I said nothing.

"So now we both feel guilty. We made a mistake. Let's not compound that with a bigger mistake."

"Meaning what?"

"Don't exaggerate what we know."

"I'm no longer sure we know anything."

"Well… focus on what we don't know. This does not prove the people who stole the munitions are involved in this. But I'll grant that Barnes-perhaps somebody working with Barnes-might have somehow gotten the munitions from them, either directly or indirectly."

"And what won't you grant?"

"I don't see how Jason Barnes knew these people, I don't see how he convinced them to Join him, and I don't understand why they would escalate from thievery and blackmarketing to murder."

Those were all good and pertinent questions and I had a reasonable answer for none of them. On the other hand, having written off Tanner's theory, we had not pursued the possible leads, which gave me an idea. I excused myself, stepped off to the side, and called Charles Wardell.

I identified myself and he said, "Jesus… you hear what happened to Townsend's wife?"

"I'm staring at the pieces-yeah, awful. Now, quick, I need to know if Barnes ever went near Fort Hood, or Killeen… yeah, Texas." I punched off and waited for Wardell to call somebody on another line and have them check their travel records. After a while he called back and he gave me the answer. I said, "Uh-huh… right-well, when?"

I put the phone back into my pocket and approached Jennie. I told her, "Barnes was at Fort Hood. Twice. He was on the security detail for a vice presidential trip… also he was there for three weeks as part of the backup when the President was vacationing at his ranch."

"When?"

"With the Veep, nearly two years ago. The last time was last summer."

"It doesn't fit. Two years ago, even last summer, he had no conception he wanted to do this."

"But he was there."

"I'm… Look, I'm not ruling it out. Not again."

"Then let's go with that a moment. Could he have learned about the weapons thefts at Hood?"

"Possibly. In fact, the Secret Service coordinates these visits with the local police. The advance team gets thorough briefings on local threats, nuts, and crime rings." She looked at me and said, "You're right."

"Could he have been briefed by CID?"

"I would expect he was briefed by CID. So he knew there was a ring and he may even have known the names of the suspects." She thought about it a moment then said, "I wish Tanner had been more convincing."

After a further moment of contemplation I said, "What else did we miss?"

She and I mulled that question together for a moment. When you make one big screwup, it's time to look back over your shoulder to see what else you may have left in your path. So we both sort of mentally ran backward for a moment, the theme of this review being that Jason Barnes was smarter than we assumed, and we were not as smart as we thought. Finally she said, "In retrospect, Jason would assume his disappearance would make him a prime suspect. Right?"

"Right. And he would probably presume we investigated his background, and eventually, that led us to his mother."

Jennie nodded. "He would assume we now have our arms around his motive, and from that we would compile a list of predictable targets. We underestimated him, Sean. Jason may be mentally scrambled, but he is a genius."

"So we believed we were getting a step on him, and he knew he was ten yards ahead of us."

"Well, I wouldn't… Yes." Then her jaw dropped and she suddenly pointed at a lone figure standing off to the side of the investigators. "Oh God… he shouldn't be here."

I followed her finger, and about thirty feet from us stood Mark Townsend wearing the same blue suit, the same ugly paisley tie, hands in his pockets, dumbstruck as he watched his people go about their tasks.

On instinct, we both walked over to him. His eyes were riveted on the burned, upright corpse in the Crown Vic, and he ignored us. We ended up about two feet from him, and we both stood, very awkwardly, neither of us sure what to say to this poor man silently surveying the wreckage of his car, his wife, and possibly his life. I could not remember feeling worse than I did at that moment. I was at a complete loss for words.

But somebody had to break the searing silence, and finally I said, "Our deepest condolences, sir."

Jennie said, "This was… I mean, this is… it's terrible."

He did not look at us, or even reply for a long time. He mumbled, "Joan was… she had no idea…" Then he sobbed and lost whatever words he had planned to say.

I put a hand on his arm. "Sir, this is not the right place for you. Please… allow me to escort you back to your car."

He still did not look at me. "I… I've.. "I followed his eyes, and we both watched an agent bent over something on the ground. He picked it up and studied it. I noted it was a woman's hand, detached cleanly at the wrist. We all three silently watched the agent, oblivious to his audience, drop it into a plastic Baggie.

I said, "Come with me." I pulled on Mark Townsend's arm and guided him toward the crowd of local gawkers and Bureau agents loitering outside the crime scene tape. They saw us and began parting, and we moved through the sea of stricken and mawkish faces. Two TV cameras located us, and I saw the reporters speaking rapidly into their mikes, following our progress, Director Townsend stumbling forward until his legs grew weak and I was holding him up. He was mumbling incoherently, a stream of incomprehensible words intermittently broken up by choked sobs. Mark Townsend was in a state of shock and falling deeper and deeper into that long, dark pit.

I saw a dark blue sedan, and at nearly the same instant Jennie noticed it and signaled the two bodyguards who loitered beside it to join us. I guided Townsend as quickly as I could to his car. The bodyguards approached, and one immediately grabbed the Director's other arm. Jennie asked him, very sharply, "What were you thinking? Why did you let him come here?"

The man answered, "He… I mean, we knew… he ordered us to bring him. We-"

"You're idiots. You should never…" She drew a few breaths and got herself under control. "Take him home. Use your radio. Find out which college his daughter's at, and have the Bureau dispatch a plane to retrieve her. Also, locate the Townsend family priest. Have somebody rush him to Director Townsend's house. Don't let him into the house, and don't leave him alone till the pastor arrives. Do you understand me?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Repeat it back to me." And he did, almost word for word.

Regardless, it was too late, the damage was done. No amount of postmortem deftness was going to ameliorate it. Mark Townsend had witnessed what no man or woman should ever see.

I maneuvered him into the backseat of his sedan, and I bent over and belted him in, a silly gesture, but I felt genuine concern for this man. The crowd and the TV cameras gathered and watched the Director of the vaunted and recently feared FBI being driven away, a man so thoroughly crushed and defeated he could only stare numbly at his shoes.

I tried to think of a manner in which Jason Barnes could have choreographed this to more theatrical effect. I couldn't. I just couldn't.

In the porn industry, when the moment of ejaculation is caught on film it's called the money shot. Jason had just achieved a million-dollar money shot, and it was hard to see how he could possibly outdo this one.

But perhaps I was underestimating him again. I reminded myself to stop doing that.