots, and understood that I was a fool.

Chapter 106.

WE RUSHED OUT to the courtyard, where the shots had come from. Joe Molinari and I pushed our way through the crowd. People were gasping, a few had started to weep.I couldn"t see what had happened, and then I could. And I wished that I hadn"t.Eldridge Neal was on his back, a crimson stain widening across his white shirt. Someone had shot the vice president of the United States. My G.o.d, not another American tragedy like this.A woman was being held down by Secret Service agents; she couldn"t have been much older than eighteen or nine-teen. Frizzy red hair. She was screaming at the vice president, rambling on about babies being sold into slavery in the Sudan; AIDS killing millions in Africa; corporate war crimes in Iraq and Syria. She must have been waiting for Neal as he was moved out of the main hall.Suddenly I recognized the girl. I"d seen her before, in Roger Lemouz"s office. The girl who"d given me the finger when I told her to leave. h.e.l.l, she was just a kid.Joe Molinari let go of my arm and went to the aid of the vice president. The cursing, screaming girl was pulled away. Meanwhile, an ambulance drove right into the courtyard. EMS medics jumped out and began to tend to Vice President Neal.Had Charles Danko planned this?Had he known we were on to him?Was this a setup? Knowing that chaos would reign if we caught up with him? What had he said? There"s always another soldier.That was the scariest thing of all. I knew that Danko was right.

Chapter 107.

I WAS SUPPOSED TO GO to the hospital to be examined, but I wouldn"t do it. Not yet. Joe Molinari and I went with the red-haired girl back to the Hall. We interrogated Annette Breiling for several hours, and then this revolutionary, this terrorist, this person who could shoot the vice president in cold blood, she cracked.Annette Breiling told us everything we needed to know, and more, about the plot at the Palace of the Legion of Honor.It was four in the morning when we arrived in an upscale neighborhood in Kensington, a couple of towns over from Berkeley. There were at least half a dozen patrol cars there and everybody was heavily armed. The street was in the hills and had a view of the San Pablo Reservoir. Very pretty, sur-prisingly posh. It didn"t look as if anything bad could happen here."He lives well," said Molinari, but that was it for small talk. "Let"s you and I do the honors."The front door was opened by the Lance Hart Professor of Romance Languages, Roger Lemouz. He had on a terry-cloth robe, and his curly black hair was in disarray. His eyes were gla.s.sy and red, and I wondered if he had been drinking that night, if Lemouz had been celebrating."Madam Inspector," he said in a throaty whisper, "you"re beginning to wear out your welcome. It"s four A.M. This is my home."I didn"t bother to exchange unpleasantries with Lemouz, and neither did Molinari. "You"re under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder," he said, then pushed his way inside.Lemouz"s wife and two children appeared, entering the living room behind him, which was unfortunate. The boy was no more than twelve, the girl even younger. Molinari and I holstered our guns."Charles Danko is dead," I told Lemouz. "A young woman you know named Annette Breiling has implicated you in the murder of Jill Bernhardt, all of the murders, Lemouz. She told us that you were the one who set up Stephen Hardaway"s cell. You delivered Julia Marr and Robert Green into the cell. And you controlled Charles Danko - you knew how to push his b.u.t.tons. His anger seethed for thirty years, but you got Danko to act on it. He was your puppet."Lemouz laughed in my face. "I don"t know any of these people. Well, Ms. Breiling was a student of mine. She dropped out of the university, however. This is a huge mis-take and I"m calling my lawyer right now if you don"t leave.""You"re under arrest," Joe Molinari said, making the obvi-ous official. "Want to hear your rights, Professor? I want to read them to you."Lemouz smiled, and it was strange and eerie. "You still don"t understand, do you? Neither of you. This is why you are doomed. One day your entire country will crumble. It"s already happening.""Why don"t you explain what we"re missing?" I spat the words at him.He nodded, then Lemouz turned toward his family. "You"re missing this." His small son was holding a handgun, and it was obvious that he knew how to use it. The boy"s eyes were as cold as his father"s."I"ll kill you both," he said. "It would be my pleasure.""The army that is building against you is ma.s.sive, their cause is just. Women, children, so many soldiers, Madam Inspector. Think about it. The Third World War - it"s begun."Lemouz walked calmly to his family and took the gun from his son. He kept it aimed at us. Then he kissed his wife, his daughter, his son. The kisses were tender and heartfelt. Tears were in his wife"s eyes. Lemouz whispered something to each of them.He backed out of the living room; then we could hear running footsteps. A door slammed somewhere in the house. How could he hope to get away?A gunshot sounded loudly inside the house.Molinari and I ran in that direction.We found him in the bedroom - he"d killed himself, shot one bullet into his right temple.His wife and children had begun to wail in the other room.So many soldiers, I was thinking. This won"t stop, will it? This Third World War.

