“Company, everybody!” Lester shouted. “Companeeee!” And then they started coming out. The men in dirty shirts and jeans or work pants, the women in stained housedresses, hardly any shoes on anyone, and the bare feet as tough as shoe leather and just as brown. Some folks with no hair and misshapen skulls, some heads too big, some way too small, some with pure white skin and hair and pink eyes, some looking pretty normal at first glance, but a second look telling you that not all the circuits were making contact inside. And the kids… some of them were running in endless circles while others sat and rocked… and rocked… and others just stared.

Poppy felt Katie’s arms tighten around her neck in a fearful strangle-hold.

“I want to go h-home,” she whimpered. “I want my Daddy.” And deep in her breaking heart Poppy knew that had to be. Katie couldn’t stay here—couldn’t stay anywhere with Poppy. Maybe it had been all the fear and stress and near panic, maybe it had been the heat, but for a crazy time yesterday she’d really thought she could keep Katie. Now she knew that was impossible. Too many people were looking for them. She wanted what was best for Katie, and a life on the run wasn’t it.

“I know you do, honey bunch. And I’ll see that you get back to him. As soon as it’s safe.” They’d stay here today—just today, but not overnight. No way overnight. Maybe Uncle Luke could go back to Sooy’s Boot and find the feds… make sure they were real feds, and help her like cut a deal.

Yeah. That could work. She’d saved Katie’s life—two, maybe three times—and took good care of her. Why couldn’t she get a suspended sentence and like some sort of protective custody in return?

Hell, even a short jolt in a federal joint would be better than moving in with the Appletons.

2

Dan Keane had barely seated himself behind his desk when Decker called.

Please let this be good news, he thought, knowing that good news for him would be quite different than for Decker.

Dan so desperately wanted this nightmare over. Another call had come from Salinas last night, telling him about a tape that Poppy Mulliner had, a tape that would topple the entire house of cards. And then he was demanding phone numbers and call frequencies, and when Dan asked why, he was told not to worry about it, just do as he was told.

“Just do as you’re told…” Carlos Salinas speaking that way to him! Giving Dan Keane orders. Just two days ago that would have been unthinkable!

“We found Poppy Mulliner,” Decker said.

“Alive?” Dan’s heart and lungs suspended operations while he waited for an answer.

Please say dead.

“Very much alive.”

He almost sobbed as his heart and lungs kicked back into action in triple time. Oh God oh shit oh Christ!

“Is she talking?”

“I said we found her—we don’t have her.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She’s in a motel in a town called Tuckerton—the Adamston Motel. She’s got the little girl with her. We could pick her up now, but since they both seem pretty safe and healthy, we decided to wait and see what she does. We’ve got her phone tapped. Maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll call one of her accomplices. We’ll give her the day. If nothing shakes out by tonight—or it looks like she’s moving out—we’ll pick her up.”

Dan’s mind screamed: It’s over! They’ve got the woman, they’ll get the tape. What do I do now?

“Dan?” Dan cleared his throat and managed to keep his voice calm.

“Great work. Has she called anyone yet?”

“Nope. But it’s still early.”

“That it is. Keep me informed, will you?”

“Want to come up here and be on the scene?”

“I’d love to. Bob.” That was the last place he wanted to be right now. “But you guys are doing such a great job, I’d feel redundant. I’ll hold the fort here. By the way, any word on how the patient’s doing?” Dan had tried every avenue he knew to ferret out details on Winston’s condition, but it was as if a wall had been erected around the presidential suite at Bethesda, and only one message filtered through: “The President’s fine. Nothing but routine tests that should be finished soon.” Which told him nothing. Winston could be sick as a dog right now and the message would be the same.

“All I hear is that he’s doing fine. How about you?”

“Same thing. I hope that’s true.”

“We’re all praying for him,” Decker said.

Not all of us, Dan thought as he hung up. He dropped his head into his trembling hands and squeezed his eyes shut.

Only a matter of six or eight hours—maybe less—before Decker got that tape. He wanted to run, but where? He had no place to go. He had to stick this out.

He took a deep breath. All right. Six or eight hours. Maybe that was time enough for Salinas to do something. His fat ass was on the line too. What was the name of that motel… ?

Pulling on his jacket, he hurried down to ground level and out onto Sixth Street. He’d already called Salinas once today—to give him those phone numbers and frequencies he’d demanded. Now he was calling again, but this time he wouldn’t be Salinas’s fucking errand boy.

He chose a different phone from last time—this one on Maryland Avenue—and scanned the area to make sure no one was too close. All clear. Only a guy with a soft-pretzel cart heading for the Mall.

He dropped the quarter, spoke to someone, then hung up. As he waited for the return call, Dan glanced at the sky. Another hot one. The pretzel guy was still down the block, fiddling with his cart. Looked like one of the wheels had jammed. On a day like today he’d set up shop near the Smithsonian and make out like a bandit—and probably declare only a small portion of it.

The phone rang.

“Yes?” said Salinas’s voice.

Dan jumped to the heart of his message. He didn’t want to spend a second more than necessary on the line with this toad.

“The woman’s been located—the Adamston Motel in Tuckerton, New Jersey. They’re watching her to see who she contacts. If you can do something, better do it now. Your fate is in your own hands.” And then he hung up.

There. Done. My fate is in your hands as well, Salinas. Do something, dammit!

And then he stopped. Listen to me. I want Salinas to kill someone. And if he succeeds, he’ll probably kill that little girl too. For what? To save my worthless ass. But I did start off with the right intentions. I got involved for a good reason, a just cause. I did it for the country, dammit. That should count for something. Maybe it did. Somewhere. But it did nothing for the cold, sick weight sitting in his chest.

As Dan walked away, the pretzel man started kicking at his jammed wheel. What a life when the worst thing you had to deal with was a jammed wheel. For a moment, Dan wished they could trade places. I’ll push the cart and let him swim this river of shit I’ve got myself into.