settled into the driver's seat,
put my seat belt on, and turned on the ignition.
     We  drove  off at a  really sensible pace, nothing outrageous,  nothing
likely to be noticed.
     We'd gone  only a few  hundred  yards  when I  thought  of something; I
looked across  at her and said, "Kelly, put your seat  belt on. Do you  know
how to do that?"
     She didn't move, didn't even look at me. I had to do it for her.
     I tried to make small talk.
     "It's a  nice day today, isn't it?  Yep, you'll stay  with  me a while;
we'll get everything sorted out."
     Silence.
     My  mind switched back to the matter  in hand. What was I  going to do?
Whatever I decided, I knew  it was  no good where we were at the moment.  We
needed to lose ourselves in a crowd. I headed for Tyson's Corner.
     I turned to  Kelly and  smiled, trying  to be the  happy-go-lucky Uncle
Nick, but it just wasn't happening. She was staring anxiously out the window
as if she was being wrenched away from all her familiar landmarks and seeing
them for the last time.
     "It's OK, Kelly." I tried to stroke her hair.
     She jerked her head away.
     Fuck it, just let her get on with it; with luck I'd be able to drop her
off somewhere before too long.
     I turned my thoughts to Kev.  He'd said he had a  bit of a problem with
my "friends over the water." Could it have been PIRA that'd killed him? What
the  hell for? It  was highly  unlikely that  PIRA would start messing about
like that, not in America. It was too professional to bite the hand that was
feeding it.
     Other things  weren't  adding  up. Why wasn't  there  a  struggle? Both
Marsha and  Kev knew  where the weapons were. Why weren't they used? Why was
the front door ajar?
     There was no way that would have happened. People didn't just wander in
off the street into Kev's house; they had to be invited in.
     I  felt a rush of anger. If the family had been killed in  a car crash,
that would  have been one thing. If the  killers had come in and maybe  shot
them, I'd  be upset, but, at the end of the day, if you live  by the  sword,
you must be prepared  to  die by the sword. But not  like  this. They'd been
hacked up for no reason that I could see.
     I forced myself to think rationally. There was no way I could phone the
police and  explain  my version. Although I'd  been lifted off,  I was still
operating in another country without its consent.  Getting caught would be a
big no-no. The operation here would be seen as a  sign of betrayal and would
create distrust between  the two security communities.  There was no way the
Firm would back me up; that would defeat the  whole purpose of deniable ops.
I was on my own.
     Looking at  my passenger,  I knew I had a problem.  As we drove  toward
Tyson's  Corner I realized what  I had to do. I  saw a Best Western hotel on
the left  and an open-plan mall on the right. I had to dump the car, because
that was one of the connections between me and the house. I needed somewhere
to leave it that wasn't isolated, somewhere without video cameras.
     As well  as  the shopping  mall and  its  massive parking lots,  on the
outskirts was a drive-thru Burger King with its own parking.
     It was all very well abandoning  a vehicle in the middle of hundreds of
others in a parking lot during shopping hours.
     But at  night, it  might  be the  only car left there  and was going to
stick out, and it would be checked out by police patrols.
     What I  was after  was  an  area that  was really busy, day and  night.
Streets or multilevel  parking garages  were out, because nine times out  of
ten they have video cameras to stop muggings and car theft. Many multi story
parking lots have a  camera  that takes  a picture of the  license plate and
driver  as  you  enter.   At  any  major  junction   and  along  most  major
thoroughfares, there  are traffic video  cameras. If  my car  had been found
outside Kev's house, the first  thing they'd do was study the traffic videos
and parking lot photography.
     "Shall we get a burger and some shakes?" I suggested.
     "Do you like  milk shakes? I  tell you what,  I'll park and maybe we'll
even go shopping."
     Again it would be no good  driving into  the  Burger  King parking lot,
stepping out, and then walking a few hundred yards to the shopping mall that
isn't normal behavior. It might stick in people's minds and be recalled at a
later date, so I wanted to make the two of us look as natural as possible.
     "Strawberry, chocolate, or vanilla which one do you want?"
     No reply.
     "Strawberry? Go on, I'm going to have a strawberry."
     Nothing.
     I parked. The  place was pretty  full.  I cupped my hand under her chin
and gently turned her face so that she was looking at my big smile.
     "Milk shake?"
     There was  a  faint movement  of her  head,  or maybe it  was a nod  of
appreciation. Not much, but at least it was a reaction.
     I carried on with the bullshit.
     "You just sit here then;  I'll get out, I'll lock the  car, go and  get
the milk shakes. And then I tell you what, we'll go into  the shopping mall.
How about that?"
     She looked away.
     I continued as if she'd given me a positive response.  I got out of the
car and locked her in. I still had the  pistol tucked down in my  waistband,
concealed by Kev's jacket.
     I went  into the Burger King, got two different flavor milk shakes, and
came straight back to the car.
     "Here we go then, chocolate or vanilla?"
     She kept her hands by her sides.
     "I tell you what, I'll have the vanilla; I know you like chocolate."
     I put the shake in her lap.  It was too cold for  her legs; as  soon as
she  lifted  it up I said,  "Come on, then, let's go to  the  shops. You can
bring that with you."
     I  got her out, closed the door, and locked up. I did nothing about our
fingerprints;  no matter how hard I tried, I'd never get rid of them all, so
what was the point? I opened the trunk, pulled out the bag with the bits and
pieces  I'd  bought  at  Shannon,  and  threw  in  the  trash  bag  full  of
bloodstained clothing.
     It  looked like rain. We  walked  toward the  shopping mall;  I kept on
talking to her because the situation felt so awkward.
     What else do you do, walking along with a kid who doesn't belong to you
and doesn't want to be with you?
     I  tried to hold her hand but she refused.  I couldn't make an issue of
it with people around. I gripped the shoulder of the jacket again.
     There  was everything in the shopping center  from a computer  discount
warehouse to an army surplus store, all housed in long one-story  units that
were like islands in a sea of parking lot.
     We  went into a clothing  store, and  I  bought myself  some  jeans and
another shirt. I'd change as  soon as I'd had a shower and got  Aida's blood
off my back and legs.
     At an  ATM I drew out three hundred dollars,  the maximum allowed on my
credit card.
     We came back out to  the parking lot but  didn't  return  to the car. I
kept a  firm grip on her  as we walked toward the hotel across the road. As
we got nearer  I  could see that the Best  Western was  in fact farther away
than I first thought, separated from the  main drag by a row of single-story
office buildings. Our view was of the rear of the hotel.
     Looking  each way, it was obvious that the junctions that would lead us
around to  the front of the  hotel  were miles  away. I  decided  to  take a
shortcut.  The traffic was heavy, and  the road system hadn't been  designed
for people on foot. I gripped Kelly's hand as we dodged to the median  strip
and waited  for another gap. I looked  up at the sky: it  was very overcast;
rain couldn't be far away.
     Drivers,  who  had  probably  never  seen  pedestrians  before,  beeped
furiously,  but  we  made it  to  the other  side  and scrambled over  small
railings onto the sidewalk.  More or less directly in front of us was a  gap
between two office buildings. We went through and crossed a short stretch of
vacant ground that brought us into  the hotel parking lot. As we walked past
the  lines of vehicles I memorized the sequence of letters and numbers for a
Virginia plate.
     The  Best  Western  was  a large four-story rectangle, the architecture
very  1980s.  Every  elevation  was  concrete, painted the  world's weirdest
off-yellow. As we walked up to the reception area, I tried to look inside. I
didn't  want them to see  us coming from the  direction  of the parking lot,
because it would  be  odd  to walk all that way without first  checking that
they had a  room, and then unloading our  bags.  I hoped  Kelly  would  stay
silent  when we were inside; I just wanted to do the  business  and walk out
again as if we were going to see Mommy back in the car.
     Inside  the lobby I got  hold  of Kelly and  whispered, "You  just  sit
there. I'm  going to get us a room." I gave her a tourist brochure that  was
lying on one of the chairs, but she ignored it.
     In  one  corner,  by the  coffee machine and  cream,  was a large TV. A
baseball  game was  on.  I  went  over to the  receptionist, a woman  in her
mid-forties who thought she was  still  twenty-four, who  was  watching  the
screen, probably fantasizing about her chances with one of the pitchers.
     All smiles, I said, "I need a family room just for one night, please."
     "Certainly, sir,"  she  said, an honors graduate  from  Best  Western's
charm school.
     "If you'd like to fill out this card."
     As I started to scribble I said, "How much is a room, anyway?" "That's
sixty-four dollars, plus tax."
     I raised an eyebrow to  make it look as if that was a lot of money to a
family man like myself.
     "I know," she smiled.
     "I'm sorry about that."
     She took my credit card and I filled in the form with crap.
     I'd been doing this for  donkey's years, lying on hotel forms,  looking
relaxed as I wrote but in fact scanning about four questions ahead. I filled
in a car registration, too, and for number of occupants put two adults and a
child.
     She handed back my card.
     "There  you are,  Mr. Stamford, it's room two-twenty-four. Where's your
car?"
     "Just around the corner." I pointed vaguely to the rear of the hotel.
     "OK, if you park by the stairs where you see the Coke and ice machines,
turn  left at the top of the stairs, and you'll see room two-twenty-four  on
the left-hand side. You have a nice day now!"
     I could have described the room  even before I ran the key card through
the lock and opened the door. A TV, two double beds, a couple of chairs, and
the typical hotel designer's obsession with dark wood veneers.
     I wanted to  get  Kelly settled  quickly so  I could  use  the phone. I
pressed  the  remote  and flicked  through  the  channels,  hoping  to  find
Nickelodeon. Eventually I found some cartoons.
     "I remember this one; it's good--shall we watch it?"
     She sat on the bed, staring at me. The expression  on her face said she
didn't like this outing too much, and I could understand that.
     "Kelly," I said, "I'm  going to leave you for just a couple of minutes,
because I've got to make a phone call. I'll  get a drink while I'm out. What
would you like. Coke? Mountain Dew?
     Or do you want some candy?"
     There was no reaction, so I just went on.
     "I'm going to  lock the door, and you're not to answer  it for anybody.
Nobody at all, OK? I'll use the key to get back in again.  You sit there and
enjoy yourself and I'll just be about five minutes, OK?"
     Still there was no reaction. I hung the do not disturb sign on the door
handle, made sure I had the key card, and left.
     I was heading for a phone booth I'd seen in the street because I didn't
want her to hear the telephone conversation I  was about  to  have. I didn't
know  much about kids, but I  knew  that when  I  was seven nothing had gone
unnoticed  in my house. On the  off  chance  that it wasn't PIN-protected, I
took Kev's mobile from  his jacket pocket. I pressed the Power button and it
demanded a  PIN number. I  tried two basic ones  the  usual factory default,
four zeros, and then 1234.
     Nothing. I  couldn't try anymore; with some phones you can try me wrong
PIN only  three times and then it automatically cuts out and you need to  go
back to  the dealer to get it rectified.  I turned off the power and put  it
back in my pocket. I'd ask Kelly about it later.
     I turned left through the parking lot and  headed  for the phone booths
out  on  the  street. I spent  a few moments sorting out  in my mind  what I
wanted to say, and then I dialed London.