Chapter 108.

CHARLES DANKO didn"t spray me with ricin. That was what the doctors were saying, hovering over me all morning at the toxicology unit at Mof?t.And the vice president wasn"t going to die. Word was that they had him two floors below me, that he had even been on the phone to his boss in Washington.I spent several hours with a maze of tubes and wires stick-ing out of me, monitors reading my blood and chest scans. The contents of Danko"s canister were identified as ricin. Enough to kill hundreds of people if he had gone undetected. Danko had ricin in his lungs, and he was going to die. I wasn"t sorry to hear it.About noon I got a phone call from the president, as in the president. They stuck a phone to my ear, and in my daze I remembered hearing the word hero about six times. The president even said he was looking forward to thanking me in person. I joked that maybe we should wait for the toxic glow to settle down.When I opened my eyes after a snooze, Joe Molinari was sitting on the corner of my bed.He smiled. "Hey. I thought I said "no heroes!""I blinked and smiled, too, a little more groggy than tri-umphant, embarra.s.sed at the tubes and monitors."The good news," he said with a wink, "is the doctors say you"re fine. They"re just holding you for observation a few more hours. There"s an armada of press waiting for you out there.""The bad news?" I said, hoa.r.s.ely."Someone"s gonna have to teach you how to dress for these photo ops.""New fashion look." I squeezed back a smile.I noticed that he had a raincoat draped over his arm and was wearing the navy herringbone suit I"d seen him in the first time. It was a very nice suit, and he wore it well."The vice president"s recuperating. I"m heading back to Washington tonight."All I could do was nod. "Okay...""No" - he shook his head, inching closer - "it"s not okay. Because it"s not what I want.""We both knew this would happen," I said, trying to be strong. "You have a job. The interns..."Molinari scowled. "You"re brave enough to go after a man holding a canister of deadly poison, but you"re not ready to stand up for something you want."I felt a tear creep out of the corner of my eye. "I don"t know what I want, right now."Molinari put down his raincoat, then drew close and put a hand to my cheek, brushing away the tear. "I think you need some time. You have to decide, when things calm down, if you"re prepared to let someone in. Like a relationship, Lindsay."He took my hand. "My name"s Joe, Lindsay. Not Molinari, or Deputy Director, wink, wink. And what I"m talking about is you and me. And not trying to joke it away because you"ve been hurt before. Or because you lost a really close friend. I know this"ll come as a disappointment, Lindsay, but you"re ent.i.tled to be happy. You know what I mean. Call me old-fashioned." He smiled."Old-fashioned," I said, doing exactly what he accused me of, making jokes when I ought to be serious.Something was stuck inside me, the way it always seemed to stick when I wanted to say what was in my heart. "So, you get out here how often?""Speeches, security conferences...a couple of national crises factored in..."I laughed. "We can"t help the jokes, neither of us."Molinari sighed. "Even you must know this by now: I"m not one of the a.s.sholes, Lindsay. It can work. The next step is yours. You have to make a move to try."He stood up and brushed his hand over my hair. "The doctors a.s.sured me that this is perfectly safe." He smiled, then leaned over and planted a kiss on my lips. His lips were soft, and mine, chapped and dry from the night, clung on. I was trying to show him how I felt, knowing I"d be crazy not to tell him and let him walk out that door.Joe Molinari stood and draped the raincoat over his arm. "It"s been a privilege and an honor getting to know you, Lieu-tenant Boxer.""Joe," I said, a little scared to see him go."You know where to reach me."I watched him head to the door. "You never know when a girl might have a national emergency....""Yeah" - he turned and smiled - "I"m a national emer-gency kind of guy."

