"He is a criminal, common or otherwise, and criminals do criminal things."

"Good point," he said dismissively. "We'll keep that in mind."

I thought I should tell this idiot to go fuck himself, but he already knew what I was thinking.

He said to Kate, "If you ever want to come back, put in for it, and I'll do all I can to see that it's done."

"That's very nice of you, Doug."

Barf.

Kate gave him a card and said, "My cell phone number is on there. Please have someone call me if anything develops. We're just taking some time off to sightsee. John's never been to L.A. We're taking the red-eye out tonight."

"I'll call you the minute anything develops. If you'd like, I'll give you a call later just to keep you up-to-date."

"I would appreciate that."

Barf.

They shook hands and bid adieu.

I forgot to shake hands on my way out, and Kate caught up to me in the corridor.

She informed me, "You were rude to him."

"I was not."

"You were. You were being so charming to everyone, then you go and get nasty with a supervisor."

"I wasn't nasty. And I don't like supervisors." I added, "He pissed me off on the phone."

She dropped the subject, perhaps because she knew where it was headed. Of course, I may have been totally wrong about any amorous connections between Mr. Douglas Pindick and Kate Mayfield, but what if I weren't and what if I'd been all nice and smiley to Sturgis while he was thinking about the last time he'd screwed Kate Mayfield? Boy, what a fool I'd be. Better to play it safe and be nasty.

Anyway, as we walked down the corridor, it occurred to me that being in love had a lot of drawbacks.

Kate stopped by the commo room and got our flight information. She informed me, "United Flight Two-Zero-Four, leaves LAX at eleven-fifty-nine p.m., arrives Washington Dulles at seven-forty-eight A.M. Two Business Class reservations confirmed. We'll be met at Dulles."

"Then what?"

"It doesn't say."

"Maybe I have time to complain to my Congressman."

"About what?"

"About being off the job for a stupid press conference."

"I don't think a Congressman can relate to that. And on the subject of the press conference, they've faxed us some talking points."

I looked at the two-page fax. It wasn't signed, of course. These "suggestions" never are, and the person who's answering media questions is supposed to sound spontaneous.

In any case, Kate seemed to have run out of old friends, so we got on the elevator and rode down in silence.

Out in the parking lot, on the way to the car, she said to me, "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No, it wasn't. In fact, let's go back and do it again."

"Are you having a problem today?"

"Not me."

We got in the car and pulled out onto Wilshire Boulevard. She asked me, "Is there anything special you'd like to see?"

" New York."

"How about one of the movie studios?"

"How about your old apartment? I'd like to see where you lived."

"That's a good idea. Actually, I rented a house. Not far from here."

So, we drove through West Hollywood, which looked like an okay place, except everything was made of concrete and was painted in pastel colors, sort of like square Easter eggs.

Kate drove into a pleasant suburban neighborhood and drove past her former house, which was a small Spanish stucco job. I said, "Very nice."

We continued on to Beverly Hills, where the houses got bigger and bigger, then we cruised Rodeo Drive, and I caught a whiff of Giorgio perfume coming from the store of the same name. That stuff would keep a dead body from stinking.

We parked right on Rodeo Drive, and Kate took me to a nice open-air restaurant for lunch.

We lingered over lunch, as they say, with no appointments, no agenda, and not a worry in the world. Well, maybe a few.

I didn't mind killing time because I was killing it near to where Asad Khalil was last heard from. I kept waiting for Kate's phone to ring, hopefully with some news that would keep me from flying to Washington. I hated Washington, of course, and with good reason. My animus toward California was mostly illogical, and I was feeling ashamed of myself for my prejudices against a place I'd never been to. I said to Kate, "I can see why you'd like it here."

"It's very seductive."

"Right. Does it ever snow?"

"In the mountains. You can go from beach to mountains to desert in a few hours."

"How would you dress for a day like that?"

Chuckle, chuckle.

The California Chardonnay was good, and we slurped up a full bottle of it, disqualifying us from driving for a while. I paid the tab, which wasn't too bad, and we walked around downtown Beverly Hills, which is actually quite nice. I noticed, however, that the only pedestrians were hordes of Japanese tourists snapping pictures and making videotapes.

We walked and window-shopped. I pointed out to Kate that her ketchup-colored blazer and black slacks were getting a bit rumpled, and offered to buy her a new outfit. She said, "Good idea. But it will cost you a minimum of two thousand dollars on Rodeo Drive."

I cleared my throat and replied, "I'll buy you an iron."

She laughed.

I looked at a few dress shirts in the windows and the prices looked like area codes. But sport that I am, I bought a bag of homemade chocolates, which we ate while we walked. As I say, there weren't many pedestrians, so I wasn't surprised to discover that the Japanese tourists were videotaping Kate and me. I said to her, "They think you're a movie star."

"You're so sweet. You're the star. You're my star."

Normally, I would have blown the chocolates all over the sidewalk, but I was in love, walking on a cloud, love songs running through my head, and all that.

I said, "I've seen enough of L.A. Let's get a room somewhere."

"This isn't L.A. It's Beverly Hills. There's a lot I want to show you."

"There's a lot I want to see, but your clothes are covering it all." Isn't that romantic?

She seemed game, despite the fact that we were now engaged, and we got back in the car, doing a little tour on the way to someplace called Marina del Rey near the airport.

She found a nice motel on the water, and we checked in, carrying our canvas FBI bags to the room.

The view from our window was of the marina where lots of boats sat at anchor, and again I was reminded of my stay on eastern Long Island. If I learned anything there, it was not to get attached to any person, place, or thing. But what we learn and what we do are rarely the same thing.

I noticed that Kate was staring at me, so I smiled and said, "Thanks for a nice day."

She smiled in return, then thought a moment and said, "I would not have introduced you to Doug. He insisted on meeting you."

I nodded. "I understand. It's okay."

So, that was out of the way, with me acting with savoir faire. However, I made a mental note to knee Doug in the balls at the first opportunity. Kate gave me a big kiss.

Shortly thereafter, we were in bed, and, of course, her cell phone rang. It had to be answered, which meant I had to stop doing what I was doing. I rolled off, cursing the inventor of the cell phone.

Kate sat up, caught her breath, and answered the phone, "Mayfield." She listened, her hand over the mouthpiece as she took a few more breaths. She said, "Okay… yes… yes, we did… no, we're… just sitting by the water in Marina del Rey. Right… okay… I'll leave the car in the LAPD lot… right… thanks for calling. Yes. You, too. Bye." She hung up, then cleared her throat and said, "I hate when that happens."

I didn't reply.

She said, "Well, that was Doug. Nothing to report. But he said he'd have someone call us as late as half an hour before we board, if anything came up that might change our plans. Also, he heard from Washington, and short of Khalil being captured around here, we're to fly out tonight. However, if he is apprehended here, then we stay and do a press conference here."