     In veiled speech I said, "I've just finished work and I'm in Washington
to  visit an old  friend. I  used  to  work with him ten years ago. He's now
working here  for the US  government." I outlined  the problem and said that
Kelly and I both needed help.
     Veiled speech is  not  some magical code; all  you're trying  to do  is
intimate what is going on, yet at the same time throw off a casual listener.
You're not going to  fool any  professional  eavesdroppers that's what codes
and onetime  pads and all the rest  of it are for. But all London needed  to
know was that I was in deep shit; I had Kev's child, and needed sorting out.
ASAP.
     "Fine, I'll pass that message on. Have you a contact number?"
     "No. I'll call back in an hour."
     "OK, goodbye."
     These women  never ceased to amaze me. They  never  ever  got worked up
about  anything. It  must be hard work being  their  husbands  on a Saturday
night.
     I put down the phone and felt a bit  better as I strolled over to a gas
station. I knew the Firm would work everything out.
     They might have to call  in some big-time favors in the US to detach me
from this shit, but what are friends for? They'd pull out all the stops, not
so much to get me off the hook, as to  make sure their operation was covered
up.
     I was  trying to  look  on the bright side,  which was  more  than  the
weather was doing. It had started to drizzle when I left the hotel, and that
had now turned  to light rain. With luck  the Firm would pick up both of  us
tonight. Kelly would be taken care of, and I would be whisked back to the UK
for another interview without coffee and cookies.
     I  bought some food and drink at the  gas station to keep us out of the
public eye in restaurants, and a  few goodies to pass the time, then crossed
the  road and went  back to the hotel.  At the  Coke  machine I went  up the
stairs, turned left, and knocked on our door.
     As I  opened it  I  said, "I've  got loads  of things--I've  got candy,
sandwiches, chips--and I've even got you a Goose-bumps book to read."
     I figured it was better to buy stuff to occupy her mind rather than try
to  cuddle  or  console  her.  I'd have  felt really uncomfortable with that
anyway.
     She was  lying on the  bed  exactly where I'd left  her, staring in the
direction of the  television set, but not  really watching, her  eyes glazed
over.
     As I put everything down on the other bed I said, "Right, I reckon what
you need now is a nice hot bath. I've even bought some Buzz Lightyear bubble
bath."
     It  would give her something  to do,  and  maybe  relax  her out of the
catatonic state  she was in.  Apart from that, when I handed her over to the
Firm I wanted them to see that I'd made an  effort and that she was all nice
and clean. After all, she was my friend's kid.
     I turned the taps on and called back into  the room, "Come on then, get
undressed."
     She didn't reply. I  went back into the bedroom,  sat at the end of the
bed, and started undressing her. I thought she might resist, but instead she
sat placidly as I pulled off her shirt.
     "You  do your  jeans," I said.  She was only seven, but I felt  awkward
about taking those off.
     "Come on, undo your buttons." In the end, I had to. She was miles away.
     I  carried her into the bathroom. Good  old Buzz Lightyear had done his
job; the bubbles were halfway to the ceiling. I tested the water, lifted her
into the bath, and she sat down without a word.
     "There's loads of soap and shampoo," I said.
     "Do you want me to help you wash your hair?"
     She sat stock-still  in the water. I gave her the soap, which she  just
stared at.
     It was nearly time to call London again. At least I wouldn't have to go
to a phone booth for this one; she'd be out of earshot in  the bath. Just in
case, I kept the TV on.
     There was some weird and  wonderful  cartoon  on:  three  characters in
jeans,  half man, half shark, who  said things like "Fin-tastic!" and "Shark
time!" Apparently  they didn't kick  ass,  they  kicked dorsal.  The  Street
Sharks. The opening credits finished and I dialed London.
     Immediately I heard "PIN number, please?"
     I gave it. She went, "One moment."
     A few seconds later the phone went dead.
     That was strange. I dialed again, gave my PIN number, and again got cut
off.
     What  the fuck was  going  on? I tried to reason with my self, tried to
tell myself that this  was just a  fuck-up. But really, inside,  I knew  the
truth. It had to be deliberate. Either that, or maybe, just maybe, the phone
line was down. No good thinking about it. Take action.
     I went into the bathroom.
     "The phone's not working," I said.
     "I'll just go down to the one on the corner. Is there anything  else we
need from the store? I tell you what, we'll  go down there later on, the two
of us, together."
     Her gaze didn't leave the tiles at the end of the bath.
     I lifted her out and put a towel around her.
     "You're a big girl  now.  You can dry yourself."  I  took the hairbrush
from the bag and dragged Kelly into the bedroom.
     "Once you've done  that, brush  your hair, and make sure you're all dry
and dressed when I come back. We might have to go somewhere.
     Don't open the door for anyone, OK?"
     There  was  no answer. I pulled  out the phone  jack and  left. I  was
feeling apprehensive  as I walked across  the  parking lot. I'd done nothing
wrong, so why were they cutting me off? Was the Firm going to stitch me  up?
I started to go through all the  scenarios in my head. Did they  think I was
the killer? Were they cutting away now as a prelude to denying everything?
     I got to the phone, dialed, and  the same thing happened.  I slowly put
down  the  receiver. A low wall made up part of the entrance to the hotel; I
went and  sat down. I needed to think hard.  It didn't take  long  to decide
that there was only one option, and  that was to phone  the embassy. I'd  be
breaking every rule  in the book. I wouldn't  even  bother going through all
the protocol; I dialed 411 and got the number. I got straight through.
     "Hello, British Embassy. How may I help you?"
     "I want to talk to LOSO."
     "Excuse me?"
     "LOSO. Liaison officer, special operations."
     "I'm sorry, we don't have an extension number for that name."
     "Get hold of the defense attache and tell him there's some body  on the
phone who wants  to speak to LOSO. It's really important. I need to speak to
him now."
     "Hold on a moment." She put me on hold and I waited.
     Another woman came on the line.
     "Hello, how may I help you?"
     "I want to talk to LOSO."
     "I'm sorry, we have no one of that appointment."
     "Then put me through to the DA."
     "Sorry, the defense attache is not here. Can I help you?
     Would you like to give me a name and contact number?"
     I  said, "Listen, this is the  news. I want LOSO or the DA to pass this
on.  I've  tried  to   phone  in   on   my   PIN  number.  My  PIN  number's
two-four-two-two, and I'm getting blanked off.
     I'm in a really bad situation at the moment and I need some  help. Tell
LOSO or  the  DA  that if I  don't make  contact  with London,  I'm going to
expose  what I've got in my security blanket.  I  will call back  in  three
hours' time."
     The woman said, "Excuse me, could you repeat that?"
     "No, you're recording the message will be understood.
     All  you've got to do is pass that on to the DA or LOSO, I don't give a
fuck which  one. Tell them I'll call  London on the PIN line in three hours'
time."
     I put the phone down. The message would get to them.
     Chances were the DA or LOSO was listening anyway.
     Some of the operations I'd been on  had been so dirty that no one would
want them exposed,  but that could cut two  ways: it also meant that someone
like  me would be expendable if things weren't working too well. I'd  always
operated on the basis that  if you were involved in  deniable operations for
the  intelligence  services and hadn't prepared  an  out for  the  day  they
decided to shaft you, then you deserved every thing you got. The head honcho
knew that Ks had  security blankets, but  everybody denied  it the operators
denied it, the Firm denied it. I'd always been  sure  that the Firm  put  as
much effort into trying to find  where the blackmail kit was  hidden as they
did into the operations themselves.
     I'd committed  myself now. It was a card I could play only once. No way
would  I be living an  easy existence after this. I was  finished  with  the
Secret Intelligence Service and would probably have  to spend the rest of my
life in a remote mountain village in Sri Lanka, looking over my shoulder.
     What if the Firm decided to admit to the Americans that there'd been an
op they'd forgotten  to mention? Would they  take the rap on  the  knuckles,
then say, "This man killed one of  your  officers"? No, it didn't  work that
way. The Firm wouldn't  know if my blanket was a bluff  or not, or, if used,
how much damage it could do in the hands of the press.
     They'd  have to  take  it  as  real; they'd  have to help. They  had no
choice.  We'd get  lifted by the Firm, I'd be flown back to the UK, and then
I'd take up basket weaving until they forgot about me.
     Kelly was lying  on the bed with a  towel wrapped around her when I got
back to  the  room. The  cartoon had finished,  and there  was some  sort of
hard-hitting news-type voice on,  but I didn't  pay much attention to  it. I
was more interested  in  getting a response from this little girl. It seemed
that  I was fast running out of friends; she  might be just  seven years old
but I wanted to feel she was on my side.  I said, "We've got to hang around
for another hour or two, and then somebody's coming to..."
     And  then  it  hit  me. The no-nonsense.  New England  female voice was
saying,  "...  brutal  murders  and  a  possible  kidnap..." I  switched  my
attention to the screen.
     She was black  and  in  her mid-thirties. Her  face was on camera, with
Kev's house in  the  background and the Windstar still  in the drive. Police
were milling around two ambulances with flashing lights.
     I grabbed the remote and hit the Off button.
     "Kelly, naughty girl." I grinned.
     "You  haven't cleaned  your  neck.  Just you  go and  do it  right this
minute!"
     I nearly threw her into the bathroom.
     "And don't come out until I tell you to!"
     I hit the On button and kept the volume low.
     The  woman  said,"... neighbors report seeing a  white man in  his late
thirties, around five-foot-ten to  six  feet tall, medium  build, with short
brown hair. He arrived at the house in a white Dodge with Virginia plates at
approximately two forty-five today. We now have Lieutenant  Davies from  the
Fairfax County Police Department..."
     A balding detective was standing beside her.
     "We can  confirm that  there was  a male fitting  that description, and
we're appealing  for  more witnesses. We need to know the whereabouts of the
Browns' seven-year-old daughter, Kelly."
     A picture came up on the screen of  Kelly standing  in the  garden with
Aida, with a spoken description.  The broadcast cut back to a studio shot of
the two  anchors saying that the family was a victim of what appeared  to be
drug-related murders. A family portrait appeared on the screen.
     "Kevin Brown was a member of the Drug Enforcement Administration ..."
     The anchors expanded the piece into a discussion about the drug problem
in the D.C. area.
     There was no sound of splashing water from the bathroom.
     Kelly  would  be  out  again any minute. I  started  flicking channels.
Nothing more  on the murders. I switched back to children's TV and went into
the bathroom.
     I hadn't heard any splashing because Kelly wasn't washing.
     She was  on the  floor, under the sink, in the  same fetal position I'd
found her in at Kev's, hands over her ears  to block out the news she'd just
heard on the TV.
     I wanted to pick  her up and  comfort her. The only thing was, I didn't
know how. I decided to appear unaffected by her condition.
     "Hello, Kelly." I smiled.
     "What are you doing down there?"
     Her  eyes were shut so tight I could  see the  creases  in her face.  I
picked her up in my arms and started to walk back into the bedroom.
     "Hey, you look sleepy. Do you want to watch  TV or just go  to bed?" It
sounded like crap to me but I just didn't know what else to say or  do. Best
pretend it hadn't happened.
     I took the towel off to get her dressed.
     "Come on, let's get some clothes on and your hair combed." I was really
fighting for words now.
     She just sat there. Then, as I  started to pull her shirt on, she  said
quietly, "Mommy and Daddy are dead, aren't they?"
