I looked into the big Coach cabin and saw that the paramedics had talked themselves on board. They were going through the aisles, making pronouncements of death, and neatly tagging each body with a seat and aisle number. Later, each body would be bagged. Tag and bag. What a mess.

I stood near the starboard side door and breathed some fresh air. I had the feeling we were missing something-something of great importance. I asked Kate, "Should we look through the dome again?"

She contemplated the question and replied, "I think we gave it a good once-over. Galley, lav, cockpit, closet, cabin, overheads… Forensics will be happy we didn't pollute the scene too much."

"Yeah…" There was still something I'd forgotten, or maybe overlooked… I thought about the Fed creds and wallets and passports that Khalil didn't take, and although I'd explained that to Kate and to myself, I was beginning to wonder why Khalil didn't take that stuff. Assuming everything he did had a purpose, what was the purpose of doing the opposite of what we'd expect?

I racked my brains, but nothing was clicking.

Kate was looking through one of the attaché cases and said to me, "There doesn't seem to be anything missing here either, not even Khalil's dossier or the crypto sheets, or even our instruction memo from Zach Weber-"

"Wait a minute."

"What's the matter?"

It was starting to come together. "He's trying to make us think he's done with us. Mission complete. He wants us to think he's headed into the International Departures building, and he's clean going in there. He wants us to think he's headed out on a flight somewhere, and he doesn't want this stuff on him in case he's spot-checked."

"I'm not following. He is or he isn't trying to catch an outbound flight?"

"He wants us to think he is, but he isn't."

"Okay… so he's staying here. He's probably out of the airport by now."

I was still trying to put this together. I said, "If he didn't take the creds because he wanted to be clean, why did he take the guns? He wouldn't take the guns into the terminal, and if he escaped from the airport, there would be an accomplice with a gun for him. So… why does he need two guns inside the airport…?"

"He's prepared to shoot his way out," Kate said. "He kept the bulletproof vest on him. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking…" All of a sudden, I thought of the February defector, and this totally unbelievable thought popped into my head. "Oh, shit…!" I ran to the spiral staircase and barreled past the guy I'd posted there, took the steps three at a time, and charged into the dome, moving quickly to Phil Hundry. I grabbed his right arm, which I now noticed had been sort of tucked close to his body with his hand wedged between his thigh and the center armrest. I pulled his arm up and took a look at his hand. The thumb was missing, cleanly severed by a sharp instrument. "Damn!"

I grabbed Peter Gorman's right arm, pulled it away from his body, and saw the same mutilation.

Kate was beside me now, and I held up Gorman's lifeless arm and hand.

She seemed shocked and confused for about one half second, then said, "Oh, no!"

We both charged down the spiral stairs, out the door, and tore down the mobile stairs, knocking a few people aside. We found the Port Authority police car we'd come in, and I jumped in the front while Kate jumped in the back. I said to Simpson, "Lights and siren. Let's get moving."

I pulled Kate's cell phone out of my pocket and called the Conquistador Club. I waited for Nancy Tate to answer, but there was no answer. I said to Kate, "Conquistador is not answering."

"Oh, God…"

Simpson headed toward the opening in the security enclosure, weaving through a dozen parked vehicles, but when we got to the opening in the wall, we were stopped by Port Authority cops, who informed us that the area was sealed. "I know," I said, "I'm the guy who had it sealed." The cops didn't give a shit.

Kate handled it properly, holding up her FBI credentials, using a little logic, a little pleading, a little threatening, and some common sense. Officer Simpson helped, too. I kept my mouth shut. Finally, the PA cops waved us through.

I said quickly to Simpson, "Okay, listen. We have to get to the west end of the airport where all those service buildings are. The most direct and fastest route."

"Well, the perimeter road-"

"No. Direct and fast. Runways and taxiways. Move."

Officer Simpson hesitated and said, "I can't go on the runway unless I call the Tower. Stavros is pissed-"

"This is a ten-thirteen," I informed him, which means Cop in Trouble.

Simpson hit the gas, as any cop would do with a 10-13!

Kate asked me, "What's a ten-thirteen?"

"Coffee break."

After we'd cleared a bunch of vehicles, I said to Simpson, "Now pretend you're an airplane and get up to take-off speed. Hit it."

He put the pedal to the metal and the big Chevy Caprice accelerated down the smooth concrete runway like it had afterburners. Simpson got on his radio and told the Tower what he was doing. The Tower guy sounded like he was going to have a coronary.

Meanwhile, I whipped out the cell phone and dialed the Conquistador Club again, but there was no answer. "Shit!" I dialed Foster's cell phone and he answered. I said, "George, I'm trying to call Nick-Yeah… Okay, I'm on my way there. Whoever gets there first, use caution. I think Khalil is headed that way. That's what I said. Khalil took Phil's and Peter's thumbs-Yeah. You heard me right."

I put the phone in my pocket and said to Kate, "George couldn't get through either."

She said, softly, "God, I hope we're not too late."

The car was doing a hundred now, eating up the runway.

In the distance I saw the old building in which the Conquistador Club was housed. I wanted to tell Simpson there was no need to hurry any longer, but I couldn't bring myself to do that, and we were up to a hundred and ten. The car began to shimmy, but Simpson didn't seem to notice or care. He glanced at me, and I said, "Eyes on the road."

"Runway."

"Whatever. See that long glass building? At some point, start to decelerate, find a service road or taxiway, and go toward that building."

"Right."

As we got closer, I saw an upside-down SIR painted on the runway, and further on I could see that the runway ended, and I realized there was a high chain-link fence separating us from the building. We shot past a service road that looked like it headed toward a gate in the fence, but the gate was a hundred yards to the right of where I needed to be. Simpson suddenly veered off the runway, and the car two-wheeled for a few seconds, then came down with a big thump and bounce.

Simpson took his foot off the gas but didn't brake. We literally sailed and skimmed across the grass, pointed directly at the building beyond the fence. The Caprice hit the chain link and went through it like it wasn't there.

The car settled down onto the blacktop, Simpson hit the brakes, and I could feel the anti-lock mechanism pumping and pulsating as Simpson fought the wheel for control. The car skidded and fishtailed, then came to a screeching halt about ten feet from the building's entrance. I was half out of the car and said to Simpson, "Stop anyone coming out of the building. The perp is armed."

I drew my piece and as I ran toward the entrance, I noticed our escort vehicles from Gate 23 approaching across the far side of the parking lot. I also noticed a Trans-Continental baggage cart vehicle near the building. This did not belong there, but I thought I knew how it got there.

Kate passed me and ran into the building, gun drawn. I followed and said, "Cover the elevators." I ran up the staircase.

I stopped short of the hallway, stuck my head out and looked both ways, then ran down the corridor and stopped beside the door of the Conquistador Club, my back to the wall, out of sight of the scanning video camera whose monitors were all over the offices inside.