Pelly still had his pistol in his lap, but this seemed like a better solution. He increased the gas, not roaring down the alley but moving fast enough to accomplish his goal. He figured the building walls would help when he struck the targets head-on.

As he closed the distance, the female FBI agent swept her hair out of her face and turned toward him.

It was Lina from the bar.

They were so close he didn't know what to do.

Lina didn't mind walking so close to Alex Duarte. He was the only one out of the three men who hadn't hit on her. In fact, he always appeared to be a gentleman. She could feel his hard bicep that, unlike many men, he never bothered to show off.

The rain had let up, and the building blocked some of it. She didn't mind except for what it was doing to her hair.

She was about to say something to Duarte as she used her hand to push her drooping hair back. Just as she saw a blue car bearing down on them, she felt him start to shove her. She used her weight to pull him with her.

At the last possible second, the vehicle swerved in the narrow alley, clipping the other wall. That combination of their movement and the car turning slightly saved them from certain disaster.

She ended up pinned by Duarte against the brick wall of a building, her body splayed tight to give him room. His eyes tracked the car as it turned the corner with a slight squeal of its tires.

Duarte said, "Wow, that was close."

"Thanks for pushing me."

"Thanks for pulling me. You all right?" He eased back into the alley.

"I'm fine. I felt the tire brush the bottom of my sandal."

"Yeah, I felt it touch my foot."

Lina smiled, noticing Staub rushing back to them. "Are you unharmed, my friends?"

Duarte nodded. "He drives like he's from Miami."

The colonel looked down the alley where the car had disappeared onto the street. "No, a Miami driver would've hit you."

Lina touched Duarte's arm, leaned in and said, "We should work together more often." She liked his smile.

But saw that Duarte was thinking about the car.

Colonel Lázaro Staub kept his voice calm but knew that Pelly understood his tone.

"Why didn't you shoot them?"

"I thought the car would be easier to explain. I made a split-second decision."

"Then how could you miss them?"

Pelly hesitated, then said, "It was wet. They were quick. I was afraid I had misjudged where you were."

If he didn't depend on the hairy young man so much, he might have pulled out his little Beretta and shot him in the head. But they were also in public. A nice, crowded tourist place called Café du Monde in Jackson Square. He had sipped the coffee and eaten the tiny pieces of fried dough with sugar sprinkled on them as he waited for his assistant. They had done nothing to calm him down. And after the encounter in the alley and the fact that she was soaked, Lina and Duarte had not eaten breakfast with him. Instead they had returned to the hotel.

Now he had to focus. There were problems to solve. Staub wondered if he could leave New Orleans without taking care of Lina Cirillo. Would his ego allow it?

He looked over at the calm Pelly. His face was clear of hair for a change. There appeared to be something about his manner as well.

"Are you still with me on this, Pelly?"

"With respect, jefe, I disagree with your plan, because it will disrupt business, but I still work for you."

It wasn't the same as being with him, but it would do. "Our challenge will be to get that idiot William Floyd to complete his tasks."

Pelly just stared at him.

Staub said, "We will leave for Houston this evening."

Pelly said, "What about the ATF agent?"

"He can't stop us, but I hope he doesn't piece it together after the fact." He didn't mention that he intended to deal with Lina Cirillo before they left.

Alex Duarte had taken the few hours of quiet time to walk New Orleans and figure out what he and Félix were going to do next. He didn't know if that near-miss in the alley had been intentional or not. He still didn't know who to tell about Jessup. There was nothing in the papers yet. He knew that in time the killer would expose himself. But did he have time to wait? Had he blown his chance at Jessup's house?

He felt a sour, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he thought about the possibilities and silently cursed himself for being so rigid and predictable. These killings were not related to a load of pot. His questions should not have been about a dead informant. There was something much bigger in the works.

He jumped slightly at the sound of his phone.

He flipped it open. "Duarte"

"Alex, it's Alice."

Before she could say anything, he said, "Send that particle reading as soon as you can."

42

IKE RELAXED SLIGHTLY IN A PLACE CALLED ELLIE'S INTERNET Café, about two miles from the hotel where he had left the three Charlies. He needed to check messages from Mr. Ortíz, but he really wanted to be away from those three morons for an hour or so. He had taken anything of value from the room and had the truck with him, so he didn't think they could cause much damage. Frankly, he was hoping they might steal his pair of jeans and shirts and just leave. That would solve all his problems. He'd just forget he'd ever met them.

Inside the café he ordered a straight coffee and the pastry that most closely resembled something he had eaten before. In this case it looked like a jelly-filled croissant but had the texture of a biscuit and cost six bucks.

The most important thing was, he had his own computer. It was an older Compaq with a grainy fifteen-inch CRT screen, one of those fat, clunky-looking, old models that he didn't think were even made any more. The connection was not that fast either. First, he surfed around the Internet a little, killing time and staying away from his hotel. He checked the local newspaper from Omaha and read all the police-blotter reports. No one he knew had caused any problems since he had left his hometown.

He also browsed the Chicago Sun-Times. This was a habit to see if there was ever any mention of his mother or the thing that she had married. He checked the obituaries in the hopes that one day he might read that his mother had finally bought the farm. Apparently, cigarettes and Johnnie Walker Black weren't as bad for you as everyone claimed. No sign of her permanent change of address. He checked under the name that she'd used when she raised him, if that's what you could call it, and under the name she'd taken when she moved off to Chicago with the musician. He occasionally heard that they still lived together. He even wondered if, by some quirk, he had any dark-skinned half brothers or sisters.

He also ran his name in Google and found several mentions, usually in an old newspaper column that quoted him about some rally or event he was involved in as part of the National Army of White Americans. He kept checking and found the one old article from 1995 that mentioned his arrest but left out the fact that it was for Internet child pornography. Now he told people the arrest was for kicking a cop's ass. But that was as big a lie as the rest of his life. His arrest and the subsequent deal with the devil he had made had altered his life more than he ever could have imagined. Maybe for the better, but certainly for the more anonymous. He had done something and known people for which he could never claim credit because of that arrest. No one really noticed it anymore, and it had been wiped from his record.