Paulie watched her sit down with the kid and get back to their game. He had a sudden nightmare vision of Poppy doing something crazy after this was over, like finding out where the kid lives and driving by to get a look at her—“just to see how she’s doing… make sure she’s all right…” Paulie shuddered at the thought. That was death-wish behavior.

And on the subject of death wishes, what if Mac walked in now? What if he popped through the door and saw his “package” unwrapped and playing a board game in the living room? He’d hit the ceiling.

And if he ever found out the kid still had ten toes? Forget about it.

Paulie had stood his ground yesterday, but he wondered how he’d do if Mac went berserk. Which was just what he’d do if he knew the chances they’d took to get some other kid’s toe to use as the persuader.

If he ever does find out, Paulie thought uneasily, let’s just hope it’s long after this gig is over and done with.

5

Snake glanced around the lobby of the Sheraton.

No one around with a line of sight to his laptop. He reread Vanduyne’s latest e-mail.

It’s done. Two capsules of chloramphenicol (250mg each) administered at 10 this morning. I’ve done my part. When do I get Katie back?

Administered, ay? How professional sounding.

And: When do I get Katie back? Never, dude.

But he couldn’t tell Vanduyne that. Mac checked around again, still nobody near, so he pulled up his prewritten reply and made a few changes, but all in all, he’d been pretty much on the mark as to what he’d have to say.

We’ve been over this before, but I guess you weren’t listening. So here it is again. How soon you get your kid back depends on how sick your buddy gets. The sicker, the better. If he’s back on his feet in a couple of days, you’ll have to do something else. In no case will your kid be released in less than two weeks.

Let me lay this out for you so there’s no misunderstanding: We want this guy out of office. If we can’t get that, we want him sick for a long time. If that doesn’t work out, at the very least we want him to miss the drug summit.

Simply put, if your pal makes it to the drug summit, you’ll never see the rest of your kid again.

Snake smiled. He especially liked the part that went, the rest of your kid. That was driving the nail home.

He uploaded it through the Eric Garter account to the remailer, then logged off. He unplugged and dialed up Salinas.

“Hello.” Gold’s voice.

Snake didn’t feel like speaking to Salinas, so why not let Gold play messenger boy.

“Tell your boss the deed is done as of ten this morning. Now we wait.” He hung up and smiled.

That felt good. He wanted to keep reminding Salinas that he wasn’t in complete control. Snake was not a hireling at his beck and call. Snake was an independent contractor.

He felt the slim rectangle of the audio cassette in his jacket pocket that he’d made a point of keeping on him at all times. That little baby was what was going to help him remain independent—and on the right side of the grass.

He walked out to the front of the hotel and watched the midday traffic on Connecticut Avenue. Light for a sunny Saturday. All the good suburbanites were probably home tending their gardens and fertilizing their lawns.

So what do I do with the rest of the day? he wondered.

Maybe take a cruise over to Falls Church, ostensibly to check on the package, but mainly to lean on Paulie a little. Because Paulie was a hireling… and he’d begun acting like an independent contractor. Snake was still pissed about yesterday. The goddamn nerve—telling him there’d be no more persuaders from this package. Who the hell did he think he was?

Well… Snake had his pistol locked away in the Jeep. This might be a good time to wave it under Paulie’s nose. No shooting, no overt threats, just let them see it stuck in his belt, let them know it was there, loaded and ready.

Time to reestablish the pecking order.

Not that it would have any practical value in the long run—seeing as how Paulie and his babe didn’t have a long run—but simply as a matter of principle.

6

Mamie sat in her rented car and watched John’s house through the windshield. Yes, she was stiff and uncomfortable from the long vigil, but it would all be worth it to see her Katie again.

Where is my daughter, John?

She was puzzled. She’d watched the house all yesterday afternoon and hadn’t seen Katie come home from school. John must have sneaked her inside somehow.

And no doubt Katie had been a willing participant in that sneaking. Always plotting, those two, always keeping secrets and not letting her in on them.

You don’t deserve her, John. I have more right to her than you. You didn’t carry her inside you through nine months of sickness and bulging discomfort. You didn’t go through hours of screaming agony to deliver her into this world. You weren’t left with extra pounds and ugly red stretch marks. You didn’t have to stay home with her day after day and listen to her incessant crying.

She’s mine. I earned her. You’ve no right to keep her from me. And if it weren’t for your crackpot “medical expert” cronies and that pet judge, Katie would be with me. Where she should be.

You aren’t good for her, John. Always too easy on her. You can destroy a child with leniency. She needs me, John—now more than ever. I know you’ve probably turned Katie completely against me, but I can change that. All I need is—

She ducked as she saw John’s car coming down the street. This was his second trip out today. Where had he gone? To see Katie? To bring her home?

Cautiously she raised her head and watched him pull into the driveway.

7

John spotted the car as he was heading into the house. A brand new white Taurus. He thought he’d seen it parked near the corner when he left to bring Katie’s toe down to Bob Decker at the White House—a surreal trip, riding through downtown D.C. traffic with his daughter’s little toe packed in ice in the six-pack cooler next to him on the front seat. But he was almost beyond reacting at this point.

Now he thought he saw the same white Taurus parked across the street. And at least one person in it. Maybe two. FBI? Secret Service? Or one of the kidnappers?

Better not to know.

Nana was waiting for him when he stepped inside. She stood in the hall in a tartan robe—Dad’s old robe— looking older and more disheveled than he’d ever seen her, with her fingertips pulling at her throat… pulling at her throat…

“Has there been any word?” she said.

John had debated whether or not to let her in on the fact that federal agencies were getting involved. He’d finally decided that she’d only worry more about the kidnappers’ threats against Katie if the feds were brought in. So, for the time being, he’d stick to the ransom story.

“None yet, but I think I can have the money together by late this afternoon.”

“Oh, thank God! And then Katie will be coming home?”

“Soon after I deliver it. Or so I hope. I’ve been following their instructions to the letter, but they haven’t told me yet what to do with the money once I get it.”

“So much money,” she said, her fingers digging deeper. “How will you ever pay it back?”

He shrugged and said what he would have said if the kidnappers really had wanted only money. “I’m not going to worry about that right now. I’ll have plenty of time to figure that out after we get Katie back.”

“Yes, yes,” she said. “Getting Katie back. That is what we must worry about.”

“Why don’t you try some of your yoga,” he said. “Maybe it will relax you.”

She shook her head. “No… no yoga. I can’t do yoga with Katie gone.” As she turned and shuffled toward the kitchen, John stepped into the living room and sneaked a peek through one of the front windows.