     Getting her arms into the shirt suddenly became very interesting
     "What makes you say  that? I told you, I'm just looking after you for a
while."
     "So I'm going to see Mommy and Daddy again?"
     I didn't have the words to use, or the guts to tell her.
     "Yes,  of  course you will. It's just  that they  had to go away really
quickly.  I told you, it was too late to pick  you up, but they  asked me to
look after you. As soon as they come back I'll  take you to  Mommy and Daddy
and Aida. I  didn't  know it was going to take  this long; I thought it  was
going to be only a couple of hours. But they will be back soon."
     There was  a  slight pause  as she  worked through  it all.  I got  her
panties and placed her feet in them and pulled them up.
     "Why  didn't they  want  to take  me.  Nick?" She sounded  sad  at  the
thought.
     I moved over to the chair and picked up her jeans. I didn't want her to
see my eyes.
     "It isn't  that they  didn't want to take  you, but there was a mistake
made, and that's why they asked me to look after you."
     "Just like Home Alone I turned  around and  saw that she was smiling. I
had to think about that one.
     "Yeah, that's right, just like Home Alone. They left you by mistake!" I
remembered watching it on a flight.
     Shitty film but good booby traps. I busied myself with her jeans again.
     "So when are we going to see them?"
     I couldn't spend all day picking up two bits of clothing.  I did a half
turn and walked back toward the bed.
     "That won't be for a while yet, but when I  spoke to them just now they
wanted me to tell you that they love you, and they're missing you, and to do
everything I say and be a good girl."
     There was a beaming smile on her face.  I wished I had  the  courage to
tell her the truth.
     I said, "Kelly, you must do what I say, do you understand that?"
     "Yeah, I understand."
     She nodded, and I saw a little child needing affection.
     I gave her my best attempt at a smile. I looked into her eyes.
     "Come on,  cheer up.  Let's watch TV" We  both went  back  to watch the
Power Rangers, with  a can of Mountain Dew.  I couldn't take my mind off the
news broadcast.  Kelly's photograph had been on the TV. The receptionist the
clothing  store  clerk,  anyone might remember  her. Surely the embassy  had
called London by now, surely  every fucker knew what was going on because it
was splashed  all over  the  news. No need to wait three hours before making
the call.
     I'd have  to go to the outside phone  again because I didn't want Kelly
to hear. I put Kev's jacket on, slipped the TV remote control into a pocket,
told her where I was going, and left.
     As I came to the stairs by the Coke machine I looked down.
     Two  cars  had pulled  up outside the reception lobby. Both were empty,
but their doors were  still  open  as  if  the occupants  had piled out in a
hurry.
     I looked  again. Besides  a normal radio  antenna  each  vehicle had  a
two-foot antenna on  the back. One of the cars  was a white Ford Taurus, the
other a blue Chevy Caprice.
     There was no time to think, just to turn around and run toward the rear
fire  exit like a  man possessed. Now wasn't  the time  to  worry about how
they'd  found us. As I ran, the options started to race through my mind. The
obvious one was to leave Kelly  where she  was and let them pick her up. She
was a millstone around my neck. On my own, I could get away.
     So why did I stop running? I wasn't too sure; instinct told me that she
had to come with me.
     I doubled back and burst into the room.
     "Kelly, we've got to go! Come on, get up!"
     She'd  been drifting  off to sleep.  There was a look  of horror on her
face because of my change of tone.
     "We've got to go!"
     Grabbing her  coat, I picked her up in my  arms and started toward  the
door.  I snatched up her shoes and stuffed them into my pockets.  She made a
sound, half-frightened, half-protesting.
     "Just hold on!" I said. Her legs were wrapped around my waist.
     I came out onto the landing. I closed the door behind us, and it locked
automatically.  They'd  have to break it down. I did a  quick check down the
corridor, not  bothering to  look below to see what was happening.  I'd know
soon enough if they were behind us.
     I  turned left and ran to  the end of the corridor,  turned left again,
and there  was the fire exit. I pushed the bar and it  opened. We  came  out
onto  an  open  concrete  staircase  at the rear  of the  hotel,  facing the
shopping mall about a quarter of a mile away. Kelly started to cry.
     There  was no time to be nice. I got hold other  head so  that her face
came right up to mine.
     "People have come to take you away, do you understand  that?" I knew it
would frighten her, and that it would probably  fuck up her mind even  more,
but I didn't care about that.
     "I'm trying to save you. Shut up and do what I say!"
     I squeezed her cheek hard and shook her face.
     "Do you understand me, Kelly? Shut up, and hold me very tight."
     I buried her face in  my shoulder and lunged down  the concrete stairs,
looking  for my escape route. Ahead  of us  lay about forty yards of  rough
grass,  and  beyond that a  six-foot  chain-link fence  that looked  old and
rusty.  On  the  other side of that was the rear  of the long  row of office
buildings that faced the main road. Some were brick, some  were plaster, all
different styles built over the last thirty  years. The  rear administration
area was strewn with clutter and large Dumpsters.
     There  was  a  pathway  running  across the  empty ground,  and it went
through  at  a point  where  a whole  section of  the  chain-link  fence had
crumpled or been  pulled down. Maybe the hotel and office workers used it as
a shortcut.
     Carrying Kelly  was like having a rucksack on  the  wrong way. That was
going to be no  good  if I  had to run fast,  so I threw her around onto  my
back, linking my hands under her butt so I was carrying her piggyback. I got
to  the bottom of the stairs  and stopped  and  listened. No  sound  of them
shouting or  breaking down the door  yet.  The urge  was just to run  for it
across the grassy dirt toward the  gap in the fence, but it was important to
do this correctly.
     Still  with Kelly  on my  back,  not  bothering to tell  her  what  was
happening, I got onto my hands and knees. I lowered myself to within about a
foot of  the floor  and slowly  stuck my head around the corner. There was a
chance that once I'd seen what was happening, I'd choose a different route.
     The two cars had pulled up  to the  bottom of the staircase by the Coke
machine. The fuckers were obviously upstairs. I didn't know how many of them
there were.
     I realized that  the ground was in fact  dead ground to  them now,  and
started running. The rain had  been  light but constant, and the  ground was
muddy.  It was  reasonably well looked after,  littered only  here and there
with bits of paper, old soft drink cans, and burger wrappers. I kept heading
for the gap in the chain-link fence.
     Kelly was weighing me down;  I was taking short,  quick strides and not
bending my knees too much, just enough to  take her weight,  bending forward
from  the  hips. She  made  in  voluntary grunts  in  time with the  running
movements as the wind was knocked out of her.
     We reached the broken section  of fence, which was buried in the mud. I
heard the screech of tires, then the sound of protesting suspension and body
work. I  didn't bother looking around, just dug  deep  to try to lengthen my
stride.
     Once  through, we  were faced with the rear of the  office buildings. I
couldn't see the alleyway  we'd come through earlier. I turned left, looking
for any other route through to the main drag. There had to be one somewhere.
 Now  on asphalt, I could make good  speed, but Kelly  started slipping.  I
shouted, "Hold on!" and felt her tense up more.
     "Harder, Kelly, harder!"
     It wasn't working. With  my left hand I got hold of both her wrists and
pulled them down in front of me toward my waist.
     She was nice and tight on me now, and I could use my right hand to pump
myself forward. My priority was to make good speed and distance. They  would
be out and running soon. I needed that alleyway.
     It's a strange  thing when people are being chased. Subconsciously they
try  to  get as  much  distance as  they  can  between themselves and  their
pursuers,  and, whether it's in an  urban environment  or  a rural one, they
think that means going in a straight line. In  fact, what you  need to do is
put in as  many angles as  possible,  especially in a city or a town. If you
come to an intersection  with four options, it makes  the chasers' job  more
difficult: they have a larger area to cover and have to split forces. A hare
being chased in a field doesn't run in a straight line; it takes a big jump,
changes direction,  and off it goes again the  pursuers are gaining momentum
in a straight line and all of a sudden they have to  change  direction, too,
which  means  slowing down, reevaluating their position.  I  was going to be
that hare. As soon as I got to the end of the alleyway I was going to hang a
left  or a  right, I didn't even  know which yet, and run as fast as I could
until I found other options.
     I found the alley. No time to  think  if it was the right decision just
make one.  I could hear shouting behind me, maybe 100 to 150 yards away. But
it wasn't directed at me.
     They  were too professional for  that. They  knew it wouldn't have  any
effect. I heard the cars turning around.  They'd be  trying to cut me off. I
ran.
     By now I  was  out of  breath, with this seven-year-old on  my back. My
mouth was dry, and I was breaking into a sweat.
     Kelly's head was banging  onto  the back of mine, and I was holding her
so tight her chin was digging into my neck;  it was starting to hurt her and
she was crying.
     "Stop, stop. Nick!"
     I wasn't  listening.  I  reached the  end of the  alley and ran  into a
totally different world.
     In front of me was a  narrow road  that ran  the  length of  the office
buildings,  and  on  the  other  side  of  it a  grass embankment that went
downhill  to  the main  drag. Beyond that lay parking  lots  and the  malls.
Traffic noise drowned out Kelly's cries. The flow  of vehicles was  fast  in
both  directions, despite the  wet road.  Most had their  headlights on, and
their wipers on intermittent. I stopped.
     We must have looked a sight, a man with  a shoeless child  on his back,
puffing  and panting down the  grass slope,  the child moaning  as her  head
banged on the  back of his. I climbed  the railings  at the side of the main
drag; now we were playing chicken with the traffic. Cars sounded their horns
or braked sharply to avoid us. It seemed my new name was fuck, nut, or jerk.
I didn't  acknowledge anybody,  even the  ones  who'd  saved  our  lives  by
braking; I just kept on running.
     Kelly was screaming. The traffic scared her as much as the running. All
her young life  she'd probably been warned about playing near the road,  and
here she was on a grown-up's back, cars and trucks swerving all around her.
     Crossing the railings at the  far side, I was also  starting to  worry.
Kelly was slowing me down, without a doubt, and I still had quite a distance
to run to get to safety. I ducked and weaved through the parking lot,  using
the height of the pickups and minivans to block us from their view.
     At the far right of  the mall I  could see a computer super store, Comp
USA and that  was where I headed. There's  always a good chance that a large
store on a corner site will have more than one entrance. I expected there to
be one on the  other side, maybe at the  rear,  so even if they saw me going
in, they'd have problems.
     I knew the  store would be hard  for them to deal with, because I'd had
to do this sort of thing myself in Northern Ireland.
     If a player went into a shopping center,  we would send only one guy in
with him,  then rush to seal up  all the exits. It was  hard enough when  we
knew  a target, let alone  having to find and identify  him. If he was doing
anti surveillance drills, he could go up an elevator, leave by one exit,  go
back in through another and up an elevator  two floors, down one floor, then
wander  out  into  a  parking  lot,  and  he's  gone.  If  these  boys  were
professional, they'd start  sealing the exits as soon as  they saw where I'd
gone. I;had to be quick.
     We went  in  through the wide automatic doors. The store had aisles and
aisles  of  office  equipment,  computers,  and  software. I  went past  the
checkout counters without taking a  cart,  still with Kelly on my back.  The
place was packed. I was standing there drenched with sweat, chest heaving up
and down as I fought for breath. Kelly was crying. People started looking at
us.
