I considered all this and pointed out, "Probably the deleted information is not relevant, unless it had to do with his murder. And if so, why is that top secret?"

She shrugged. "We may never know."

"That's not what I'm getting paid for."

She asked me, "What kind of clearance do you have?"

"About six foot, one inch. Sorry, old joke." She wasn't smiling. I said, "Only confidential. Working on secret."

"I have a secret clearance. But Jack has top secret, so he can see the deleted stuff if he has a need to know."

"How will he know if he has a need to know if he doesn't know what's deleted?"

"Someone with a need to know and a top secret clearance will tell him if he has a need to know."

"Who's on first?"

"Not you." She informed me, "The Federal government is not the NYPD. But I guess you figured that out."

"Murder is murder. The law is the law. Lesson One of my curriculum at John Jay." I picked up the telephone and dialed the Ann Arbor, Michigan, telephone number given in the file, which was noted as unlisted.

The number rang, and an answering machine picked up. The voice of a middle-aged woman, undoubtedly Mrs. Hambrecht, said, "This is the Hambrecht residence. We can't come to the phone right now, but please leave your name and telephone number, and we'll return your call as soon as possible."

If by "we" she meant Colonel Hambrecht, he wasn't coming to the phone ever. A beep sounded, and I said, "Mrs. Hambrecht, this is John Corey, calling on behalf of the Air Force. Please call me back as soon as possible regarding Colonel Hambrecht." I gave her my direct dial number and added, "Or call Ms. Mayfield." I gave her Kate's number, which she read to me from her telephone. I hung up.

In the event we weren't in, our voice mail would just say, "Corey, Task Force," or "Mayfield, Task Force," followed by a pleasant request to leave a name and number. That was vague enough and didn't use the upsetting word "Terrorist."

So, putting this unlikely lead out of my mind, I again began my Incident Report, which was a bit overdue. Assuming no one would ever read this, I thought I could get away with four pages, numbered one to fifty, with blank pages in between. In fact, I decided to start at the end, and typed, "So, in conclusion…"

Kate's phone rang, and it was Jack Koenig. After a few seconds, she said, "Pick up."

I hit the button for Kate's line and said, "Corey." Mr. Koenig was in a cheery mood and said, "You're pissing me off." "Yes, sir." Kate held the phone away from her ear in a theatrical gesture.

Koenig continued, "You disobey an order to fly to Frankfurt, you don't return phone calls, and you were missing in action last night."

"Yes, sir."

"Where were you? You're supposed to stay in contact."

"Yes, sir."

"Well? Where were you?"

I have a really funny line for this question when I used to get asked it by one of my former bosses, I would say, "My date was arrested for prostitution, and I spent the night in court posting bail." But, as I say, these people lacked a sophisticated sense of humor, so I replied to Jack, "I have no excuse, sir."

Kate cut in and said, "I called the ICC and told the duty officer that Mr. Corey and I were in my apartment until further notice. I gave no further notice, and we were here by eight-forty-five A.M."

Silence. Then Jack said, "I see." He cleared his throat and informed us, "I'll be flying back to New York and should arrive in the office by eight P.M., New York time. Please be there, if it's not inconvenient."

We assured him it was no inconvenience. I took the opportunity to ask him, "Can you expedite Kate's request for the deleted information in the personnel file of Colonel Hambrecht?"

Again, silence. Then he said, "The Department of Defense has informed us that the information is not pertinent to his murder, and therefore not pertinent to this case." "What is it pertinent to?" I asked. Koenig replied, "Hambrecht had nuclear clearance. The deleted information pertains to that. It's standard operating procedure to delete nuclear stuff from a personnel file." He added, "Don't waste time on this."

"Okay." In fact, I knew this to be true from another case I had years ago that involved an Air Force officer.

Jack went on to other subjects, talking about the Perth Amboy murder and the forensics pertaining to it, asking about Gabe's lead, which I finessed, and how the case was going, and so forth. He also asked what was in the morning papers, and I informed him, "My photo."

"Did they get your address right?" He laughed. Kate laughed. I said to Jack, "You owe me one on that." "Meaning?"

"Meaning that me being a target is beyond the call of duty. So, when I need a favor, you owe me one."

He informed me, "You're so many points in the hole, Corey, you're now about even. It's a wash."

Actually, I didn't think I was really a target, but I think Koenig thought so, which showed me a little of the FBI mind-set. So, I played on it and said, "Not a wash. Not by my reckoning."

"You guys know how to keep score, don't you?"

By "you guys," he meant cops, of course. I said, "You owe me."

"Okay. What do you want?"

"How about the truth?"

"I'm working on it."

This seemed to be an admission and acknowledgment that there was more to this than we knew. I said, "Remember the motto of our CIA friends-And ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free."

"The truth can make you dead. You're very clever, Corey. And this is not a secure line."

"Auf Wiedersehen," I said, and hung up. I went back to my Incident Report. So, in conclusion…

Kate spoke to Jack awhile longer, and read the brief article about the murder of Mr. Leibowitz in Frankfurt. They chatted awhile, then she hung up and said to me, "This is getting creepy."

I looked up from my keyboard and said, "Reminds me of an X-Files episode where Scully's goldfish try to kidnap her."

Ms. Mayfield may have thought I was indirectly making fun of the FBI, and didn't smile.

We went back to our tasks. So, in conclusion… The phones were ringing all over the place, faxes were pinging, computer screens were glowing, telexes were doing whatever they do, clerks came around and plopped more stuff on people's desks, and so forth. This was truly the nerve center, the electronic brain of a far-flung operation. Unfortunately, the human brains in the room couldn't process all this fast enough, or quickly separate the useless from the useful.

I stood and said to Kate, "I'm going to find Gabe. Do you mind staying here so we don't miss Mrs. Hambrecht's call?"

"Sure. What is it you were going to ask her?"

"I'm not sure. Just put her in a good mood and have someone get me."

"Okay."

I left the ICC and went down to the interrogation rooms. I found Gabe talking to a few NYPD/ATTF detectives in the corridor.

He saw me, separated from the detectives, and came toward me. A steady stream of detectives were coming off the elevators or getting on, with Mideastern types in tow. He said, "You get my memo?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Hey, I saw your picture in the papers. So did every guy I've questioned today."

I ignored this and said to Gabe, "There are so many Arabs here, we ought to order prayer rugs and get a sign pointing toward Mecca."

"Done."

"Anything new?"

"Actually, yes. I called D.C. The metro cops, not the Bureau. I got to thinking that Mr. Khalil had no idea if he'd be brought to DC., or to New York. So I inquired about any deceased or missing taxi drivers of Mideastern descent."

"And?"

"Got a missing person report. Guy named Dawud Faisal, taxi driver. Libyan. Went missing on Saturday."

"Maybe he went to get his name changed."

Gabe had learned to ignore me and continued, "I spoke to his wife-in Arabic, of course-and the wife said he went to Dulles for a fare and never came back. Sound a little familiar?"