"I can do that. And you want it quiet, right?"

"Yeah, no one can know."

"No problem."

Ike said, "Is it dangerous?"

"I don't know what's coming in exactly, but, yeah, of course it's dangerous. Financing a revolution is always risky. But it'll be worth it when we're written about in textbooks one day."

"President Jessup didn't give you the details?"

"Just to help. He said there was money and benefit to the Cause in it."

Ike considered this and how it might sound to a cop. "You sure your phone is safe?"

"This is a pay phone, and you're at a pay phone. I'd say it's safe."

"So you can help?"

"To save my country? You bet your sweet ass I can."

For the first time, William "Ike" Floyd thought this might work. He had thought that about other plans to spark a revolution and once he'd even been right. Too bad he hadn't been able to take any credit. Maybe he was better off. He'd either be dead or in jail if he hadn't had that special arrangement with the government. And this time they had much bigger goals than a truck bomb. As he slowly walked back to his apartment, a shiver ran down his back. He had never thought of textbooks before. He hoped they used his real name.

This was gonna be big.

Duarte knocked on the door to the town house north of the airport near West Palm. He felt a little like a fool, standing there at eight o'clock at night with some flowers he had just bought at Publix, but he felt as if he needed to apologize to Alice…even though he wasn't sure what he had to apologize for.

He stood, staring at the front door, until finally he heard a voice inside. "Who is it?"

"Alex?"

The door opened quickly. Alice, in a sweatshirt and shorts, immediately smiled. "You're not a jerk, are you?"

"Is that a referential question?" He smiled at his own joke as she ushered him inside.

9

THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED TAUGHT DUARTE THE MEANING OF government bureaucracy. If it weren't for Lina Cirillo cutting through all the red tape, they might not ever have been able to pursue the case. The most amazing incident occurred when Duarte and Félix went back to the assistant U.S. attorney who had denied their request in the first place. As they walked into his office, he looked over his half-glasses and reached to his desk.

"Here, and I'm sorry if you misunderstood me." He handed them a single court order.

Duarte looked at it, then up at the attorney.

"All charges dropped?"

"For freedom of travel. We can indict him if it doesn't work out. But for now he's a free man."

"I thought you weren't going to budge."

"I didn't know the kind of people that were interested in the case. Now I do."

Duarte started to ask more questions when Félix pulled at his arm. "Let it go."

Duarte and Lina left for New Orleans a few hours after Félix and Gastlin boarded their flight for Panama. Since Gastlin was at least temporarily off the hook on the charges, the DEA didn't need to send a pack of agents to guard him. Like any frugal federal agency, they were content to have Félix and the agents in Panama handle it.

Duarte settled into his seat, with Lina in the seat next to him. Her short hair seemed to know just how to fall behind her ears, and she instantly relaxed. Closing her eyes, she turned her face toward Duarte.

She had a peaceful look, and Duarte found he could study her face for a moment without feeling self-conscious. He realized how pretty she was, even with the nose that had been knocked one way then the other. Her dark Italian features gave her face sharp lines accentuated by her high level of fitness. She looked like a lean, satisfied lioness.

She opened her eyes suddenly, almost startling him. As she smiled, she patted him on his hand and said, "Maybe now that I have you cornered, you'll have to talk to me."

"I've talked to you."

"You shrug and use the occasional word, but you haven't really spoken with me."

Duarte felt vaguely like he'd been trapped in an interrogation. Although he couldn't picture a nicer-smelling interrogator.

"Is this your career case, like Félix says it is for him?" she asked.

"I hope to have a long career."

"You know how the DEA guys talk. They want the big score. Then they can either move up the ladder or coast on it for years."

"I don't see many DEA agents coasting."

She let out a little laugh and said, "Yeah, the agency doesn't seem to have a long memory. I hear a lot of guys say it's 'what have you done today.'"

"They're a tough bunch. I like working with them."

"You don't like the FBI?"

He looked at her and was about to shrug, then said, "I like FBI agents. I'm not sure about the agency. An FBI agent saved my life once."

"You mean Tom Colgan?"

Duarte shifted in his seat so he could look at her face-to-face. "How'd you know that?"

"When one of our agents is killed in the line of duty, we all know about it. You didn't have anything to do with his death." She paused. "I thought you caught the killer."

"He wasn't technically captured." His dark eyes focused on her. "But he was brought to justice."

"Whatever. I'm just saying you have a good reputation. I hope to rehabilitate the bureau in your eyes."

"Why? Who cares what an ATF street agent thinks?"

"I do."

He shrugged and sat back for the takeoff.

Once the flight was on its way and the instructions were finished, Duarte thought of an important question he had wanted to ask, although he thought Félix might know the answer since he seemed to be closer to Lina. He turned his head and said, "How'd you know about our case?"

She hesitated, then said, "I'm not supposed to talk about it, but we have a source."

"A source connected to Ortíz?"

"Can't say, but this source is pretty hot. We call it Pale Girl."

"A hot Pale Girl? Sounds like something you guys would use."

"Pale Girl is just the name of the source. Doesn't mean it's male or female."

Duarte shrugged. This was why he didn't talk to people a lot. They said stupid things.

Lina said, "You should be happy I'm here. If it weren't for me, you and Félix would still be twiddling your thumbs waiting for permission to enter Panama. And you can't tell me the U.S. attorney's office would allow you to take your snitch."

"What'd the bureau say to make the attorney change his mind?"

"It came from higher up. An HBO called."

"HBO?"

"High bureau official."

"I always thought when the FBI said HBO, it meant he'd be 'home by one.'"

"Very funny. I didn't think you made jokes."

"Only about the FBI. But I'd still like to know what you said to the U.S. attorney's office."

"Believe me, when national security is at stake, they don't fool around anymore."

"How is Ortíz a threat to national security?"

"How was Mohammed Atta until after 9/11? We're a lot more proactive now."

Duarte looked at the young woman. He didn't guess she was older than him. Maybe thirty or thirty-one. "How'd you qualify for a counterterrorism slot?"

"You don't qualify in the bureau. You apply, then get trained. I was assigned to Newark out of the academy."

Duarte made a sour face.

"Newark's not a bad assignment. You can't live there, you have to live in an outer suburb, but it's not as expensive as New York, and there's a lot of shit that goes on." She waited for him to comment, then realized to whom she was speaking. "Anyway, I was dating an editor with the Newark Star-Ledger. Nice guy, but he lived over in Ocean Grove, and we just didn't see each other very often. After we split up, with the bureau shifting resources because of 9/11, I took a transfer to D.C. and never looked back."