     Kelly moaned, "I want to get down now!"
     "No, let's just get out of here."
     I took a look behind and could  see two men  coming across the  parking
lot. In their suits they looked very much like plainclothes police, and they
were running purposefully toward the store; they'd be heading  to block  off
the exits. I had to put in some angles, had to get that confusion going.
     I ran down a couple of aisles crammed with CD ROM  games, turned right,
and ran along the exterior wall, looking for an exit. Fuck  it, there wasn't
one. The warehouse seemed to be one big sealed unit. I couldn't go  back out
the way I'd come in, but if I didn't find another exit, I was going to spend
the rest of the day running around the shop in circles.
     One  of  the  young  assistants  looked  at me,  turned away,  and went
trotting down  the aisle,  obviously looking for  the manager or  a security
guard.  Seconds later two  men  in shirtsleeves with name  badges started to
approach us.
     "Yes, excuse me? Can we help you?" all very polite, but in fact meaning
" What the fuck are you doing in our store? " There was no time to answer. I
ran toward the rear of the store, looking for loading bays, emergency doors,
open windows, anything. At last I saw the sign I was hoping to see:
     fire exit. I ran at it, pushed it open, and the alarm went off.
     We were outside. We  were on a platform, obviously used for deliveries,
where trucks could back in and unload.
     I ran down the four or five metal stairs and hit the ground.
     As I started to run to the left I shouted at Kelly to hold tight.
     The  rear  of  the  shopping mall was deserted,  just a long stretch of
administration areas, with Dumpsters, bins, and even a trailer detached from
its truck and being used as a storeroom. There were piles of cardboard boxes
and  bulging trash  bags  everywhere, a day's worth of  garbage.  Beyond the
blacktop was  a  chain-link fence surrounding  the whole  area, and probably
about fifteen  feet high. Then vacant ground with trees  and bushes. On  the
other side of that, I guessed, would be more parking and more stores.
     I felt like a trapped rat.  I had only two exits now, the access  roads
at  either end  of  the long line of stores. I  couldn't get over the fence
with Kelly on my back; if I tried to throw her over, she'd break her legs. I
started to run to the left, along the rear of the stores, heading toward one
of  the access roads. It was no good they'd had too much time  to react; the
road would be sealed.
     I had to make a decision quickly. I moved toward one  of the collection
areas of Dumpsters bagged-up garbage, and card board boxes.
     I lifted her from my back and positioned her in  among it all, throwing
boxes  over the top of her and  moving  others to fill  in the gaps on  each
side.
     She looked at me and started to cry.
     I said, "Disneyland, Kelly! Disneyland!"
     She stared at me,  tears rolling down her cheeks, and  I threw a couple
of boxes over the top.
     "I'll be back, I promise."
     As I ran I looked  at the trailer that was  right up against the fence.
It was a huge thing, the  height of a  truck. Without fifty pounds  of young
girl on my back, running toward  it  was like floating on air. At last I was
in control. I felt as if I'd lost a ball and chain.
     I sprinted like a maniac,  using the cover of the bins and Dumpsters. I
suddenly  spotted the trunk of  a car jutting out from  one of  the  loading
bays. It was a mid-1980s  model, not one  of  the cars that had been chasing
me. I'd check the ignition for keys, and if I was out of luck, I'd cross the
open ground to the container.
     A truck  was parked up near another loading bay. I started to  run past
it. A guy was  running full  tilt  the other way, and we smashed  our  heads
together. We both went down.
     "Shit!" I looked at him through  blurred eyes. He had a suit  on. There
was no way I  was going to take a chance. I staggered to my feet and charged
at him, banging him up against the car. He tried to wrap himself around me.
     As I  was pushing  into  him I could feel with the side of my face that
his body was solid. This fucker had covert body armor on.
     I pinned  him  up against the car,  moved back a step,  and  pulled  my
weapon, flicking on the laser sight with my thumb.
     Then, dazed, I sank back to my  knees.  I was seeing stars and my  head
was spinning; he  was probably in exactly the same state. He looked down at
me, confused, trying to make a decision. I aimed the sight onto his face.
     "Don't do it," I said.
     "Don't waste your life on this, it's  not worth  it.  Get your hands up
now!"
     As his hands moved I could see he was wearing a wedding ring.
     "Think about your family. It's not worth dying over this.
     Number one, you're wrong, it wasn't me. Number two, I'll kill  you. Put
your hands on your head."
     My head was clearing. What  the fuck was  I going to do now? Their cars
would be here soon.
     "Stay on your knees," I said.
     "Turn right. Move to the back of the vehicle."
     I got  up off  the ground  and  stumbled behind him. My eyes were still
smarting as if I'd been hit with CS gas.
     We  were between  the  loading bay and the  car.  He knew the score and
hopefully was  thinking of his  wife and kids. I switched my  pistol into my
left hand,  moved  into him, and quickly jabbed the  pistol muzzle into  his
armpit, twisting it into the material of his jacket. I felt his  body  tense
and heard a little grunt.
     "I'll explain the facts of life to you," I said.
     "This weapon is screwed into  your clothes. I've  got my finger  on the
trigger and  the  safety  catch is  off.  If  you  fuck around, you'll  kill
yourself. Understand?"
     He didn't react.
     I said, "Come on, this isn't difficult. Do you understand me?"
     "Yes" "Place your hands on your head."
     With my  right hand I  took his  weapon. Mine had only one magazine. He
was carrying a Sig .45 in a pancake holster over his right kidney, and three
magazines on his belt. The Sig is an approved weapon of the
     FBI.
     He was in his mid-thirties, straight off the set ofBaywatch:
     blond, tanned, fit, good-looking, square-jawed. I could  smell soap and
baby lotion. This guy wanted to keep his skin soft. Or maybe he had  a baby.
Who cared? If he moved he'd be dead.
     There was a white wire behind his ear, linked to an earpiece.
     "Who are you?" I said. Not  that it  made any difference whether he was
FBI or D.C. police.
     No reply.
     "Listen, whatever you think, I did not kill that family. I did not kill
them--do you understand?"
     Nothing.  I  knew  I wouldn't get  Baywatch  man to talk. In any event,
there wasn't any time to waste trying.
     I took the  radio, and the  cash from his wallet. Then, with the pistol
still in  his armpit, I whispered loudly  over my shoulder, "Stay where  you
are, Kelly! Don't worry, I'm coming!" I gripped him harder.
     "Kelly, I said we're going to  go in a minute!" If  they thought  Kelly
was still with me when I legged  it, maybe they'd move on and search a fresh
area.
     I turned  back to him and  said, "I'm going  to untwist this now. Don't
fuck with  me--it's not worth it."  I  gradually released  my pistol, making
sure  I could fire  at any moment. I was  behind him,  with  the weapon  now
pointing at his head.
     He knew that.
     I said, "You know what I've got to do next, don't you?"
     There was a slight nod of acceptance.
     I picked up an iron support  from a pile of discarded shelving and gave
him the good news where his neck met his shoulder. That sent him right down.
For good measure I gave him a few kicks to the head and balls. At the end of
the day, he wasn't  going to be  more  pissed off  with me  because of  this
kicking; he probably  already wanted to kill me.  But I had to keep him from
raising the alarm. A professional like this would be expecting it anyway; if
the  roles  were  reversed,  it  would  be  him  doing the honors.  It would
certainly fuck him up for about ten minutes, and that was all I needed.
     I came out from behind the car, had a quick look around.
     Nobody in  sight. I ran toward the trailer; there was a large trash can
beside it that I could  use as a springboard. I jumped, threw myself upward,
and  got  my arms onto the roof. I scrambled  up. From there  it  was just a
fifteen-foot drop to freedom.
     A sign  pointed the  way to  Maylords Boardwalk.  I turned left and ran
along the grass embankment,  past  the trash cans, and  into another parking
area. I went straight toward the boardwalk  because it promised cover. I was
looking  for a rest room, and with  luck there would also be an exit to  the
other side of the mall.
     The  boardwalk seemed  to be a minimall with  mainly  shoe and greeting
card boutiques. I found the block of conveniences by the coffee shop about a
third of  the way down the arcade. Looking farther  down, I could  see there
was another exit to the boardwalk. I went into the men's room.
     Two guys had just finished pissing  and were now washing their hands. I
went straight  into one of the stalls and sat there  while I waited  to calm
down.
     I put the earpiece  in  my ear and switched  the radio on. I didn't get
much at all, it was broken up, but that meant nothing. I  was  probably in a
dead spot.
     I  used toilet paper to wipe the blood and mud off my shoes  and pants,
and cleaned myself up as much as possible. When I was sure the other two had
gone, I went out to the sinks, pressed the faucet,  and washed my  hands and
face. I still wasn't getting anything but fuzz on the earpiece.
     I headed for the coffee shop, bought  a cappuccino, and sat  down about
three tables  back. From there I could  watch both exits to the boardwalk. I
didn't  look out of  place with the  wire  in my ear because  so  many store
detectives and security guards wore them.
     They sparked up on the net.  They were talking  freely as if  the radio
were secure, not  using codes.  There  was a  jack on the radio for the  key
gun--the  device that sends the chosen encryption  codes  to the radio. Once
this has been done  to two  or more sets, they  can  talk together securely.
Everybody else would just hear fuzz.
     I listened to some of them checking around the back, where the  boy had
been dropped, and others in places that I couldn't identify. What I couldn't
hear was a base station, a central control. I started to wonder  about that.
Then I thought, Why was it these guys and not uniformed police had turned up
at the hotel? I was supposed to be a kidnapping murderer;
     in  situations like this I'd  expect to  see heavily armed  SWAT  teams
leaping from  Chevy vans. I realized it was this that had made me  run  back
for Kelly without even knowing it. I should have checked the boy I'd dropped
for any ID. Never mind, it was too late now.
     How did  they find me so quickly at the  Best  Western?  Had my call to
London been traced to our room? Impossible: too quick. Was it my credit card
when  I  checked in? Unlikelier still.  Only  the Firm  would have known the
details of my  cover  documents, and they wouldn't have turned me in because
they'd be too worried about the Americans finding out  about their  deniable
ops. So it must have been the  receptionist--she must  have watched the news
and recognized Kelly's photograph.
     But even then, it didn't add up somehow. I started to feel very uneasy.
     These  boys  weren't a Mickey Mouse  group. When I bumped into Baywatch
man, he'd been wearing a double-breasted jacket and it  was open. But it was
only  now, thinking about it,  that  I realized that in fact it  hadn't been
open at first.
     There had been a Velcro fastening.
     I heard more  radio traffic. They'd found him. Baywatch  man's name was
Luther, but whoever the boss  was on the ground,  he didn't really  care too
much about Luther's condition.
     He just wanted to know if he was able to talk.
     "Yeah, he's OK."
     "Is he alone?"
     "Yeah, he's alone."
     "Did he see the target?"
     "No, he says he didn't see the target but they're still together."
     "Does he know what direction they went?"
     There was a pause.
     "No."
     I imagined Luther sitting on the ground  with his head against the car,
getting patched up and feeling pretty pissed  off at me. In the background I
could hear him mumbling in formation. He sounded almost drunk.
     The sender said,  "No  idea of  the direction. And one  more thing he's
armed. He had a sidearm with him and he's also taken Luther's ... Wait..."