Chapter 109.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, my doctor came in and told me there was nothing wrong with my system that a good gla.s.s of wine or two wouldn"t cure."There are even some people here who want to take you home," he said.Outside my room, I saw Claire and Cindy peeking in.They took me home about long enough to shower, change, and give Martha a long-overdue hug. Then I had to go down to the Hall. Everyone seemed to want a piece of me. I made a date to see the girls later at Susie"s. It was important that we get together now.I did the news spots on the steps of the Hall. Tom Brokaw was patched through and interviewed me on a video link.As I recounted the story of how we had found Danko and Hardaway, I felt a tremor snaking through me, distancing me even as I spoke. Jill was dead; Molinari was gone; I didn"t feel much like a hero. The phone was going to ring, some other homicide called in, and life would slam back the way it always did. But this time I knew nothing was ever going to be the same.It was about four-thirty when the girls came to get me. I was doing reports. Although Jacobi and Cappy were bragging they had the best LT on the force, I"d actually felt depressed. Lonely and empty. Until the girls showed up, anyway."Hey," Cindy said, twirling a little Mexican c.o.c.ktail flag in my face, "margaritas await."They took me to Susie"s, the last place we had been with Jill. Actually, two years before, it was where we had welcomed her into our budding group. We took our places in our cor-ner booth and ordered a round of margaritas. I ran them through the terrifying struggle at the Palace the night before, the president"s call, then today, Brokaw and the evening news.It was sad, though, just the three of us. The conspicuous empty s.p.a.ce next to Claire.Our drinks came. "On the house, of course," the waitress, Joanie, said.We raised our gla.s.ses, each of us trying to smile, but fighting back tears. "Here"s to our girl," Claire said. "Maybe now she can start to rest in peace.""She"ll never rest in peace," Cindy said, laughing through tears. "Out of character.""I"m sure she"s up there now," I said, "sizing up the peck-ing order, looking down at us. "Hey, guys, I got it all figured out...." ""Then she"s smiling," Claire said."To Jill," we all said. We clinked gla.s.ses. It was hard to think that this was the way it was going to be from now on. I missed her so much, and never more than that moment at our table, without her."So," Claire said, clearing her throat, her gaze landing on me. "What happens now?""We"re gonna order some ribs," I said, "and I"m gonna have another one of these. Maybe more than one.""I think she was actually saying, what"s with you and Deputy Dawg." Cindy winked."He"s heading back to Washington," I said. "Tonight.""For good?" Claire asked, surprised."That"s where the listening devices and sleek black heli-copters are." I stirred my drink. "Bell helicopter, I believe.""Oh." Claire nodded. She glanced toward Cindy. "You like this guy, don"t you, Lindsay?""I like him," I said. I flagged Joanie, ordered another round of drinks."I don"t mean like him, honey. I mean you really like him.""Whad"ya want me to do, Claire? Break out in a chorus of "Don"t he make my brown eyes blue"?""No," Claire said, glancing at Cindy, then back to me, "what we want you to do, Lindsay, is put aside whatever it is that"s getting in the way of you doing the right thing for your-self, before you let that guy get on his plane."I arched my back against the booth. I swallowed uneasily. "It"s Jill....""Jill?"I took a breath, a sharp rush of tears biting at my eyes. "I wasn"t there for her, Claire. The night she threw Steve out.""What"re you talking about?" Claire said. "You were up in Portland.""I was with Molinari," I said. "When I got back it was after one. Jill sounded mixed up. I said I"d come over, but I didn"t press it. You know why? Because I was all dreamy-eyed over Joe. She had just thrown Steve out.""She said she was okay," Cindy said. "You told us.""And that was Jill, right? You ever heard her ask for help? Bottom line, I wasn"t there for her. And whether it"s right or wrong, I can"t look at Joe now without seeing her, hear-ing her needing me, thinking if I had, maybe she"d still be here."Neither of them said anything. Not a word. I sat there, my jaw tight, pressing back tears."I"ll tell you what I think," Claire said, her fingers creep-ing across the table and taking a hold of my hand. "I think you"re way too smart, honey, to really think that your enjoy-ing yourself for once in your life made any difference in what happened to Jill. You know she"d be the first one who"d want you to be happy, too.""I know that, Claire." I nodded. "I just can"t put it away....""Well, you better put it away," Claire said, squeezing my hand, ""cause all it is, is you just trying to hurt yourself. Everyone"s ent.i.tled to be happy, Lindsay. Even you."I dabbed at a tear with the c.o.c.ktail napkin. "I already heard that once today," I said, and couldn"t hold back a smile."Yeah, well, here"s to Lindsay Boxer," Claire announced, and raised her gla.s.s. "And here"s to hoping that for once in her life she hears it loud and clear."A shout interrupted us from the bar area. Everyone was pointing to the TV. Instead of some dumb ball game, there was my face on the screen. Tom Brokaw was asking me ques-tions. Whistles and cheering broke out.There I was on the evening news.

