The director shrugged. “Not conclusive in and of itself.”

“But interesting nonetheless, sir.” Hugh put the file back together. “I think these two men should be red-flagged, sir. I think we ought to have mug shots from the pictures that Harte brought us and circulate them to all desks and field agents in the Far East, and possibly the entire network. Further, I think we should alert the FBI and the other agencies, including the Coast Guard.”

“The Coast Guard?” The director chuckled.

“I would point out, sir,” Hugh said, and this time he was unable to keep the edge from his voice, “that these two men were observed in the company of the Chinese pirate, Fang, and his longtime confederate, the Singaporean Noortman. Fang and Noortman we know to be responsible for the high seas piracy of as many as twenty-three freighters, at least a dozen of which held cargoes owned all or in part by American corporations. If Fang and Noortman are involved in whatever these two men are planning, it only makes sense that the planned attack is coming by sea. The Coast Guard will have to be involved, and sooner rather than later.”

The director raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You haven’t been talking this over with that wife of yours, have you, Hugh, my boy?”

Hugh set his teeth. “No, sir.”

“I should hope not. There is no point in starting a panic with what is at this point pure speculation.” The director settled back into the couch.

“Do you have any independent confirmation of weapons sales such as you have described? Any satellite confirmation of weapons movement? The larger item certainly would be noticed, I would think.”

“Admittedly, sir, our evidence to date is circumstantial, but if our agent is right and these two men are responsible for the Pattaya Beach bombing, the construction and detonation of that bomb implies a high level of experience, expertise, and commitment. Not to mention imagination. To my knowledge the Pattaya Beach bombing is the first terrorist attack employing a soccer ball.”

The director inclined his head. “Point taken.”

“It follows that they will be planning their next operation, and that it will include a similarly imaginative plan. The involvement of Fang and Noortman indicates that the attack will come from the sea. Their purchases from Peter Wolf suggest that-”

The director picked up one of the photographs. “Didn’t I read somewhere in that file you gave me a while back that Noortman’s a fag?”

Hugh blinked. “Sir?”

“Stands to reason Fang is, too, otherwise why they been together for- What was it you said? Nine years? Ten years?” The director tossed the picture back on the coffee table. “I’m glad you brought this to my attention, Hugh. I can see where there is cause for some concern. Let’s alert the Far East staff to keep a watching brief for our four Asian friends, try to keep track of their actions.”

“Yes, sir,” Hugh said, “our staff and-”

“Let’s not rile up the other agencies just yet.”

“Sir-”

The director got to his feet. “I sure appreciate you coming in, Hugh, my boy. Keep up the good work.”

And Hugh found himself on the other side of the director’s door, his hand shook, his back patted, the recipient of a genial invitation for a game of tennis, which he did not play.

He steamed past the director’s assistant without saying goodbye, which didn’t matter because the head of the Middle Eastern desk was chatting her up in preparation for entry into the inner sanctum, a sheaf of reports in the crook of one elbow that undoubtedly included several items that would jack up the Homeland Security threat advisory to orange. “Harvey,” Hugh said tightly.

Harvey Moskowitz, taking in the situation at a glance, said, not without sympathy, “Hey, Hugh.” He stood up. “Talk to you for a minute?”

“The director’s waiting for you, Mr. Moskowitz,” the secretary said disapprovingly.

Moskowitz bestowed a ravishing smile upon her, beneath which she wilted visibly. “Tell him I’ll be right in, will you, Georgia?”

The secretary murmured a dazed acquiescence as Moskowitz took Hugh by the elbow and steered him into the hall.

“Not for attribution, Hugh, I don’t have any hard evidence, but a couple of my people have been hearing rumors about a large sale of some radioactive material.”

Hugh’s head came up. “I got the same rumor. Through Odessa?”

“My guy says Tiraspol.”

Hugh closed his eyes to locate Tiraspol on an internal map. He opened his eyes again and Harvey said, “What?”

“Come with me,” Hugh said. Harvey followed Hugh down the hall to a conference room with a bookshelf full of reference texts and pulled down an atlas. He flipped rapidly through the pages. “Here.”

Harvey followed Hugh’s finger. “Tiraspol, Moldova. So? Oh. I see. Right on the border.”

“Not ninety miles from Odessa,” Hugh said.

“Crap,” Harvey said, inelegantly but accurately.

“Yeah.”

“Is your info linked to al-Qaida?” Harvey said.

“God damn it, Harvey,” Hugh said with enough anger to cause the other man’s eyes to widen. “Does nothing other than al-Qaida register on anyone’s radar around here?”

“Come on, Hugh. They found documents describing research into the construction of CBRN weapons in a house in Kabul, Afghanistan, and in the al-Qaida caves. It’s not like they don’t know how to make a chemical weapon, or a biological one, or a radioactive one, or even a nuclear one.”

Hugh couldn’t deny it.

“The nuclear one is the most expensive, so the thinking is they’ll probably go with one of the other three,” Harvey said. “Again, I ask the question. Is your info linked to al-Qaida?”

Hugh hesitated, and shook his head. “No. I think it might be connected to the same people who did the Pattaya Beach bombing.”

Harvey relaxed a little. “And that was what, your standard black market plastic explosive and a timer packed inside a-what was it?”

“Soccer ball.”

“Right. Right.” Harvey nodded. “Points for originality. You wouldn’t look twice at someone sauntering down the street with a soccer ball tucked under one arm, unless you were in the U.S. And filled with nails and bolts. Instant shrapnel. Nasty.” He meditated for a moment. “You got a real thing going on here, Hugh?”

Hugh’s jaw tightened, and he had to work at it not to glance over his shoulder toward the director’s office. “Nothing with enough evidence to warrant action.”

“Ah,” Harvey said. “Well, if I hear anything else.”

“Yeah. Harvey?”

“Yeah?”

“Where did the rumor originate?”

“My guy heard about it in Hong Kong. Big operation, well funded, is what he heard.”

Fang and Noortman operated out of Hong Kong. “Okay. Thanks again, Harvey.”

Hugh strode down the hallway with a scowl so severe that the mail boy took an unintended detour through Records and got thoroughly lost in the wilds of the Castro files.

Marie looked up. “So, it went well.”

He blew by her into his own office and tossed the envelope containing the Odessa report, Arlene’s report, and the photographs on the desk. It skidded across the surface until it hit his in basket, which was filled with six other reports of potential threats in the Far East, none of which were being taken anywhere near as seriously as Hugh knew they should be.

Hugh’s problem was that the Far East just wasn’t fashionable. No one seemed to take North Korea seriously, or not as seriously as they did Pickacountry, Middle East. Indonesia, maybe a little more so because of its large Muslim population, but there the terrorists were mostly blowing up Australians, and they’d taken as big a hit from the Christmas tsunami as everyone else so they weren’t exactly at the top of their form. In Pattaya Beach, the casualties had been so evenly divided between East and West that the bull’s-eye effect hadn’t really registered with any one nation. India and Pakistan were sitting down like the lion with the lamb and actually talking to one another for the first time since World War II, in fact all the Indian Ocean nations were, another effect of the tsunami.