     I heard a click, then whoever was with Luther came back on the net; his
voice was very agitated.
     "We've got a problem he's got the radio! He's got the radio!"
     The boss came back on: "Fuck! Everybody, all stations, cut com ms Close
down now! Out."
     The  earpiece  went dead. They were going  to turn the radios  off  and
refill  with a new  code. Luther's  radio was obsolete. What I wouldn't have
given  now for a key  gun. Luther said he hadn't seen the target, so it was
Kelly they  were after, not me. My  face burned  with  anger. These were the
people who'd killed  Kev, they had to be.  This chase was nothing to do with
law enforcement; this  was  about people who wanted to finish the job. Maybe
they thought Kelly had seen them.
     By  now I had finished my coffee  and  the waitress had whisked the cup
away. I was starting to be a pain in the ass here; other people were waiting
for my table. I went back  into the  rest  rooms. The TV remote  control was
still in my pocket.
     That went into the trash can, along with the useless radio.
     What about Kelly? What did I have to gain by going back?
     What if they'd found  her, disposed other, and  were waiting for me  to
pick  her  up? That  was what I  would have done.  I could think of lots  of
reasons why I shouldn't go back.
     Shit.
     I  walked back  toward  the  mall  exit.  Looking  left across the dead
ground, I could just about see the roofofCompUSA.
     The parking lot was still full, and it was raining harder now. I turned
up the collar of Kev's jacket and looked toward the main drag. I could see a
Wendy's like a desert island in the middle of the parking lot. It was coffee
time again. I checked  the route ahead for any  sign of  my  new friends and
again used tall vehicles as cover.
     I took my burger and coffee over to  a window seat. I  couldn't see the
rear of the buildings, but I  could see the nearer of the two  access roads,
the one I'd been running toward when I met Luther. Better than nothing.  The
Wendy's had a play station, which was great cover; kids screamed around in a
tub of multicolored tennis  balls while their parents sat it  out, just like
me. I tried not to think of Kelly hiding  among the Dumpsters,  scared, wet,
cold, and hungry.
     I sat and stared out the window at the rain. I remembered the times I'd
been bad as a child  and  got a spanking from my stepfather and been put  in
the shed for the night. I'd  been terrified  of the rain beating down on the
clear plastic roof; I'd sat there curled up, thinking that if the rain could
get  me, then so could the bogeymen. As a soldier and as a K I had been shot
at,  beaten up,  imprisoned; I'd always been scared, but nothing  like those
times  as a child.  I thought of  Kelly abandoned  in her  makeshift  hiding
place, rain beating down on the cardboard. Then I cut it from my mind. She'd
get over it. I shouldn't let it concern me; I'd done worse things.
     Still  looking out the  window, I saw the  white  Taurus  come out from
behind  the mall  onto the access  road, stop at the  intersection and turn
with the flow of traffic. It was four up by the  looks of things, all suits,
though in the rain it was hard to be certain. Four up was a good  indication
that they  were lifting off: if they were  taking  Luther  to the  hospital,
there'd be three at most inside, one driving, one looking after the casualty
The others  would  have  stayed behind. I was  beginning to  feel a decision
coming on.
     I'd have to change my appearance, and I'd  have to do it on the cheap I
had about five hundred dollars in total, and would be needing every cent.
     I finished my coffee and went back to the boardwalk. I found a clothing
store and bought a thin  cotton raincoat that folded up to about the size of
a handkerchief.  I also bought a Kangol hat, the sort it was fashionable  to
wear the wrong way so the  brim was  hanging down the back of your neck  and
the logo was in front.
     I then went to an Hour Eyes and bought  a pair of  display glasses with
thick rims. Glasses  really  change  the  shape of  your  face. Whenever I'd
needed an appearance change on a job, a  haircut and glasses had always done
the trick. Wearing a  different color and giving yourself a  different shape
was the minimum required.
     I  went  back to  the rest rooms  to sort myself out. I  ripped out the
inside of the raincoat pocket with my teeth.  My newly acquired Sig  .45 was
down the front of my jeans, with the mags in my pockets. If the shit hit the
fan, I could draw the weapon and fire through the coat.
     I  wanted to  use the  last three-quarters of an  hour of day  light re
conning the  garbage area. The lift-off might  have been a ploy; I wanted to
assure  myself  that  nobody  was lying in wait. The  idea would be to do  a
complete 360 degrees around the target area, but before that I wanted  to go
back  and give the  hotel another look;  I wanted  to see if  there were any
police cars outside, to confirm  whether it had  been  an official  lift. If
Luther and  his friends were after a murder suspect,  the cops should be  up
there by now, dusting for prints and taking statements.
     I  put on  my disguise  and looked in the mirror at the world's hippest
dude well, nearly.  If  people  looked closely, they would think  I was  the
oldest swinger  in  town. I turned the cap around with the brim now forward,
and off I went. I walked  straight across the parking  lot, crossed the main
drag at  the intersection, and worked my way back to the Best Western  along
the roads. I saw nothing. Everything  looked perfectly normal;  not a police
car in sight.
     As  I walked back I thought about the state that  Kev, Marsha, and Aida
had been left in. Why hack them to bits? Luther and his friends weren't dope
heads  they  were pros; they  did nothing without  a reason. They must  have
wanted it to appear drug related to  cover their asses. Given the  number of
attempts on  Kev's life in the past, it  would have been perfectly plausible
for the police  to assume  that  one of them had finally succeeded, and that
the perpetrators  had then  gone overboard and slain the whole  family as  a
warning to others. But I knew that wasn't  the explanation. They  had killed
Marsha because they'd have had to assume that  Kev had passed on whatever he
knew,  and  then they'd  had to kill Aida  simply because they  didn't  want
witnesses. Kelly owed her life to their having not seen her. It was probably
only after the news reports that they realized they hadn't finished the job,
that there might be a witness after all.
     The  way  they'd butchered  Aida  brought back  to me a story about the
American "hearts and minds" program in Vietnam.
     In  one  region  they'd  injected  the  children  of a village  against
smallpox.  The Viet Cong came along a  week later  and  cut each child's arm
off. It  worked: no more hearts and  minds programs for them. Sometimes  the
end justifies the means. I had a sort of respect for Luther and company, but
I knew I mustn't fuck around with these people they were too much like me.
     Rush hour was now in full swing; it would be dark soon.
     The stores were still open and the area was  packed with people. It was
great for me; it made me just another sucker.
     As  I walked I had my head down against the rain. I reached the Wendy's
parking lot. This time I was nearer the fence;
     wiping my new glasses, I looked across the low ground  as the  rear  of
the mall came into view.
     There was a loud hiss of brakes as a truck backed up to a  loading bay.
Three  other  trucks were  already  parked along side the  car where I'd met
Luther. But again, just as at  the hotel, there were no police investigating
the crime scene.
     Maybe they didn't like the weather.
     Only the bays that were in use  were lit. The  group of bins  where I'd
hidden Kelly  was pretty much  in shadow. One  was being filled with the old
metal shelving I'd used on Luther.
     Even from where I was,  I could hear the loud crash and clatter.  Kelly
must be petrified down there.
     No need for a 360; I'd seen enough. As I looked forward deciding  where
to  go now, I  watched  a bus  pull up by a shelter, take on passengers, and
drive off again. Maybe that was our way out of here.
     But if they'd found Kelly and set an ambush,  where was I going to run?
I had to work out  an escape route. Hijacking cars doesn't work so well in a
built-up area it attracts too much attention. Better to  use the crowds  and
confusion. I picked three possible routes.
     Hanging around increased the chance  of getting busted, so I decided to
lift off from the area for a  while. I continued on to the stores. I thought
I'd get some stuff for Kelly;  she'd be needing an  appearance change,  too.
She'd been on the news;
     she was famous now.
     I bought her a nice big floppy hat. I wanted to tuck her hair up out of
the way and hide her face as best I could. I also bought her a thinly padded
pink three-quarter-length coat to cover those skinny legs,  and a completely
new  set  of clothes to fit a nine-year-old. She  was tall for her age, so I
thought I'd better  get the larger size. Almost as an afterthought, I bought
myself some new jeans and a T-shirt.
     With a handful of shopping  bags I retraced the route along  the fence.
As I walked away  from the stores, their lights  still reflected  on the wet
asphalt  of  the  parking  lot.  The traffic  was  slow on  the  main  drag,
windshield wipers on full speed.
     As I got to the fence I looked left. There was no change.
     I kept  on  walking. As I  got  level with the stores,  the access road
started to  rise  up  to meet me.  The fence stopped. I turned left  down  a
slippery grass  embankment  and onto the road  that led to the  back of  the
stores. I followed the fence again as I dropped down into the vacant lot.
     The rain had turned the dust into mush. I now had  the fence to my left
and  the  loading  bays  to  the  right. I  kept  on walking,  fighting  the
temptation just  to run to Kelly, grab her,  and get  the hell out of there.
That's what gets people caught or killed.
     My  eyes must  have looked as if I were plugged into the  power  lines.
They were darting everywhere,  getting as much  information into  my head as
possible. I wanted to see this am bush before it was sprung. I was committed
now. If push came to shove, I'd fucking shove.
     What if  Kelly wasn't there? I'd  call 911 and  say I'd seen  that girl
from the  news wandering  around the area.  Hopefully the cops would get her
before Luther's pals did. That was  if they hadn't already. I'd then have to
take  my  chances  when the Nick Stone manhunt began. Whoever  had her would
then have my name.
     I got to within  about twenty yards  of the bins, still  walking at the
same steady pace. I didn't even look around now, because that took  time and
effort.
     I came up to the bins and started to lift away the boxes.
     "Kelly, it's me! Kelly! See, I told you I'd come back."
     The cardboard  was soaking wet, coming  apart in  my hands. As I pulled
the  last  of  it away,  I could  see she  was  more or  less exactly in the
position I'd left her.  Curled up, sitting  on some  dry cardboard. My  mind
flashed back to how she'd  looked when I'd found her in the garage. At least
she wasn't rocking, with her hands clamped over her ears. She was dry;
     maybe the bogeyman had got in, but at least the rain hadn't.
     I stood her up and put her new coat around her shoulders.
     "I hope you like pink," I said.
     "I  got this  for  you, too."  I put the  hat  on  her head to preserve
whatever was left of her body heat.
     She put her arms around me. I hadn't been expecting it;
     I didn't know how to  react. I just kept talking to her. She cuddled me
harder.
     I readjusted the hat.
     "There, that'll keep you nice  and dry. Now let's go and get you a bath
and something to eat, shall we?"
     I had the bags in my left arm. She gripped my left sleeve as we walked.
It was awkward, but I  needed to keep my  right hand free to draw my pistol.
The bus was about  half full with shoppers and bulging shopping bags. Kelly
was cuddled up beside me in the window seat. Her hat  was doing its job; her
hair  was tucked up, and the dropped brim  covered  her  face. I was feeling
good. I'd saved her from Luther and his buddies. I'd done the right thing.
     We  were  on  our way to  Alexandria, an  area  I  knew to be south  of
downtown D.C. but within the Beltway; we  were going there  because that was
what had been on the destination sign of the first bus to arrive.
     Everyone was fed up and wet, and the bus was well misted  up.  I leaned
across and used my  sleeve to wipe away the condensation, but it didn't help
much. I  looked toward  the  front, where the windshield wipers were working
overtime.
