LEVY LIVED ON a semiprivate street four blocks from the Black Lantern, a huge black-brick pile with a marble entrance and a carriage house visible in the back. One end of the street was open, but with warning signs against nonresident parking; the other end was closed with a wrought-iron fence.

They'd decided to go in cold. The supervisor in the group covering Levy called Mallard toward the end of the meal to say that Levy had arrived home. "He's scared. He's got a guy traveling with him, apparently a bodyguard. He took his car straight into the carriage house, and the bodyguard ran between the carriage house and the main house. Somebody met him, and then Levy ran up to the house while the bodyguard waited at the door."

"Must be pretty sure that nobody's in the carriage house, then," Lucas said.

"Our guys said both the house and the carriage house are wired up tight."

"Well, at least we know he'll be there. Doesn't sound like he expects to go barhopping," Andreno said.

They took their time walking over, looking at the houses along the side streets. There were lights everywhere, people moving around. If Rinker was in one of the houses on Levy's street, or behind Levy's street, she'd have a tough time getting out, Lucas thought. "As soon as we talk to him, you oughta have the net guys start going door to door, making sure that Rinker's not holding somebody in one of these places," Lucas said.

"We'll do that," Mallard said. At the entrance to Levy's street, they passed though a wrought-iron gate, closed it behind themselves. A man in a suit climbed out of a car and walked toward them. He was carrying a pale straw hat, and said, "Louis."

"David. Everybody, this is David Homburg," Mallard said to Lucas and Andreno. To Homburg: "We're going in-you and me and Malone, and Lucas. And, uh, Mr. Andreno, I guess."

"Hate to miss it," Andreno said.

Mallard told Homburg to leave two watchers on the front and back of Levy's, and to have the rest of the net begin knocking on doors, two men at a time. Homburg stepped back to his car and spoke on a radio for a few moments, then rejoined them. "Done."

"So let's go," Mallard said.

LEVY WAS NOT what Lucas expected-he'd expected one of the tough-faced finance guys, and instead got a round-faced beach boy, middle forties, with bleached tips on his light brown hair, a carefully revised nose, dark brown golf shirt under a soft leather lounging jacket with fawn slacks, and leather moccasins without socks.

The bodyguard was another case altogether. He was a muscular size 48, with a buzz cut; he looked like he was made from leather that the cobbler had thrown away before making Levy's shoes. He'd come to the door carefully, checking them from a side window, then through the security-glass window on the door.

Mallard and Malone held up IDs so he could read them, and when he opened the door, he still had a hand on his back hip pocket, where, Lucas thought, he had a gun.

"Federal Bureau of Investigation," Mallard told him. "We're here to talk to Mr. Levy."

"I'll see if he's in," the tough guy said.

"We know he's in, because we've had a net around him all day, watching him. We just watched you take him from the carriage house to the back door, running. When you see if he's in, you might suggest to him that Clara Rinker is unlikely to show up with a committee."

"Wait here." The tough guy left them standing on the porch, one minute, two, looking at their shoes and the trees, listening to the cicadas fiddling down at them.

"Nice night," Mallard said eventually.

"Fuckin' guy," Andreno said.

Then the tough guy came back, looked them over again, and said, "Come in."

LEVY, BLEACHED -TIP HAIR and sockless mocs, stood with his hands in the pocket of his jackets, in the doorway of a library.

"Mr. Mallard? Could I see your ID again?"

Mallard handed him his ID. Malone and Homburg held theirs up so he could scan them as he read down Mallard's. Then he looked at Lucas and Andreno, a petulant frown creasing his forehead. "What about these gentlemen?"

"They're essentially hired thugs," Mallard said. "They don't have ID. In any case, we really don't want to spend any more time sorting through the personnel, Mr. Levy. Clara Rinker is here to kill you. We know that for sure. We're trying to catch her. You might be able to help."

"How do you know it for sure?"

"Because one of our agents talked to a gentleman who she interrogated, and your name was prominent in the discussion. We think you know all of this-we've been watching you for a couple of days, and we've noted the precautions you're now taking… like the man with the gun."

Levy stared at Mallard for a moment-Mallard looked placidly back-then said, "Why don't we sit down?"

They filed into the library. The library was a stage setting, Lucas thought, filled with decorator book sets, bought by the running foot, an oversized mahogany desk with an inset leather top, an expensive-looking oriental carpet, and a globe the size of a weather balloon. Levy settled into a chair behind the desk; Mallard and Malone took guest chairs facing the desk, Homburg found a seat on a faux Louis XIV, and Lucas and Andreno picked out places to lean. Andreno seemed fascinated by the globe, and began turning it under one hand as Mallard and Levy talked.

Levy said, "How do you know she's looking for me?"

"She blames you and several other people for the attempt on her life in Mexico. You managed to kill her fiancй. She was also pregnant, and when she was wounded, she lost the child. She has now clearly gone over the edge. She's insane. We frankly think you have one small chance to stay alive: cooperate with us."

"What if I decide to take care of myself?"

"Then you'll die," Mallard said. "Nanny Dichter was as well protected as you are, and she picked him like a bad apple."

Levy said, "I really don't know anything about what happened in Mexico, and my involvement with her was only peripheral. One of my other clients once asked me to help her set up a retirement account, which I thought was entirely legitimate."

"You can cut the shit," Malone said. "We've known about your private-client accounts for quite a while. We let you run them because we were learning so much about the crime club around here. But just leave out the bullshit, okay? It'll make this conversation a lot shorter."

Lucas suppressed a smile. The Mallard and Malone good-cop/bad-cop act was back in town, and Malone made an excellent bad cop. The vulgarities slipping from her notably prim mouth made her that much more effective.

Levy leaned back. "I do not know-"

Mallard interrupted. "What we would like to do is slip a few people in here, as soon as we're sure that she isn't watching. Then we'll pull back our covering net, and let her walk into the trap. That's what we want."

"What if you don't have enough guys?"

"This isn't a TV movie. She's not invincible, she's not Wonder Woman. Once we see her, we'll take her," Mallard said. "We'll have two or three guys who could take her by themselves, and we'll have two or three guys to back them up, and then we'll have a couple more guys to back them up. We'll have a net to take you downtown, and another trap at the bank. You'll be safer than the President."

"So all I have to do is agree?"

"I'll be blunt, Mr. Levy. We think we could build a hell of a money-laundering case against you," Malone said. "We think we could see you into Leavenworth for twenty years, and there'd be no parole. You might want to get a lawyer and see what you can negotiate. If you had any kind of information for us, we'd be happy to take that into account. Otherwise, do what you want-but it's in both of our interests to take out Clara Rinker."

Levy made a steeple of his fingers, resting them on his chest. Then: "I'm gonna want to talk to my guy, my counsel. My attorney. I'll get him over here tonight. Until then, keep her off me."