He finally navigated the old computer to Yahoo and signed in. He opened the unsent message in the "saved" section and read the simple note. "Will be in Houston late tonight. All is ready. Will contact in a.m. O."

Ike swallowed hard, knowing that the time was drawing near to go where his destiny led him. Was that an old song? He didn't know, but got a little nervous thinking about what they had in store.

He knew that it would lead to greater security for the U.S. and that the borders would finally be shut down. The guys he had met from the Minutemen and American border guards wouldn't approve of his methods, but they sure as shit would be happy with the results. They were the ones who had given him the idea of something like this. Thinking about how irate people were becoming about immigration made it easy to say he'd help Mr. Ortíz when President Jessup called.

Ike knew that he'd be a legend among his people and that eventually everyone would know who he was and what he had done. But now he had the very real dilemma of what it would do to him in the immediate future. Sure, Eric Rudolph avoided the FBI for five years, but he'd lived like a hobo. Ike liked his comforts and knew there would be a hell of a lot more people looking for him.

He stared at the screen, thinking about the two paths his future could take.

Colonel Lázaro Staub paused outside Lina Cirillo's hotel door, fantasizing about what he could do to her if they were only back in Panama. He would be under no time limits or have to worry so much about being secret. He had in his room a cargo bag and pack of garbage bags he had purchased in the small shopping plaza a few blocks from the hotel. The bag had plenty of room for a skinny woman like Lina.

The afternoon sun had burned away all the remnants of the earlier storm, and it was really quite warm on his walk back. He was relieved when he made it through the lobby without anyone he knew seeing him.

After he had finished with her now, he'd be back to collect the evidence and then toss it into a convenient canal on their way to Houston. There would be questions but nothing he couldn't deal with from Panama.

He stuck his right hand in his pocket and felt the folded Benchmade knife he had also purchased. It was similar to his favorite back home. When opened, it was more than seven inches long and would terrify the normal person. That was his only question. Should he use it to terrify the FBI agent or was she too quick and strong to give any warning? He'd have to decide as events unfolded.

He knocked on the plain door with his left hand and waited only a short time for the door to open a crack, then all the way.

Lina stood in front of the open door. "What are you doin' here?"

"I wanted to apologize."

"What for?"

"My poor manners the other night."

She gave him a crooked smile. "That's fine."

"I also have some information you should know."

"What's that?"

"May I come in?" He felt his left eye twitch. His right hand tightened on the knife in his pocket.

She stepped aside and allowed him full access to the room.

As he stepped inside, he noted the bed was messy on only one side and her suitcase was on the second bed. This would be sweet. But maybe not too quick. He forced himself to look out the bay window as he heard her shut the door and it automatically locked. A smile crept across his face. And he felt his penis start to stiffen. This was exactly what he needed.

Alex Duarte leaned his head back against the headboard of his bed on the eleventh floor of the Marriott. It was the middle of the afternoon, but the way things were going and after his night in Biloxi, he needed a little rest. He could tell Félix was exhausted as well.

After the car had nearly struck him and Lina in the alley, they'd lost interest in breakfast and never did eat.

He was curious to find out if Alice had been able to get ICE to send the particle reading from the shipping notice. Was it connected to the case?

He thought about calling his pop, too. He was the one person who always seemed to get to the bottom of a problem. During Duarte's last big case, when he'd been looking in one direction, his father had made a simple adjustment to his vantage point. It had made all the difference. His father's counsel had always been important to him. He was surprised to see that as he got older and changed jobs from the U.S. Army to the U.S. government, he valued his father's opinion more and more. His father may have been an immigrant from Paraguay who had been a plumber for thirty years, but he had insight and knowledge that Duarte didn't think he'd ever acquire. He could reduce complex situations to simple analogies.

As Duarte thought about calling Alice or his father, his cell phone rang. He picked up the Nextel and flipped it open.

"Duarte."

It was a woman's voice he didn't recognize. "Agent Duarte, open your door."

The line went dead.

Duarte looked at the phone and then his bolted door. He popped up from the bed quickly and then leaned toward the small desk and grabbed his SIG-Sauer model P229. He didn't even slip it in the back of his bed-wrinkled khakis. With all that had gone on in this case, he held it in his right hand.

He stepped to the side of the door, weighing the advantages of opening it from one side or the other.

As his left hand reached for the bolt, his right tightened on the Glock. He raised the pistol as he crouched slightly.

His pulse increased, but he kept his head clear as he slowly unbolted the door, then let his hand settle on the handle.

As if it had a mind of its own, his thumb depressed the door latch, and he took a breath before he yanked it open.

43

LINA CIRILLO CRINGED FROM THE CIGARETTE BREATH OF LÁZARO Staub. She had strategically placed a small, round table between them as she sat in a corner of the room.

He had acted a little odd since entering, like he might be about to put the moves on her again. She knew some Latin guys just couldn't accept that a woman wasn't into them. Especially a man like Staub who had power and was not unattractive.

In a way she was flattered he thought she was interested in him and that he thought enough of her to respond. Because of her build and profession, she was often mistaken for a lesbian. Boy, was that an incorrect assessment. She was also a little sensitive about her nose and crooked smile. Both were the result of her repeated attempts to earn a black belt in karate, which she had but only after three broken noses and a jaw injury that made her look like she was out of alignment.

Staub said, "You know, the other night?"

"Yes."

He leaned closer, apparently hoping she would, too. His hands were not in front of him, so she didn't think he was going to try to molest her again.

She leaned in slightly and he said, "I am not used to women refusing my advances."

She smiled weakly. "You're in the big leagues now."

"How very American of you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He seemed to flex slightly, but was as startled as she was when there was a knock on the door.

Staub said, "Don't answer it."

"Why not?" She called to the door. "One second."

He seemed to sag back into his chair as she stood up and strode to the door quickly. It was getting a little weird in here.

She opened the door to a sheepish Félix Baez. "Can I come in?"

"Why?"

"So I can apologize for acting like a dick."

She looked him over, noticing the nice long-sleeved shirt and contrite demeanor.