     The priority was a hotel; we'd  have  to check into one within the next
hour  or so, because  the later  in the  day I left it,  the more unusual it
would look.
     "Nick?"
     I didn't want to look at her because I knew what she was going to ask.
     "Yes?"
     "Why were those men chasing you? Did you do something wrong?"
     I could feel her looking at me under her hat.
     "I don't know who they are, Kelly. I just don't know." Eyes still fixed
on the clear patch of windshield, I said, "You hungry?"
     In the corner of my eye, I could see her hat moving up and down.
     "Not long now. What do you want McDonald's?
     Wendy's?"
     She nodded for both, then  mumbled something. I  was still looking  out
the window.
     "What's that?"
     "Mickey D's."
     "Mickey D's?"
     "McDonald's! You're so out of it!" "Ah, OK that's what we'll get."
     I went back to my thoughts. I would only use cash from now on; I had to
assume the worst,  which was  that  we'd been traced through my credit card.
Despite that, I'd still  call London again. Deep down, I guessed that they'd
probably already consigned my  records to the shredder, but  what did I have
to lose?
     We drove past a place called the Roadies Inn. It fit the bill. I didn't
have a clue where we  were, but that didn't matter; I'd sort that out later.
I signaled the driver that we wanted the next stop.
     When the Roadies Inn  had  been built in the 1960s it  probably  looked
like a million dollars.  Now even the grass outside looked faded, and on the
red neon vacancy sign the V and the N were flickering. Perfect.
     I peered through the screen door to the lobby. A  woman in her twenties
was behind the reception desk, smoking,  and watching a  TV that  was on the
far wall. I only hoped we hadn't had star billing on the  news. Looking past
her into the  back office,  I  saw a  bald,  overweight man,  probably  late
fifties, working at a desk.
     "I want you to wait  just here,  Kelly." I pointed  to  the wall of the
hotel under the upstairs landing that acted as a patio.
     She didn't like it.
     "I won't be long," I said, starting to walk backward toward the doors.
     "Just  wait there;  I'll  be  right back." By now I was  at the door. I
pointed at her as if I were training a puppy.
     "Stay, OK?"
     The desk  clerk  was  wearing  jeans and a  T-shirt. Her  hair was  the
blondest I'd ever seen, apart from the roots.  She glanced away  from the TV
and said on autopilot, "Hello, can I help you?"
     "I'm looking for a room for maybe three or four nights."
     "Sure, for how many?"
     "Two adults and a child."
     "Sure, one moment," and she ran her finger down the register.
     The news was on. I turned and watched, but there  was nothing about the
murders. Maybe we were already old news.  I hoped so.
     "Can I have your card?"
     I pulled a face.
     "Ah, that's where we have a problem. We're on a fly-drive vacation, and
we've had our bags stolen. We've  been to see the police and I'm waiting for
replacement cards, but I'm just running on  cash at the moment. I understand
you have to have  it  for the record, but maybe if I pay in advance, and you
disconnect the room phone?"
     She was  starting to nod  her  head, but  her  expression was still the
wrong side of sympathetic.
     "We're really stuck." I played the wet and sorrowful Brit abroad.
     "We've got  to go to  the British  consulate tomorrow  and sort out our
passports." I brought out some twenty-dollar bills.
     It seemed to take a while for it all to sink in.
     "I'm  so  sorry  to hear  about  that."  She  paused, waiting  for more
chemicals to interact in her brain.
     "I'll get the manager."
     She went into the office, and I watched  her talking to the bald guy at
his desk. From their body language I got the impression he was her father. I
felt a drop of sweat roll down my spine. If they refused  us a room, we were
stranded maybe miles from  the next motel  and would need  to start ordering
taxis and raising our profile.
     Hurry  up! I turned and looked outside but couldn't  see Kelly. Fuck, I
hoped Mr. Honest Citizen wasn't about  to  storm in demanding to know  who'd
left a little girl all alone  outside in the  rain.  I quickly walked to the
door and  stuck  my head  outside.  She was still  there, standing where I'd
asked her to.
     I came back  to  the reception desk just as Dad appeared from the  back
office. The woman was on the telephone, taking a reservation.
     "Just making sure our car isn't blocking the way." I grinned.
     "I hear you have a problem?" Dad had a vacant smile on his face. I knew
we were OK.
     "Yes." I sighed. "We've been to the  police  and contacted  the credit
card companies. We're just waiting for it to get sorted out. Until then, all
I've got is cash. I'll pay for the next three days in advance."
     "That's no problem."
     I was sure  it  wasn't. There  was  no way our little  cash transaction
would  be finding its way onto the books. What some people call white trash,
Kev used to call "salt of the earth";
     they might take a while to understand things, but money is money in any
language.
     He smiled.
     "We'll keep the telephone on for you."
     I played the thankful Brit and checked in, then Kelly  and I bounded up
two flights of concrete and cinder-block stairs.
     Kelly hesitated outside the room, then looked at me  and said, "Nick, I
want to see Mommy. When can I go home?"
     Shit, not that again. I wished more than anything that she could go and
see Mommy. It would be one less problem.
     "Not long now, Kelly," I said.
     "I'll get some food in a minute,
     OK?"
     "OK."
     Once inside, I lay down on the bed and thought out the priorities.
     "Nick?"
     "Yes?" I was looking at the ceiling.
     "Can I watch TV?"
     Thank God for that.
     I reached  over to the remote and quickly checked  the channels, making
sure I wasn't going to catch us both on the news.
     I found Nickelodeon and stuck with it.
     I'd made a decision.  "I'm going out now to  buy us something to eat,"
I said, my mind on the one option that hadn't yet been closed.
     "You stay here, the same as before. I'll put the do not disturb sign on
the  door, and  you make  sure  that  you don't open it for anybody.  Do you
understand?"
     She nodded.
     The phone booth  was next to  a Korean  grocery  store.  It  was  still
drizzling; I  could hear the noise of tires on wet  asphalt as I crossed the
road.
     I pushed in a couple of quarters and dialed.
     I got "Good evening, British Embassy. How may I help you?"
     "I'd like to speak to the defense attache, please."
     "May I say who's calling?"
     "My name is Stamford." Fuck it, I had nothing to lose.
     "Thank you, one moment please."
     Almost immediately, a no-nonsense voice came on the line: "Stamford?"
     "Yes."
     "Wait."
     There was a long continuous tone; I  was starting to think I'd been cut
off again. Then, thirty seconds later, I heard Simmonds.
     My call must have been patched through to London.
     Unflappable as ever, he said, "It seems you're in a spot of trouble."
     "Trouble's not the word."
     In veiled speech I told him everything that had  happened since my last
call. Simmonds listened without interruption, then said, "There's not really
a  lot I can do. Obviously, you  understand the situation  I'm  in?" I could
tell he was pissed off with me big-time.
     "You were told to return immediately.
     You disobeyed an order. You should not  have  gone to see him, you know
that." He was still  cool about it  all, but under the veneer I knew he was
boiling.
     I could  just picture him  behind  his  desk in  his crumpled shirt and
baggy cords, with the family photo and maybe Easter eggs for  his family  on
his  desk, next  to a pile of red-hot faxes from Washington  that had to  be
attended to.
     "It's got nothing on the situation I can put you in," I said.
     "I've got stuff that would make  your lot look not very British at all.
I'll blow it to  whoever wants to listen. It's not a  bluff. I  need help to
get out of this shit and I want it now."
     There was a pause: the  patient parent waiting for a child to  stop its
tantrum.
     He said,  "Your  position  is  pretty  delicate, I'm afraid.  There  is
nothing  I  can  do unless  you  have some  form  of  proof that you're  not
implicated.  I suggest you  make every  effort to discover what has happened
and why, then we can talk  and I  might be able to help. How does that sound
to you? You can carry out your threat, but I wouldn't recommend it."
     I could feel his hand tighten around my balls. Whether they complied or
called my bluff, I'd be spending the rest of my  life on  the run. The  Firm
does not like being strong-armed.
     "I've got no choice really, have I?"
     "I'm glad you see it like that. Bring what you find."
     The phone went dead.
     My  mind  racing, I wandered into the shop. I  bought  a bottle of hair
color  one wash in,  twelve washes  out and  a  hair-trimmer  gadget. I also
bought a full range of washing and shaving supplies because we couldn't look
like a  couple of  scruffies  at large in D.C. Then I filled the basket with
bottles of Coca-Cola and some apples and candy.
     I  couldn't  find a Mickey D's  and ended up in a Burger King. I bought
two meal deals, then went back to the hotel.
     I knocked on the door as I opened it.
     "Guess  what I've got burgers, fries, apple pies, hot chocolate, coffee
for me.. ."
     By the wall next  to  the window was  a little circular  table and  PVC
chairs. The shopping bags went on the bed; I dumped the burgers on the table
with a flourish, like a re  turning  hunter. Ripping the bags open to make a
tablecloth, I tipped the  fries out,  opened the ketchup,  and we both dived
in. She must have been starving.
     I waited until she had a mouthful of burger.
     "Listen,  Kelly,  you know how  grown-up girls are always dyeing  their
hair and cutting it and all sorts of stuff ? I thought you might like to try
it."
     She couldn't have looked less interested.
     "What do you fancy, a really dark brown?"
     She shrugged.
     I wanted to  get  it  done  before she understood too much of  what was
happening. The moment she'd finished her  hot apple  pie, I led  her to  the
bathroom and got her to take  off her shirt. I tested the shower temperature
and leaned her  over the  sink, quickly wetting her hair,  then toweled  and
brushed it.  I got the  trimmer going but I wasn't entirely sure  what I was
doing. I realized it was  for beards, really,  and by the  time I'd got  the
hang of  it  her hair looked like shit. The more  I tried  to  sort  it, the
shorter it was getting. Soon it was up around her collar.
     As  I  studied the bottle of dye,  trying to read the instructions, she
said, "Nick?"
     I was still reading  the bottle and hoping I  wasn't  about to turn her
hair into a ginger fuzz ball
     "What?"
     "Do you know those guys who were chasing you?"
     I was the one who should have been asking questions.
     "No, I don't, Kelly, but I will find out." I thought about it, put  the
hair dye down. I was standing behind  her;  both of us  were looking at each
other in  the mirror. Her light  blue eyes were now  not so  red around  the
edges.  That  only made my brown  ones  even  more dark and tired-looking. I
looked at her a while longer. Finally, I said, "Kelly, why did you go to the
hidey-hole?"
     She said  nothing.  I could  see in her eyes that  she was  starting to
question my hairdressing skills.
     "Did Daddy shout "Disneyland'?"
     "No."
     "Then why  did you go?" Already this was getting too in tense for me. I
needed to do something. I picked up the dye.
     "Because of the noise."
     I started to comb the dye in.
     "Oh, what noise was that?"
     She looked at me in the mirror.
     "I was in the kitchen but I heard a  bad noise in the living room and I
went and looked."
     "What did you see?"
     "Daddy was shouting at the men and they were hitting him."
     "Did they see you?"
     "I don't know, I didn't go in the room. I just wanted to shout to Mommy
to come and help Daddy."
     "And what did you do?"
     Her eyes went down.
