“Boys?” Katie didn’t seem to be too sure about how much fun that would be. “How do we do that?”

“It’s easy. We change our hair and change our clothes and we act dumb. You know…” Poppy made a face. “Duh.”

Katie laughed. “Duh! That’s easy.”

“But we gotta look like boys.”

A wider grin. “You mean dress in boy clothes?”

“Right! And cutting our hair.”

The smile vanished as Katie’s hands darted to her hair. “Cut my hair? Oh, I don’t—”

“Yeah, we’ll cut it, color it, comb it different. This’ll be the most fun we’ve ever had!”

But Katie still wasn’t buying.

She has to buy it. Poppy thought. I’ve changed the color of the truck, and I’m going to change license plates and change motels, but if we’re both going to get through this in one piece, I’ve got to change us.

She’d stopped at a Giant Foods on the way back from Denny’s and picked up all the necessary materials. Now she had to sell Katie.

“Look,” she said, grabbing a pair of scissors. “I’ll go first.” She grabbed a fistful of her own hair and began cutting.

3

Dan Keane sat stiffly in his chair in the cramped back office of W-16 and listened with growing horror as Gerry Canney updated the task force on the latest developments from the FBI Crime Lab.

“And here’s the latest finding: two different types of blood on the carpet in the Falls Church house. Both fresh. One belongs to the dead man, Dicastro. The other is unidentified, but it is definitely not Katie Vanduyne’s.”

Everything’s unraveling, he thought. He wanted to flee the room.

Decker took over. “Okay. Now, in the U.K. Jim says he’s found the guy who runs the anonymous remailer Snake’s been using.” Jim Lewis cleared his throat. “His name’s Steve Fletcher but he refuses to tell us where he hides his computer. The easiest solution would be to follow him to it and steal it. Then we run through his hard drive to find Snake’s e-mail address. Snake’s got to have an account with an online service or a private server to get on the Internet, and we track him through that. But stealing the CPU would shut down the remailer service and cut off communication from Snake. So we’re working with British Intelligence to pressure Fletcher into giving up the information. If it looks like there’s going to be too much red tape, we have other options.”

“Like what?” Decker said.

“I’ll get into that when and if.”

Dan steadied himself. If they can trace this Snake to Salinas, we’re screwed.

Decker nodded. “Fair enough.” He turned to Dan. “And finally, what’s DEA got?” Dan licked his dry lips. Truth was, he’d gone through some motions but hadn’t done much of anything. But he couldn’t tell Decker that.

“We’ve got all our ears open. I wasn’t specific about kidnapping or assassination plots, but I put the word through to check all our informants and inside people about any rumors as to how the traffickers and the cartel are reacting to the threat of decriminalization.”

“And?”

“And nothing yet.” Which was true. It was too early to hear much of substance, but the little that was filtering back was negative.

Salinas had done a good job of keeping his operation under wraps, but it looked as if he’d hired a bunch of rank amateurs to pull it off.

“All right,” Decker said. “That’s where we stand. We’ve got lots of leads, lots of new information, but also the damnedest set of new questions. If the toe Vanduyne received isn’t his daughter’s, then whose is it? Or rather, whose was it? Why send someone else’s toe?

We know Katie was in the Falls Church house at one time, but where is she now? And why was she moved? Why was a small-time thug named Paul Dicastro murdered in that house? Was he part of the action from the outset or someone trying to horn in? Who does the other bloodstain on the carpet belong to? Another of the kidnappers or an outsider? And where is this wounded person? Is this a small-time or big-time operation? Did the kidnappers have a falling out? Is the conspiracy busted? Who was the woman that called Vanduyne and offered to return his daughter—for no ransom—and then never showed. What the hell is going on?“

“Damn straight,” Canney said. “This one’s got to be the most bizarre goddamn kidnapping I’ve ever seen or heard of. One moment it appears to be a highly sophisticated operation; the next—strictly amateur hour.”

You’ve got that right, Dan thought. But Carlos Salinas is a pro. Some of the people he hired may have fucked up, but even as we sit here, he’s tying up all those loose ends.

Dan forced himself to relax.

Everything will be all right. Salinas will have everything under control soon, if not already. He won’t leave a trace.

4

“Where is he?” Carlos pounded the desk with both fists.

“He could be anywhere,” Gold said. “We have his house staked out, so we know he’s not there. We just have to wait until he calls in.” The MBA looked fidgety, and Carlos was glad of it. Let him be frightened of me. Let him fear not only for his future income, but for his physical well being. His life.

Because Carlos was afraid for all those things himself.

MacLaglen might be alive, but he might be hurt and hiding somewhere, or even dying. Carlos was not concerned about the cabron’s health so much as the fact that his very disappearance might trigger the release of that damned tape.

“I want him found!” He turned to Llosa. “Get some men together. We have a picture of MacLaglen; have copies made. We know he likes to call from hotels. Make the rounds. Go from hotel to hotel and look for him.” It was a long shot, but he couldn’t simply sit here and wait for something to happen.

Llosa nodded and pulled out a pistol. “And when I find him, should I… ”

“Madre, no!” He didn’t want Gold or Llosa or anyone to know about the tape. “Bring him here, to me. He has much explaining to do, and a dead man cannot explain.”

5

Poppy checked out her hair in the bathroom mirror.

“It’ll grow back,” she told herself for the hundredth time since she’d started hacking it off.

Her China doll bob was gone. So was the Deadly Nightshade rinse. Instead she now sported jet-black hair, close on the sides, spiked on top. Kind of retro and like eighties-ish, and normally she wouldn’t be caught dead looking like this, but the whole idea of the makeover was staying alive.

She checked out the rest of her get-up: baggy jeans, oversized denim shirt, sneakers. She’d removed her ear rings, eyebrow ring, and nostril stud. No makeup, no nail polish, and still no way she’d pass for a guy.

But Mac would have to be looking pretty damn close to recognize the Poppy Mulliner he’d known.

Katie, however, was like a totally different story. Poppy stepped back into the sleeping area and admired her handiwork.

Katie sat on the bed, remote in hand, channel surfing. She’d been a little difficult during her makeover, but seemed to have forgotten it now. But it had been worth all the trouble. Katie really looked like a little boy.

A red-haired little boy. Poppy had tried to make her a blonde, but the bleaching solution had turned her dark hair red instead. Which was okay, she guessed. Blond would have been cooler, but with the short bowl cut Poppy had given her, her Jets T-shirt, and jeans and sneakers to match Poppy’s, she looked ready for peewee football practice.

I hope this works, she thought. Just long enough for you to get to safety and me to disappear.

She put on a smile and clapped her hands. “Hey, bro. Let’s go. How’s a call to your daddy sound?” Katie dropped the remote and ran to the phone.

“Can I dial?”

“You sure can. But let’s find another phone, okay?”