Chapter 110.

JOE MOLINARI TOOK A SIP of the vodka the flight atten-dant had brought him, then eased back in his seat aboard the government jet. With any luck he"d sleep all the way to Washington. He hoped so. No, he"d sleep for sure, soundly. For the first time in days.He"d be fresh to make a report in front of the director of homeland security in the morning. This one was put to bed, he could definitively say. Eldridge Neal would heal. There were reports to write. There might be a congressional sub-committee to go before. There was an anger out there they"d have to keep an eye on. This time the terror hadn"t come from abroad.Molinari leaned back in the plush seat. The scope of the whole remarkable chain of events was becoming clear in his eyes. From the moment that Sunday he was informed of the bombing in San Francisco to taking out Danko as he wrestled with Lindsay Boxer at the G-8 reception last night. He knew what to write: the names and details, the sequence of events, the outcome. He knew how to explain everything, he thought. Except one thing.Her. Molinari shut his eyes and felt incredibly melancholy.How to explain the electricity shooting through him every time their arms brushed. Or the feeling he got when he looked into Lindsay"s deep green eyes. She was so hard and tough - and so gentle and vulnerable. A lot like him. And she was funny, too, when she wanted to be anyway, which was often.He wished he could do the big romantic thing, like in the movies, whisk her on a plane and take her somewhere. Call in to the office: That subcommittee meeting will have to wait, sir. Molinari felt a smile creep over his face."Takeoff should be in about five, sir," the flight attendant informed him."Thank you," he said, nodding. Try to relax. Chill. Sleep. He willed himself, thought of home. He"d been living out of a suitcase for two weeks now. It may not be how he wanted this to end, but it would be good to be home. He closed his eyes once more."Sir," the attendant called again. A uniformed airport policeman had boarded the plane. He was escorted back to him."I"m sorry, sir," the policeman said. "Something urgent has come up. I was told to hold the plane at the gate and accompany you back inside. The police gave me this number for you to call."A stab of worry jolted Molinari. What the h.e.l.l could have happened now? He took the piece of paper and grabbed his briefcase and phone. He punched in the number, told the pilot to wait, and followed the security man off the plane. He put the phone to his ear.

Chapter 111.

MY PHONE STARTED TO RING just as Molinari appeared near the gate. I stood there and watched him. Seeing me, the phone to my ear, he began to understand. A smile came over his face, a big smile.I"d never been so nervous in my life. Then we just stood there, maybe fifteen feet apart. He"d stopped walking."I"m the emergency," I said into the phone. "I need your help."At first Molinari smiled, then he caught himself, with that stern deputy director sort of look. "You"re lucky. I"m an emer-gency kind of guy.""I have no life," I said. "I have this very nice dog. And my friends. And this job. And I"m good at it. But I have no life.""And what is it you want?" Molinari said, stepping closer.His eyes were twinkling and forgiving. They reflected some kind of joy - cutting through the case, and the con-tinent that divided us - the same thing that was in myheart."You," I said. "I want you. And the jet."He laughed, and then he stood right in front of me."No" - I shook my head - "I just want you. I couldn"t let you get on that plane without telling you that. This bicoastal thing, we can try to make it work if you like. You say you"re out here every once in a while for conferences and the occasional national crisis.... Me, I get back there now and then. I got an invitation to stay at the White House recently. You"ve been to the White House, Joe. We can -""Sshhh." He put a finger to my lips. Then he bent and kissed me right there in the skyway. I was so caught up in trying to be open for once, I swallowed my own words. My spine went rigid, and G.o.d, it felt so natural, so right for him to be holding me. I wrapped my fingers around his arms, holding on as tightly as I could.When we let go, Molinari curled a grin at me. "So, you got an invitation to the White House, huh? I always wondered what it"d be like to sleep in the Lincoln Bedroom.""Keep dreaming." I laughed into those blue eyes of his. Then I locked my arm around his and led him back toward the terminal. "Now your desk at the Capitol, Mr. Deputy Director. That sounds a bit more interesting...."About the AuthorJames Patterson"s most recent major international bestseller is The Lake House. He is the author of twenty-four books and lives in Florida.The End