     "I  couldn't help  him." When she looked  up again, I  saw her face was
burning with shame. Her bottom lip started to wobble.
     "I ran to the hidey-hole. I wanted  to go to Mommy but she was upstairs
with Aida, and Daddy was shouting at the men."
     "You ran to the hidey-hole?"
     "Yes."
     "Did you stay there?"
     "Yeah."
     "Did Mommy come and call for you?"
     "No. You did."
     "So you didn't see Mommy and Aida?"
     "No."
     The picture of the two of them dead flashed into my mind.
     I put my arms  around her  as she sobbed. I said,  "Kelly, you couldn't
have helped Daddy.  Those men  were too  big and strong. Probably I couldn't
have helped him, and I'm a grown-up. It's not your fault Daddy got hurt. But
he is OK  and wants me to look after  you until he is better. Mommy and Aida
had to go with Daddy. There just wasn't any time to get you."
     I let her cry a bit, then asked,  "Did you see any  of the men who were
chasing us today?"
     She shook her head.
     "Did the men who were with Daddy have suits on?"
     "I think so, but they had like painting clothes over them."
     I guessed what she meant.
     "The sort Daddy would wear  to paint the  house?" I did  the actions of
putting on a pair of overalls.
     She nodded.
     "So  do you mean  they had suits  on  underneath, but had  the painting
things on top?"
     She nodded again.
     I knew it; these boys were good  they were players.  They hadn't wanted
to get nasty red stuff all over their nice suits.
     I asked her how many men came out and what they  looked like.  She  was
confused and scared. Her lip started to quiver again.
     "Can I go home soon?" She was fighting back the tears.
     "Yes,  very  soon,  very  soon. When Daddy is  better. Until then,  I'm
looking after you. Come on, Kelly, let's make you look like a big girl."
     After a rinse I combed her wet hair  and got her dressed right  away in
her new clothes. If we had to move, I needed her dressed, so I told her that
the only things she could keep off were her hat, coat, and shoes.
     She inspected herself in the mirror. The new clothes were much  too big
and her hair was--well, she didn't seem too sure.
     We  watched Nickelodeon, and eventually she fell asleep. I lay  staring
at the  ceiling, going through the  options, or rather, trying to kid myself
that I had some.
     What about Slack Pat? He would certainly  help if he could, as long  as
he hadn't turned into some drugged-up New  Age hippie.  But the  only way  I
could  think of contacting  him was  through the restaurant  he used to rave
about. The way he described it, he practically lived there. The problem was,
I couldn't remember the name  of it,  just that it was on a hill at the edge
of Georgetown.
     What about  Euan? He was no good yet because he'd still be operating in
Northern Ireland, and there was no  way I could make contact with him  until
he was back in England.
     I looked over at Kelly. That was how she would have to live now, always
dressed, ready to run at a moment's notice. I put the comforter over her.
     I piled all the trash together and put it in the wastebasket, made sure
the sign was still on the door and  her shoes were in her pockets. I checked
chamber  in  both  weapons--the  9mm  in  Kev's  jacket and  the Sig  in  my
waistband. No doubt Kelly was  going to  be in all of tomorrow's papers, but
at least if the shit hit the fan we were ready to go. I knew my escape route
and would not hesitate to shoot my way out.
     I  got my new clothes out of the bag and took them into the bathroom. I
shaved, then  undressed. I stank; Kev's things were stained with blood  from
Aida or  Marsha,  I  couldn't remember  which.  The  sweat had  thinned  it,
spreading it right up the back and shoulders of  his shirt and the inside of
his  jeans. Everything went into a plastic laundry bag, which I'd throw away
in the  morning. I had  a long, hot shower  and washed my hair.  Then  I got
dressed, checked the door lock, and lay on the bed.
     I woke up at  about 5:30 in the morning after a terrible night's sleep.
I wasn't sure if  all the  bad  stuff was a dream. The only  good result was
that I remembered the name of Slack Pat's restaurant.
     I thought again  about money.  I  definitely couldn't  use credit cards
because  I had to  assume  they'd either been frozen or  would be  used as a
trace. It was cash or nothing--not easy in the West  nowadays. Pat, if I got
to him, would  fund me, but I knew I'd have  to take advantage  of any spare
time  to get hold of more. Kelly was  snoring big-time. I picked  up the key
card, gently  closed the  door behind me, checked  that the sign was up, and
went looking for a fire extinguisher.  As  I passed the  open door  to  the
chambermaid's storeroom I  spotted half a dozen wedge-shaped door stops on a
shelf. I helped myself to a couple.
     I found the fire  extinguisher on the wall by the elevators. I  quickly
unscrewed the top of it and removed the carbon dioxide cylinder, a nine-inch
black steel tube. I put it in my jacket and walked back to the room.
     I put the three spare magazines for the Sig .45 in the left-hand pocket
of Kev's jacket and decided  I was going to keep the USP in the  room. I hid
it in the toilet tank.  A weapon can stand  getting wet in the short term. I
just didn't want her to find it and start putting holes in herself.
     I dozed some more, woke up, and  dozed again. By 7 a.m. I was bored and
hungry. Breakfast was included in the room  price, but to get it I'd have to
go downstairs to the lobby.
     Kelly started to stir. I said, "Good morning. Do you fancy something to
eat?"
     She was  all yaw ny sitting up  and  looking like  a scarecrow  because
she'd  gone to sleep with wet  hair.  Immediately I  put the TV on  for her,
because I didn't really know what to say.
     She looked down at her clothes, trying to work it out.
     "You fell asleep," I laughed.
     "I couldn't even undress you last night. Hey, it's  like camping, isn't
it?"
     She liked that.
     "Yeah."  She  smiled,  still  sleepy  "Shall  I  go  and  get you  some
breakfast?"
     She didn't look up, just nodded at the television.
     "Remember, you must do this every time; you  never  ever open the door.
I'll  come  back using  the key. Don't even open  the curtains,  because the
cleaning ladies will think it's OK to come in, and we don't want to talk  to
anyone, do we? I'll leave the do not disturb sign, OK?"
     She nodded. I wasn't sure how much  of it had gone in. I  picked up the
tray the ice bucket was on, put on my glasses, and went down to reception.
     It was already fairly crowded: people with RVs who couldn't be bothered
to sleep in them, and salesmen looking  clean,  fresh,  and straight out of
the "appearance counts" section of the manual.
     The breakfast area was made up of two or three tables by the coffeepots
under  the  TV. I  took three  packets of cereal, bagels and  muffins,  some
apples, then two cups of coffee and an orange juice.
     The desk clerk had just finished her shift and came over.
     "I
     hope  everything  goes  OK. with your passports and  all." She  smiled,
helping herself to a bagel.
     "I'm sure it'll be  fine. We're just  going  to concentrate on having a
good vacation."
     "If you need any help, you just come and ask."
     "Thanks." I  walked over to the  desk and picked up a complimentary USA
Today.  I also helped myself  to a book of Roadies Inn  matches from a whole
bowl  of them and a paper clip  that was  in a big ashtray full  of  elastic
bands and office supplies, and went back to the room.
     Ten   minutes  later  Kelly  was  munching  on  her  cereal,  glued  to
Nickelodeon. I said, "I'm going out for about an hour. I've got to do stuff.
While I'm away, I want you  to wash up and be  all nice and clean for when I
get back, and have your hair brushed. Are you going  to be all right on your
own, with your big-girl haircut?"
     She shrugged.
     "Whatever."
     "What are your favorite colors?"
     "My favorite colors are pink and blue."
     "Well, we've got  the pink." I pointed at the  coat hanging up with her
shoes sticking out of the pockets. That had been a bit of luck.
     "Now I've got to get you something blue."
     I gave my  glasses  a  quick clean with toilet  paper, put them back in
their case and into Kev's jacket,  then put my long black raincoat over  the
top, checking the pocket for the cylinder. I checked my pockets and took out
the loose change.
     I wanted to cut down  on noise,  and always felt better anyway  with as
little as possible dragging around  my clothes.  I got my Kangol hat  in my
hand, and I was all ready to go.
     "I won't be long. Remember, let no one in. I'll be back before you know
it."
     It had stopped raining, but the  sky was still gray and the ground wet.
The road was choked with cars heading into downtown D.C. It's a people town;
the sidewalks were busy, too.
     I walked briskly to  keep pace with the office workers, each with their
"Got to get  up, got  to get going" expression, looking all the time for the
ideal place  to  make some  money quickly and get  back to the  hotel before
Kelly started panicking.
     It was too  early  for a shopping  mall,  since  they didn't open until
tenish. And I wasn't in an area with a  lot of hotels--they were all farther
downtown. There were fast-food outlets but with normally just one way in and
out, and too  much  rest  room  traffic, they  wouldn't be a good choice.  A
service  station would do, as long as it had an  outside bathroom that could
be opened only with a key obtained from the cashier.
     I'd been wandering around for maybe twenty minutes. I walked  through a
couple  of gas stations that were  busy enough,  but  they were modern, with
inside rest rooms.
     Eventually I found what I was looking for, an outdoor rest room  with a
sign on the door that said key at desk. I checked to make sure that the door
was locked, then I walked on.
     I was looking for two  things now: somewhere natural to watch the pumps
from, and  my escape route. Farther up, on the other side of the road, was a
run  of  lawyers'  offices, credit unions, insurance brokers,  in  wonderful
1930s brick  detached houses;  in  between  were  what looked like well-used
alleys. I crossed  over,  walked  down  one, and came out  onto the parallel
street;  turning right, I followed the road to an intersection, turned left,
then right again up another alley. The whole area was perfect for angles and
distance. I made my way back to the gas station by a different route.
     There was a bus stop  across  the street, about a hundred yards away. I
strolled along to it,  stood  in  a  doorway, and  waited;  it  had  to look
natural, I had to have a reason to be doing what I was doing. There were two
or three people waiting, then the line got gradually longer, a bus came, and
we were back to two or three again. I looked at the destination sign of each
bus as it approached, looked fed up that it wasn't the one I wanted, and got
back in the doorway.
     People don't carry much cash with them nowadays, especially here in the
land  of the credit card. The ideal target would be a tourist they  tend to
carry more cash and traveler's checks but there weren't likely to be many in
this part of town.
     Over  a period of  about  thirty  minutes  there'd been  four  or  five
possibles  going in to fill up their  cars, but unfortunately it seemed that
none  of them was in need of  a shit. I thought about Kelly; I hoped she was
sticking to the script.
     A white guy in his late twenties drove up to the pumps in a new Camaro.
It carried thirty-day plates while waiting for  the new registration. He was
wearing a baggy track suit  that was red, blue, green, orange, and six other
colors, and the world's most flamboyant basketball shoes to match. His  hair
was shaved at the  sides, with  the rest  pointing skyward. The sound system
was  booming  out bass that I could  almost feel  vibrating  from across the
street.
     He filled  up and went in to pay. When he came out he was carrying what
looked like a small length of  two-by-four. He turned left toward  the  rest
room. This was my boy.
     I  stepped out of the doorway,  turned my collar  up, and headed across
the road. He was putting his  wallet into his track top  and zipping up. I'd
already checked the garage surveillance cameras; they wouldn't be a problem:
they were focused on the pumps  to catch drive-aways, not on the far  end of
the building to catch toilet paper thieves.
