'You never know. You might get lucky,' Chatham said, tensing, completing the identification code.

'Tess Drake,' the man said, taking another picture up the stairs toward Lincoln 's statue beyond the spotlit looming pillars. 'You came alone?'

'As I promised.'

'Not to doubt your word, but I checked to make sure.'

Chatham shrugged. 'I assumed.'

'In that case, are you ready to take a ride?'

'Anything to find out what's going on. Let's do it.' Chatham.urned impatiently to the right toward the murky, tree-enclosed Parkmg lot at the end of Daniel French Drive.

'No, we go this way.' The neutral-faced man with the camera jerked his head in the opposite direction. 'On your left.'

Chatham scowled. 'Left? But…' Turning his nervous eyes in that direction, he saw a waist-high metal barricade that prevented cars from driving completely around the memorial.

Beyond the barricade, numerous headlights flashed by. Chatham heard the din of speeding cars swarming loudly across Arlington Memorial Bridge to veer farther left, away from the Lincoln Memorial onto Twenty-third Street.

'Yeah, I know,' the man with the camera said. There's no parking lot over there. Not to worry. Everything's been taken care of.' He reached inside a leather camera case strapped to his waist and removed a cellular telephone.

Quickly tapping numbers, he listened, then spoke as quickly. 'All clear. We're ready. Two minutes? Good. That's about how long it'll take us.'

The man placed the telephone back in his camera case. 'Would you care for a stroll, Mr Chatham?' Not waiting for an answer, the man touched Chatham 's arm and guided him toward the left, toward the metal barricade.

They skirted it, passing trees whose lush boughs obscured the stars and whose thick trunks flanked an unused, weed-grown section of road.

'If you're wondering,' the man said, I'm not alone. My companions are watching in case anyone's foolish enough to try to come after us.'

Nervous, Chatham managed to say, 'The Bureau's training team at Quantico might benefit by taking lessons from you.'

The man with the camera – which wasn't a camera at all but somehow a weapon, perhaps a hidden gun, Chatham suspected -merely gestured with his free hand. 'We'd never agree to do it, but a compliment is always appreciated.'

'What I'd appreciate is to know what on earth is-'

'Soon, Mr Chatham. Soon.'

They approached the lights and the noise of the off-bridge traffic on the busy thoroughfare. Beyond the trees, on the gravel shoulder, the average- looking man paused, blocking Chatham's way, and in the glare of passing headlights, Chatham realized that the man's ordinary-seeming build was actually sinewy and lithe. Feeling the exhaust-laden wind from the rushing traffic, Chatham concluded that this man was probably more in condition than even the best of his bodyguards.

'So now…?' Chatham asked.

'We wait. But not for long. You heard me say "two minutes". I misjudged, however. We're ahead of schedule.' The escort pointed.

A van sped off the Arlington Memorial Bridge, veered from the myriad glinting headlights, and stopped at the gravel shoulder. A side hatch slid quickly open.

'After you,' the neutral-faced man indicated.

Chatham clambered in, uneasy.

Other neutral-faced men nodded in greeting, their attempt at reassurance negated by their weapons.

As Chatham sat between two of them – no choice, the only place available – his escort followed, hunkered on the floor, and slammed the hatch shut. The van's engine roared. The vehicle skidded from the shoulder, gaining traction, squealing back into traffic.

In the passenger seat in front, a man spoke into a cellular phone. 'He wasn't followed? Good. You know where to meet us.' He set down the phone and turned. 'Welcome, Mr Chatham. Thanks for cooperating.'

'But was all of this really necessary?'

The stranger merely stared at him, as if the answer was self-evident.

'Who are you?' Chatham asked.

'Tess explained that earlier. We're friends.'

'I'll believe that when I see her. How soon will it be until we get to where she is?'

The man in front looked amused. 'Sooner than you think.'

Chatham frowned, not understanding.

At once, surprised, he did understand when he heard a familiar voice.

'I'm right behind you, Eric.'

Chatham spun, his surprise increasing.

Tess, who'd been crouched out of sight in the rear compartment, rose to sit on a wooden crate. A burly, rugged-faced man in a dark blue sportshirt, its cuffs folded up, appeared beside her.

Tess grinned, although to Chatham the expression seemed forced, and that made him nervous.

'It's been a long time. Good to see you, Eric.'

Chatham scowled, ignoring the pleasantry. 'But I thought… on the Phone, you said that these men would take me to where you were hiding.'

'I'm sorry I had to mislead you. In case your phone was tapped and you were under surveillance at the memorial. The way we arranged your pickup, we don't think this van can be followed. But if it is, the enemy will think it's leading them to me. They won't suspect I'm inside. They won't attack it.'

'Attack it? And you thought my phone might be tapped?' Chatham shook his head, baffled. 'My phone's checked every morning. Who could possibly tap it, or for that matter, who'd dare to take the risk of attacking this van while I was in it?'

'The heretics.'

Again, that disturbing word.

'They didn't hesitate to kill Brian Hamilton,' Tess said.

Chatham was too shocked to answer.

'He was important. So why would they hesitate to kill the director of the FBI? To get at me,' Tess said, 'to achieve their goal, to stop me from revealing their secret, they'll do anything.'

'What are you talking about? Secrets? Heretics?'

Tess handed him several photographs and a penlight.

More baffled, Chatham used the light to examine the photographs, all the while conscious that the neutral-faced men watched him intensely.

One of the images made Chatham grimace. 'A man on a bull, slicing its throat?'

'A sculpture.'

'Where did-?'

'You've never seen anything like it before?' Tess asked.

'No! Of course, not! My God, I'd certainly remember something this grotesque.'

The neutral-faced men kept staring at him.

'Tess, I showed good faith. I came alone. I did everything you asked. Now, for heaven's sake, tell me what this is all about.'

The man in front interrupted. 'How did you know that Tess and Lieutenant Craig were supposed to contact the Alexandria police?'

'I didn't,' Chatham said.

'That doesn't make sense,' Chatham heard behind him.

Chatham whirled reflexively to face the rugged-looking man next to Tess.

'You phoned Chief Farley,' the man said. 'Why?'

Chatham felt disoriented, having glanced forward, then back, from the neutral-faced man in front to the rugged-faced man in the rear. 'Are you Lieutenant Craig?'

'Answer my question.' The burly man's voice was gravelly. 'If you didn't know that Tess and I were supposed to contact Chief Farley, why did you phone him?'

'Because I promised I would.'

Tess leaned suddenly near, her strong fingers clutching Chatham 's arm. 'Promised who?'

'Kenneth Madden.'

'Madden?'The man in front spoke abruptly. 'From the CIA?'

Chatham spun in the forward direction, his mind reeling, even more disoriented. 'Yes, the Deputy Director of Covert Operations.'

'What's he got to do with-? Why would Madden ask you to phone the Alexandria police?'

'Because the CIA doesn't have domestic jurisdiction. It was easier and it raised less questions if the Bureau got in touch with the local police.'

'Why?' the rugged man next to Tess demanded.