I'm a mule. I just don't know how.

Maybe the body panels were packed with heroin. Welded in place. He closed the suitcase and slammed the trunk. He'd never know.

He took off his suit jacket and laid it on the passenger seat, then sat behind the wheel. He turned the ignition key to the first position. The car's instrument panel came to life, and a computer screen in the dashboard flickered, revealing a color map. A large arrow indicated his current position and direction.

Suddenly the car phone rang. Mosely looked around. He noticed a phone button on the steering wheel. He pressed it, and the familiar British female voice spoke out over the stereo speakers, startling him. "Good, Mr. Moze-ly. I trust you've searched the car and found nothing dangerous. Please open the glove compartment and remove the manila envelope."

Mosely realized with a start that he hadn't checked the glove compartment. Stupid.He leaned over and flipped it open. The manila envelope was right on top. He grabbed it and noticed the car's registration and insurance certificate in a neat plastic sleeve just beneath that. He withdrew the envelope and slammed the glove box. He sat back in the driver's seat and opened the envelope with a rip.

The Voice returned. "Inside you will find materials necessary for your journey."

Mosely poured a whole bunch of card-sized objects into his lap. The most noticeable was a Texas driver's license with his picture on it. Alongside his picture was the name Charles W. Taylor, Jr., and a Houston address. The license looked and felt real-holograms and all. There was also a stack of platinum credit cards in his lap-Visa, American Express, MasterCard, Discover-all in the name of Charles Taylor, and a couple of them had the Stratford Systems, Inc., name beneath his. There were more of his business cards, a gym membership, a University of Southern California Alumni Association card with his name on it, a Houston Bar Association ID, and then there were dozens of credit card receipts from all sorts of businesses-restaurants mostly-that ranged from $97 to $1,780. The charges were from the last few days. There was also a two-page hotel receipt for the Hyatt Regency in Austin. The bill was $6,912. Taylor's signature was the barest squiggle of a line-very easy to forge.

He looked in the envelope and found a few more items. There were several wallet-sized photos of a very attractive mixed-race woman. One a formal portrait and others casual photos: her in a tropical location, another of her laughing with skis over her shoulder near a lodge. She was incredibly fine.

This was a complete identity. An identity he preferred to his own.

The Voice continued. "Place these items in your wallet. Memorize your new name. When you are ready to proceed, say the word 'ready.'"

Mosely started fitting the items into his wallet. This was getting interesting. If he wanted to make a break, he had all the tools necessary. As soon as he had everything stowed in his wallet. He grabbed the steering wheel. "Ready."

"Take a moment to familiarize yourself with the controls of this vehicle. Adjust the mirrors and seat. Note the location of the headlight and wiper controls."There was a pause. "When you are ready to proceed, say the word 'ready.'"

Mosely reflexively shrugged it off and was about to say «Ready» instantly. But he thought better of it. If he owned this car, then he'd know where everything was. She was right. He took several minutes learning the layout. He even pulled out the owner's manual and flipped through it. As he did so, he glanced at the registration. It was a company car leased by Stratford Systems, Inc. Taylor had a company car.

After Mosely was satisfied he knew where all the controls were, he sat up again. "Ready."

"Fasten your seat belt and start the car."

He did as instructed. The car started smoothly. After a few moments, cooler AC air washed over him. He fanned it onto his sweaty face, then pulled the driver's door closed.

He gunned the engine. He could barely hear it. He had to trust the tachometer. What self-respecting car had a noiseless engine?

Her voice came again. "Above the rearview mirror you will notice three buttons. These are home automation controls. Click the left one to open the garage door in front of you."

He paused a moment. If there was going to be a raid or an ambush, now was the time. Oh hell…can't live forever.He hit the button. The garage door rose to reveal…

An empty street in a ratty blue-collar neighborhood. He breathed easier.

She kept talking. "Drive out of the garage and turn right. Then continue to the Stop sign at the end of the street…"

He drove out of the garage. Her voice guided Mosely, turn by turn, through town and toward the interstate. He kept one eye on the rearview mirror, looking for signs he was being followed. He'd done that a lot as a dealer. But there was almost no one on the road here.

"Get into the left lane, and take the entrance to the Ten East."

Mosely considered his situation. He had money. A fast car and ID. Maybe he could get some distance between himself and these people-maybe even reach Mexico. This was so obviously a setup. He couldn't stand it another minute.

Mosely changed to the right lane and prepared to take the 10 West.

Her voice came on again over the speakerphone. "Mr. Moze-ly, get in the left lane."

He kept driving toward the westbound interstate entrance ramp. "Sorry, Jane. I'm not your man." He hung up the line.

The car immediately stalled. It bucked to a stop in the middle of the road.

"Damnit!" Mosely tried to restart it as a good ol' boy in a pickup truck came up behind him and honked. He could hear the guy cursing before the man screeched around him and gave him the finger. Mosely tried the key again, but the engine wasn't even turning over. Nothing.

Then the car phone rang. Mosely looked around to see if any local police were watching. They'd come over to help get him out of traffic, if nothing else. He was a sitting duck. Mosely clicked the speakerphone button. "I got your point. Fix the engine, please."

Her voice was unperturbed. "Get in the left lane and merge onto the Ten East."

He tried the engine again, and it started right up. He accelerated into the left lane and then took the eastbound highway entrance ramp. The car accelerated smoothly and with impressive power. But his hands were still shaking, the adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream. He had no desire to go back to Highland.

Her voice came over the eight speakers. "If you disobey me again, I will activate the satellite anti-theft system in this car. It will alert local law enforcement and give its precise location."

"Okay, Jane, I fucked up. Won't happen again."

"Keep driving. Stay within five miles of the speed limit, and signal all lane changes. If you deviate from my instructions, I will return you to Warmonk, Inc., and bear in mind, Mr. Moze-ly: if I can erase your prison record, I can just as easily expand it. Life without the possibility of parole. Child molesters are the lowest in the prison social order, are they not?"

This chilled him to the core. Going back to prison was one thing. Going back as a pederast was quite something else. Death was preferable.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes." No flippant responses this time. She had his full attention.

Mosely kept the car aimed at the distant horizon. A passing sign told him Houston lay 102 miles ahead.