     As  I left the doorway I  was a man who needed a piss and couldn't wait
any  longer for his bus to arrive. It was unlikely to  register with anybody
at  the bus  stop; first thing  in the morning people are brooding about the
day's work ahead, or about their  mortgages or  kids or the wife's  headache
the night before. They're not going to worry too much about a guy going into
a  toilet. I walked toward the  door  with just  enough spring in my step to
look like the man with the world's fullest bladder and went in.
     The room  was about twelve by  twelve, fairly clean, reeking of bleach.
Dead ahead were two  urinals,  with a sink  and  a wall-mounted  paper-towel
dispenser. My boy was in one of the two stalls to the right.
     I could hear the sound of zippers being undone, the rustle of a general
sorting out, and a little  cough. I closed the door behind me and jammed  in
the two door stops with my shoe.
     No one would be getting in or out of here unless I wanted them to.
     I stood at the urinal and made it  look as if I were  taking a leak. My
hands were in front of me,  but holding the steel cylinder. I'd keep my back
to him until he came out to wash his hands. I stood there for three or four
minutes. I heard him pissing.
     It stopped, then nothing.  This character was taking too long. I  swung
my head to  the right as  if to look out  of  the  small, barred  window but
carried on with the motions of pissing in case for some reason  he could see
me and was being hesitant about leaving the stall.
     Then, casually looking right behind me, I saw something really bizarre.
Through the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor I could see one
foot, which seemed to be his right, on the ground and facing the toilet. His
tracksuit  pants  weren't  bunched  around  his  ankles.  I  thought.  Weird
position, but there you go. Then I  noticed that the door was  open an inch.
He hadn't locked it.
     I wasn't  going  to stop and figure  it  out. Clenching  my  right fist
around the cylinder, and with my left hand out to protect  myself, I started
quickly but quietly  toward the  door.  At  the last  minute  I took  a deep
breath, dropped my shoulder, and barged in.
     He banged up against the wall, screaming, "What the fuck!
     What  the fuck!" His hands went out to try to keep himself from falling
and the door held; his bulk was blocking it.
     I had to  barge  in again. The hard and  fast rule  of mugging is to be
exactly that: hard and  fast. Putting all my weight be hind  the door, I had
him pinned up against  the wall. He was  a big boy;  I  had to be careful, I
could get fucked  over here. I  grabbed a handful of his gelled hair with my
left hand and pulled his head over  to the  left, exposing the right side of
his neck.
     You  don't just use your arm to  hit somebody. I  needed to get as much
weight as I  could behind  the cylinder, the same as a  boxer using his hips
and the top half of his body to  power the swing. I brought the  cylinder up
in my right and swung my whole body around as  if  throwing a downward right
hook and cracked him just below the ear. The idea was just to take him down,
not kill  him  or  give him brain damage for  the rest  of  his days; if I'd
wanted  to do that, I'd  have cracked  him over the head a few times. As  it
was, it  wouldn't be  his best day  out, but  tough shit--wrong place, wrong
time.
     It had  been  a good hit. He  groaned and went down. He was fucked, and
without a  doubt he  would have had star bursts in  his eyes, that crackling
and popping sensation you get when you go down semiconscious. He'd just want
to curl up and get under the comforter  and hide. That was  why I'd used the
cylinder instead of a gun. You can't predict people's reactions to a pistol.
He might have been an undercover cop with a gun himself, he might  have been
some kind of heroic, take-a-chance citizen. Not that  it  mattered now.  The
old ways are the best.
     He'd banged his head on the tank and smashed his nose;
     blood  was pouring down  his chin. There  was a high-pitched, childlike
moan  coming from  him. He was in  shitty  shape but  he'd  live. I gave him
another one  for good  measure; I  wanted  him down and well out. He stopped
making a noise.
     I  put my left hand  on  his head and held  it facing away  from  me. I
didn't want him  to  be able to ID me. With my right  hand I  got  under his
belly and  twisted  his tracksuit  top  around toward  me,  unzipped it, and
pulled  out his wallet. Then I  started  to feel down his pockets in case he
had another big  wad stashed away there. My  fingers closed around a plastic
bag that filled  the ball of my hand. I pulled out  what looked like  enough
white  powder to send the guy's  entire neighborhood into orbit, all in neat
little plastic wallets ready for sale.
     No good to me; I left it on the floor, It was then that I realized what
he'd been up to while I was at the urinal. Wrapped tight around his left arm
was a rubber tube, and there was blood dripping from a small puncture wound.
He must have had his left leg up on the toilet seat to support his arm while
he was shooting up. I saw the hypodermic on the floor.
     As I stood up, my pants felt  wet and I looked down. He'd had the  last
laugh. I'd made him  lose control  of his bodily functions  and  he'd pissed
himself. And I'd been kneeling in it.
     I picked up the key from the floor. That, too, was covered  in piss. He
was starting to come around a  bit; there were a few moans and groans. I got
hold of his head and banged it against the toilet to give him the message to
stay where he was for a while.
     I  stepped back from the stall.  There  was no time to  try to clean my
jeans. I  went  to the main door,  retrieved the door  stops put  them in my
pocket, came out,  and locked the door behind me. I tossed the key into some
shrubbery.
     I was  out of breath  and a bit of sweat  dripped down the side  of  my
face, but  I had  to make myself look  calm and casual.  If another customer
happened  to come around the corner to use the toilet, I'd say it was out of
order.
     As I crossed the street I glanced left and behind me.
     Nothing.  I wouldn't  look back again. I'd soon  know if  something was
going on because I'd  hear  all the  screaming and shouting, or the sound of
people running toward me. Then I'd have to react--but at the end of the day,
I was the one with the big fucking gun.
     I passed the bus stop and carried on toward the first alley.
     After  two  more  turns  I  took  my  coat  off,  wrapped it around the
cylinder, and folded the  whole  lot up. I took the cap off and  folded that
into the coat as well.  I kept on walking, found a trash can, and got rid of
my bundle. I was a new man, or I would be as soon as I put on my glasses.
     Once  on the  road again,  I got out the wallet as  if I were  checking
whether I had my credit card. I opened it up and found that I  was  a family
man; there was a very nice picture of  me, my wife, and two kids--the family
of  Lance White. I didn't  think Mrs.  White would be too  pleased with  the
state of me when I got home.
     There was about $240 in the billfold; White had either just been  to an
ATM or done  some early-morning deals.  There  were also a  couple of credit
cards, but I wouldn't keep them;
     it would be time-consuming to sell them,  and if I tried to use them it
could  only be in the  next hour  or so  but why run the risk of  the police
doing a trace and ending up with my description from a sales clerk? The rest
of the stuff  was shit, bits of paper with phone numbers  on them.  Probably
his client list.  As I passed another trash  can I dumped everything  except
the cash.
     I now had just under $400 in my pocket, enough for the next few days in
case I couldn't contact Pat or he didn't come up with the goods.
     The piss on my pants was  starting  to dry up a bit as I walked, but it
stank something awful. It was time for a change of clothes.
     I reached the Burger King and all the other shops near the hotel. I was
in and out of  a  discount  shop in about fifteen  minutes,  with  a  duffel
containing a new coat,  jeans, sweat shirt, and underwear,  all bought  with
cash. Kelly had also  got a complete new set  of clothes, down to underpants
and undershirts.
     I had a quick look at my watch on the way up to the room.
     I'd been  gone about two hours and fifteen minutes, a  bit longer  than
I'd said I'd be.
     Before I  even got to the  door I could see it was ajar.  I looked down
and saw a pillow keeping it open. I could hear the TV.
     Pulling my pistol, I went against the wall, the weapon  pointing toward
the gap. I felt disbelief,  then shock. I felt emptiness in  my stomach, and
then I felt sick. I moved into the room. Nothing.
     I checked on the other  side  of the bed in case  she  might be  hiding
there. Maybe she was playing some game with me.
     "Kelly!  Are you in there?" My voice was  serious, and she'd have known
it.
     No reply. My heart was pumping so hard my chest hurt.  If they had her,
why hadn't they jumped me by now?
     I felt  sweat  slide down the  side  of my  face. I started  to  panic,
thinking about her in her house,  her father being beaten, scared, screaming
for  her mommy. I  understood  that feeling  of  desperation  when you  want
someone to take all the scary things away.
     I forced myself to stop, calm down, think about what I was going to do.
I came out onto the patio again and turned left.
     I'd come from the right and hadn't seen anything that way. I broke into
a run, calling, "Kelly! Kelly!" in a loud semi shout
     I turned the corner, and there she was.
     She was just leaving the Coke machine, wrestling with the pull tab on a
can. The "look at me, aren't I a big  girl?" smile soon changed when she saw
me, weapon in hand, looking as serious as cancer.
     For one moment I was going to read her the riot act, but I bit my lip.
     She  was looking suddenly sad and sorry for herself. Getting  herself a
can  of  Coke  was  the  first thing she'd done all  on  her own  since  our
adventure had begun, and I'd ruined it by coming  back so  soon. Leading her
back to the  room, I kept looking around the  open  square to  make sure  we
hadn't been seen.
     There  were empty  potato chip  bags and other  crap on the  floor;  it
looked like a scene out of Animal House.
     I sat her on  the bed while I went and ran a bath. When I came back she
still had a long face. I sat beside her.
     "I'm not cross with you, Kelly,  it's just that I worry if I don't know
where you are. Will you promise me not to do it again?"
     "I promise," she nodded.
     "But only if you promise not  to leave me  again." "I promise. Now get
undressed for a bath." I  picked her up and  basically threw her in the bath
before she had time to think.
     "Do you wash your own hair or get somebody to do it?" I asked. I didn't
have a clue.
     She looked like she was going to cry.
     I said, "Do you want me to wash it for you?"
     "Yes, please."  I  wondered what  was going on in that little  mind  of
hers.
     I got out the shampoo and started in; she moaned about  the soap in her
eyes and that the suds were  tickling  her  ears, but I could tell she loved
the attention. I couldn't blame her; she hadn't had much  lately.  Her world
had been turned upside down, and she didn't even know it yet.
     "You stink!" Kelly made a face as she caught the smell of Lance White's
bladder on my clothes.
     "These clothes are a bit old," I said.
     "Make sure you get all the shampoo out of your  hair, and wash yourself
with soap."
     She looked  as if she was  having fun. I was glad somebody was. Walking
into the bedroom, I called  behind  me, "Then I want you to  put some  clean
clothes on. There're knickers and an undershirt on the bed."
     "What're knickers?"
     "These." I picked them up and walked back to show her.
     "They're not, they're panties!"
     Kelly was a water baby. That  was great  for me; the longer she was  in
the bath, the  less time I had to spend dealing with her. I was  finding  it
quite tiring, having to clean, dress, talk,  answer  questions. I  left  her
splashing around for another half an hour, then dragged her out and told her
to go dry herself.
     I got  in the shower,  shaved,  and  got changed, bundling  all my  old
clothes and  Kelly's into a plastic  laundry  bag and stowing it inside  the
duffel. I'd get rid of it at the first opportunity.
     We were both in the bedroom. She was dressed. Her shirt buttons were in
the wrong holes; while I  was undoing  them and sorting them out, I realized
she was looking disapprovingly at me.  "What's the problem?"
     "Those jeans. They're for losers. You should get 501s like Daddy."
     On top of every