There was also a little rehash of the double-murder of James McCoy and William Satherwaite at the Cradle of Aviation Museum. A Nassau Homicide detective was quoted as saying, "We're not ruling out the possibility that the motive for these murders may not have been robbery." Despite the tortured syntax, I could see that little Alan Parker was spooning out a third today, a third tomorrow, and the rest by the weekend.

Speaking of tortured syntax, I turned to Janet Maslin's movie review column. Some days I do the Times crossword puzzle, other days I try to understand what Ms. Maslin is trying to say. I can't do both on the same day without getting a headache.

Ms. Maslin was reviewing a box office smash, an action adventure Mideast terrorist flick of all things, which I think she didn't like, but as I say, it's hard to follow her prose, or her reasoning. The movie was lowbrow, of course, and Ms. Maslin may think of herself as highbrow, but somebody from the Times had to go see this thing and tell everyone who loved it why it sucked. I made a mental note to see the movie.

Kate arrived and I stood and we pecked. We sat and looked at the menus, and I thought perhaps she'd forgotten the silly incident on the balconies. But then she put down her menu and asked, "When?"

"June?"

"Okay."

The waitress came by, and we both ordered pancakes.

I really wanted to read the Times, but I instinctively knew that my breakfast newspaper was a thing of the past.

We chatted briefly about the plans for the day, the case, the people we'd met at Chip Wiggins' house, and who I was going to be introduced to by Kate later in L.A.

The pancakes came and we ate. Kate said, "You'll like my father."

"I'm sure I will."

"He's about your age, maybe a little older."

"Well, that's good." I remembered a line from an old movie and said, "He raised a swell daughter."

"He did. My sister."

I chuckled.

She said, "You'll like my mother, too."

"Are you and she alike?"

"No. She's nice."

I chuckled again.

She said, "Is it all right if we get married in Minnesota? I have a big family."

"Great. Minnesota. Is that a city or a state?"

"I'm a Methodist. How about you?"

"Any kind of birth control is fine."

"My religion. Methodist."

"Oh… my mother's Catholic. My father's… some kind of Protestant. He never-"

"Then we can raise the children in a Protestant denomination."

"You have kids?"

"This is important, John. Pay attention."

"I am. I'm trying to… you know, shift gears."

She stopped eating and looked at me. "Are you totally panicked?"

"No, of course not."

"You look panicky."

"Just a little stomach acid. Comes with age."

"This is going to be all right. We are going to live happily ever after."

"Good. But you know, we haven't known each other that long-"

"We will by June," she said.

"Right. Good point."

"Do you love me?"

"Actually, I do, but love-"

"What if I got up and walked out of here? How would you feel? Relieved?"

"No. I'd feel awful."

"So? Why are you fighting how you feel?"

"Are we about to go into analysis again?"

"No. I'm just telling you like it is. I'm madly in love with you. I want to marry you. I want to have children with you. What else do you want me to say?"

"Say… I love New York in June."

"I hate New York. But for you, I'll live anywhere."

" New Jersey?"

"Don't push it."

Time for full disclosure, so I said, "Look, Kate, you should know that I'm a male chauvinist pig, a misogynist, and I tell sexist jokes."

"Your point is…?"

I saw I wasn't getting anywhere with this line of reasoning, so I said, "Also, I have a bad attitude toward authority, and I'm always on the verge of career problems, and I'm broke, and I'm bad at handling money."

"That's why you need a good lawyer and a good accountant. That's me."

"Can I just hire you?"

"No. You have to marry me. I'm a full-service professional. Plus, I can prevent impotence."

No use arguing with a professional.

The light banter was over, and we looked at each other across the table. Finally, I said, "How do you know I'm the one for you?"

"How am I supposed to explain that? My heart beats faster when you're in the room. I love the sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch of you. You're a good lay."

"Thank you. You, too. Okay, I'm not going to bring up anything about careers, about you getting transferred, about living in New York, my paltry disability pension, our ten-year age difference-"

"Fourteen years."

"Right. I'm not going to fight this. I'm in love. Head over heels in love. If I blow this, I'll be miserable the rest of my life."

"You will be. Marrying me is the best thing for you. Trust me. I mean, really. Don't laugh. Look at me. Look into my eyes."

I did, and the panic was suddenly gone, and this weird feeling of peace flooded over me, just like I felt when I was bleeding to death on West 102nd Street. As soon as you stop fighting it-death or marriage-as soon as you let go and surrender, you see this radiant light and a chorus of singing angels bears you aloft, and a voice says, "Come along peacefully, or I'll have to handcuff you."

No, actually the voice says, "The fight is over, the suffering is ended, a new life, hopefully a little less fucked up than the last, is about to begin."

I took Kate's hand, and we looked into each other's eyes. I said, "I love you." And I really did.

CHAPTER 50

At 7:30 A.M., Chuck picked us up in front of the Ventura Inn and informed us, "Nothing new."

Which wasn't completely true. I was now engaged to be married.

As we drove to the Ventura office, Chuck asked us, "Was the hotel okay?"

Kate answered him, "It was wonderful."

Chuck inquired, "Did you check out?"

Kate replied, "We did. We'll spend the next few days in L.A. Unless you've heard something different."

"Well… from what I hear, the bosses in Washington want you both at a major press conference tomorrow afternoon. They want you in D.C. tomorrow morning latest."

I asked, "What kind of press conference?"

"The big one. You know, where they spill it all. Everything about Flight One-Seven-Five, about Khalil, the Libyan raid in nineteen eighty-six, about Khalil killing the pilots who were on the raid, and then about what happened yesterday with Wiggins. Full disclosure. Asking for the public's cooperation and all that."

"Why," I wondered aloud, "do they need us at the press conference?"

"I think they need two heros. Guy and a girl. The best and the brightest." He added, "One of you is very photogenic." He laughed. Ha, ha.

This day wasn't starting out well, despite it being seventy-two degrees and sunny again.

Chuck inquired, "Do we need to stop for anything? Underwear?"

"No. Drive."

A few minutes later, Chuck left us off in the parking lot of the Ventura FBI office and announced, "Surf's up. Gotta

I assumed he was joking. Anyway, we got out, carrying our body armor, and walked toward the building.

As we walked, I said to Kate, "This really sucks. I don't need to be put on display at a PR stunt."

"Press conference."

"Yeah. I've got work to do."

"Maybe we can use the press conference to announce our engagement."

Everyone's a comedian. It's probably my influence, but I wasn't in a funny mood that morning.

So, we went into the building, rode up the elevator, and rang the door buzzer. Cindy Lopez let us in again and informed us, "You need to call Jack Koenig."

If I never hear these words again, it will be too soon. I said to Kate, "You call."

Cindy informed me, "He wants to speak to you. There's an empty office over there."