Kate and I returned our vests, then went into the office, and I dialed Jack Koenig. It was just 8:00 A.M. in L.A., and I was reasonably certain it was 11:00 A.M. in New York.

Jack's secretary put me through, and Jack said, "Good morning."

I detected a note of pleasantness, which was scary. "Good morning." I put the call on speaker so that Kate could listen and talk. I said to Jack, "Kate's here."

"Hello, Kate."

"Hello, Jack."

"First," Jack said, "I want to congratulate you both on an outstanding job, a great piece of detective work, and from what I hear, John, a very effective interrogation technique regarding Mr. Azim Rahman."

"I kneed him in the balls, then tried to suffocate him. Old technique."

A brief silence, followed by, "Well, I spoke to the gentleman myself, and he seemed happy for the opportunity to be a government witness."

I yawned.

Jack continued, "I also spoke to Chip Wiggins and got some firsthand background on that Al Azziziyah raid. What a mission that was. But Wiggins did indicate that perhaps one of his bombs went a bit astray, and I wouldn't be surprised if it was that bomb that hit the Khalil house. Ironic, isn't it?"

"I guess."

"Did you know that this Al Azziziyah camp was dubbed Jihad University? It's true. It was and is a terrorist training center."

"Am I being coached for this idiotic press conference?"

"Not coached. Briefed."

"Jack, I don't give a shit what happened in that place in nineteen eighty-six. I don't give a rat's ass if Khalil's family was killed by mistake or on purpose. I have a perp to catch, and the perp is here, not in Washington."

"We don't know where the suspect is. For all we know, he may be in Libya, or back on the East Coast, and may very well be in Washington. Who knows? What I do know is that the Director of the FBI, and the Director of the Counterterrorism section, not to mention the Chief Executive Officer of the nation, want you in Washington tomorrow. So don't even think about pulling a disappearing act."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. My ass is on the line if you don't show up."

"I hear you."

Jack quit while he was ahead on that one and asked, "Kate, how are you?"

Kate spoke into the speaker and replied, "I'm fine. How's George?"

"George is well. He's still at the Conquistador Club, but he'll be back at Federal Plaza tomorrow." Jack added, "John, Captain Stein sends his regards and his compliments for a job well done."

"The perp is still at large, Jack."

"But you saved some lives. Captain Stein is proud of you. We're all proud of you."

And so forth. Chitchat, chitchat. But it's important to establish quasi-personal relationships in law enforcement. Everyone cares about everyone else as a person. This is good management, I guess, and fits nicely with the new touchy-feely America. I wondered if the CIA was like this. Which reminded me. I asked, "Where's Ted Nash?"

Jack replied, "I'm not sure. I left him in Frankfurt. He was going to Paris."

It occurred to me, not for the first time, that the CIA, upon whom so much once depended, was now being eclipsed by the FBI, whose mandate was domestic troublemakers. I mean, a guy like Nash or his colleagues could now vacation in Moscow with no more danger to themselves than bad food. An organization like that needs a purpose, and lacking a clear purpose these days, they were bound to get into mischief. Idle hands are the playthings of the devil, as my Protestant Grandma used to tell me.

Anyway, Jack and Kate were chewing the fat, and Jack asked a few leading questions about how Kate and I were getting on, and so forth.

Kate looked at me with that bursting-with-good-news look-so what could I do? I nodded.

Kate said to Jack, "John and I have some good news. We're engaged."

I thought I heard the phone hit the floor at the other end. There was a silence that lasted about two seconds longer than it should have. Good news for Jack would be that Kate Mayfield was filing a sexual harassment suit against me. But Jack is slick, and recovered nicely. He said, "Well… hey, that is good news. Congratulations. John, congratulations. This is very… sudden…"

I knew I had to say something, so, in my best male macho tone I said, "Time to settle down and tie the old knot. My. bachelor days are over. Yes, sir. I finally found the right girl. Woman. I couldn't be happier." And so forth.

So, that out of the way, Jack briefed us on the momentous issue at hand and said, "We have people checking with the FAA about flight plans for private aircraft. We're concentrating on private jets. We actually turned up the flight plan and the pilots who flew Khalil across the country. We interviewed the pilots. They flew out of Islip on Long Island. This would have been right after Khalil murdered McCoy and Satherwaite at the museum. They stopped in Colorado Springs, Khalil deplaned, but we know he didn't kill Colonel Callum."

Jack went on about Khalil and his flight to Santa Monica. The pilots, according to Jack, were in shock now that they knew who their passenger was. This was interesting, but not that important. However, it did show Khalil to be resourceful and well financed. Plus, he could blend in okay. I said to Jack, "And you're trying to find out if Khalil has another private flight booked?"

"Yes. But there are hundreds of private jets filing flight plans every day. We're concentrating on non-corporate and foreign corporate charters, flights paid for by suspicious means and by non-repeat customers, and customers who may appear foreign, and so on. It's a long, long shot. But we have to give it a try."

"Right. How do you think this asshole is going to get out of the country?"

"Good question. Canadian security is tight and cooperative, but I can't say the same for our Mexican neighbors."

"I guess not with fifty thousand illegals crossing every month, not to mention tons of Mexican marching powder blowing across the border. Did you alert the DEA, Customs, and Immigration?"

"Of course. And they've assigned extra personnel and so have we. It's going to be a rough month for drug dealers and illegals. Also, we've alerted the Coast Guard. It's a short boat hop from southern California to the beaches of Mexico. We've done everything we can in cooperation with several local and Federal agencies-as well as our Mexican allies-to intercept the suspect if he tries to flee across the U. S. – Mexican border."

"Are you on TV now?"

"No. Why?"

"You sound like you're on TV."

"That's the way I talk. That's the way you should talk tomorrow afternoon. Keep the fuck word to a minimum."

I actually smiled.

So, we discussed the subject of the manhunt for a while, and finally Jack said, "John, it's taken care of. And it's out of your hands."

"Not quite. Look, I want to get back here as soon as this press conference is over tomorrow."

"That's a reasonable request. Let's see how you do at the press conference."

"One has nothing to do with the other."

"It does now."

"Okay. I get it."

"Good. Tell me about your phone conversation with Asad Khalil."

"Well, we didn't have a whole lot in common. Didn't someone brief you about that?"

"Yes, but I want to get a feeling from you about Khalil's mood, his state of mind, the possibility that he might be heading home or staying around. That sort of thing."

"Okay… I had the feeling I was talking to a man who was very much in control of himself and his emotions. Worse, he came across as though he were still in control of the situation, despite the fact that we fucked up his plans. I mean, that we thwarted his plans."

Jack stayed silent a moment, then said, "Go on."

"Well, if I had to bet, I'd bet that he was planning to stick around."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Just one of those feelings I get. By the way, speaking of bets, I want Nash's ten dollars, and his buddy Edward's twenty dollars."