As Rita Sanchez had said, I knew it to be true that most bad guys aren't particularly clever. In fact, most are annoyingly stupid. I had spent part of my career defending them, and I was frequently astounded, often appalled, and occasionally overwhelmed by the monumentally idiotic things they did. The plea bargain was contrived on the very premise that most criminals are just too mortally ignorant to even waste a trial over.

Regardless of what had shaped or perverted Jason Barnes's character, he was different. As far as we knew, he came to the arts of larceny and murder a stone-cold virgin. Yet he had come so far, so fast. His were crimes of passion, yet exhibited none of the telltale rashness, disorder, or carelessness that nearly always define that criminal breed. He had made none of the usual beginner's mistakes, or even a mistake one might expect from a hardened veteran. Up against the very best American law enforcement had to offer-the best coppers the world had to offer-he was running circles around them.

Unbelievable.

I wondered what Jason had up his sleeve for his next move. I couldn't even guess. But if-as Jennie was convinced-a man's past is the chronicle to his future, it was going to be something else.

I was about to find out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Halfway across Key Bridge, she called and said, "Go straight to Seven Corners."

"And you go straight to hell." Assuming she was observing me on Candid Camera, for good measure, I gave her another bird.

"Yeah? Well, who's the one drivin' 'round in his undershorts with a bomb under his ass?"

Good point. "Hey, I've got an idea, lady. Give yourself up. I'm a lawyer-maybe I'll keep your ass from frying in an electric chair."

"Shut up, or you'll get to hell first." She sounded really indignant, and hung up. Obviously, I needed to be careful here. The electric chair is sort of a hot-button topic with criminals. Also, women can be really touchy, and you never know when it's that time of the month.

With that sexist thought in mind, I smiled into the camera, hoping she'd see I was a good sport.

Anyway, I knew how to get to Seven Corners, was aware it was both a location and a shopping center, and I even knew how it got its name. It was in the county of Fairfax, a mile or so south of Falls Church, perched at the strategic junction of seven major arteries. It was a perfect example of what happens when urban planning boards are idiots-a congested maze of shopping malls, small roads, and substantial highways, surrounded by densely built-up suburbs with myriad side streets.

There were so many roads, large and small, leading into and out of Seven Corners it would take an entire field army to block them all off. In short, the perfect place for a shuffle, and somehow, I was sure, this was the decisive ground and the decisive moment.

So off I sped, straight through the steel-and-concrete corridors of Rosslyn, to the Route 50 exit, and then toward Seven Corners. I considered calling Jennie to forewarn her, and even more quickly concluded it would be both stupid and superfluous. With all the people watching, listening, and electronically tracking me, I felt like I was on one of those TV reality shows, this one called How to Save-or Not- Your Own Ass.

After another twenty minutes, I ended up at a stoplight, and to my right were two large strip malls, and ahead, off to my left, the lower parking lot for the Seven Corners Shopping Center, a two-level extravaganza, long and rectangular, half a million square feet of the best the capitalist world had to offer, where you could scratch virtually any materialistic itch and gratify any spending impulse. I love America.

In addition to all else, there had to be a tracking device in the van, because she called and said, "Now, straight to the intersection of Route 50 and Route 7, hang a left, and go to the upper parkin' lot of the shopping center. Keep the phone to yer ear." , I could hear the tension in her voice, and my heart began to race. The upper parking lot was around the other side of the shopping center, a mere few yards from the crossroads of four major highways running east, west, north, and south, the most options for egress. Clearly we had a major problem. Barnes had thought this through with frightening cleverness.

I hoped Jennie and Rita knew I was here, and I hoped they recognized what an ideal spot this was.

I wheeled into the north end of the upper parking lot, a long and narrow patch of black tarmac, approximately sixty yards in depth by about three hundred yards in length. She said, "Pull to the curb right next to the shoppin' center."

So I did.

"Now, keep going… little further… little more-now, stop."

It struck me that we had a big problem here. The parking spaces in the lot were filled with the usual mix of cars, SUVs, and minivans, and more cars were circling around and waiting for a space to open. Sated shoppers were coming out of the shopping center, toting bags of loot and dragging their kiddies, even as large numbers of hungry shoppers were crossing the lot and heading inside. Also, while the shopping center was as large as most malls, it wasn't enclosed-and thus wasn't labeled a mail-but instead had open walkways under overhangs where throngs of shoppers strolled and noodled.

If this thing went south, a lot of innocent people could get caught in the crossfire. If Jason's friend got nervous and ignited the little device wired to this van, we would have a major disaster, mostly moms and kiddies who would never know what hit them, not to mention moi.

But I didn't care what happened to me any longer. I rolled down the window, stuck my head out, and yelled, "This car has a bomb in it! Everybody run! Get away from here, now!… Run!"

People were just focusing on the nut screaming scary things when a bunch of small gray canisters came flying through the air from the covered space inside the shopping center. The canisters struck the black tarmac around the van and rolled around, at least a dozen of them.

Nobody else did, but I recognized them instantly-Army smoke grenades.

They all started popping off, spitting and spewing thick clouds of green, red, and gray smoke into the air. Within seconds, the clouds became impenetrable; I could see nothing through my windshield but my own dazed reflection. Then my car door was jerked opened and a large and powerful hand got a grip on the back of my neck and pulled me out of the seat and onto the tarmac, where I landed with a loud oompf on my fifth point of contact.

My first thought was surprise that I could still have a thought. No bomb went off in the van. My second thought was to wonder if Jennie and Rita had somehow beaten me here, if all this smoke was to cover their assault and apprehension plan.

Alas, I had again committed the unpardonable sin of optimism. When I looked up, through the dense smoke and haze I observed a towering figure in blue jeans and a dark top looming above me. I was just starting to say something when the pointy end of a cowboy boot came slashing through the air, directly into my solar plexus.

I made a sound like a popped balloon. I rolled backward and immediately vomited up the tuna salad lunch I had shared with Rita and Jennie. I rolled around, gasped for breath, and mumbled a quick prayer to the god of hopeless causes-"Don't let that damn suppository be in that mess"

I tried to force air into my lungs, and I tried to get upright, but a hand shoved me back onto my butt. Over the noise of screaming people I heard the sounds of heavy grunting and of suitcases thumping onto metal. More smoke grenades were ignited, and I found myself coughing and sputtering from the irritation to my throat.

Then I heard the sound of a loud whoosh, followed instantly by a boom. A moment later, the sounds were repeated- Whoosh… Boom. I recognized the sound-Light Antitank Weapons were being fired, presumably into the parking lot.