All he ever wanted was to serve his country.

But he'd failed. And all of the conspirators except Sebeck had escaped, possibly because of Merritt's foolhardiness. His career was over.

He limped onward, along a landscaped sidewalk beneath budding oak trees. Men and women in uniform or suits scurried this way and that in groups of two or three, clutching briefcases and talking earnestly. Merritt needed time to think. Time to figure out what he was going to say to his wife.

He eased onto a park bench and gazed out at the National Mall. The business of government was carrying on without him.

Merritt was still lost in thought as a nondescript man in a nondescript suit approached and sat down on the far end of the bench. Merritt bristled slightly. All he wanted was to be left alone.

The man spoke without looking at him. "The house didn't hold any important information, Agent Merritt."

Merritt stopped short and turned to glare at the man-a federal bureaucrat type, late twenties. The kind of person you forgot even while you were looking at him. Cheap gray suit, unkempt brown hair, lime green shirt with a striped tie, leatherette attach case. Merritt saw a federal ID badge hanging off the man's lapel:

Littleton, Leonard

General Services Administration

Merritt finally looked up into the man's eyes, narrowing his own. "What did you say to me?"

"I said: Sobol's house was a trap. It didn't hold anything important."

"Yeah? What the hell do you know about it?"

Littleton's reaction surprised Merritt. He didn't shrink back. He didn't even seem surprised.

"I know a lot. In fact, I know more than any man alive."

Merritt frowned. There was something about those eyes. The nose. He'd seen this man before. But where?

Littleton sensed that Merritt was trying to place him. "No, you don't know me, Agent Merritt. But you know ofme."

Merritt studied Littleton's face.

Littleton zipped open his ratty attach, producing a small notebook computer about the size of a thin hardcover book. Littleton dropped his attach without concern and flipped open the computer.

It turned out to be a portable DVD player.

"Who are you? A reporter?"

Littleton ignored him and instead hit the PLAY button, then turned the screen to face Merritt.

In a moment Merritt was taken back to that night many months ago. The video screen showed him standing in Sobol's entertainment room, eyes bloody, face blistered, nose bleeding-a smoking shotgun in his hand. It was an isometric perspective, looking down on him from near the ceiling. A slightly grainy image, as though from a security camera.

On the screen Merritt was reloading. He looked up and shouted, "I'm going to shut you down, Sobol!" And that voice behind him-but the voice didn't register at all on the video. It was as if the Merritt on the DVD screen was a schizophrenic-hearing voices. Merritt saw himself turn and fire point-blank into the wall behind him.

The real Merritt shook himself out of his stunned silence and dropped his cane with a clatter onto the sidewalk. He leaned over to Littleton, whispering urgently. "Where did you get this?"

Littleton snapped the DVD player closed. "From the source."

"What source?"

"The Daemon."

Littleton leaned down to pick up Merritt's cane while Merritt groped for words.

It suddenly dawned on Merritt. He pointed a tentative finger. "You're Jon Ross."

He extended the cane to Merritt. "I once was, yes. That seems like ages ago now."

"The FBI's Most Wanted man."

"I suppose I'm manna from heaven to you. You could quickly get yourself reinstated if you turned me in. Maybe even decorated-which, on a personal note, I think is overdue."

Merritt felt reflexively for his shoulder holster-then remembered that he didn't have a weapon on him. He had come for a congressional committee hearing. It would have created an unnecessary hassle going through the metal detectors with a gun.

Merritt smiled calmly. "What's to stop me from turning you in?"

"My innocence. And the fact that you're a man who loves this country."

Merritt tried to resist the appeal to his wounded patriotism. Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.

He got his emotions under control. "What did you do to Mr. Littleton?" He ripped off the Littleton ID badge. "Where is he? Dead?"

Ross laughed. "No, of course not."

Merritt examined the badge. Plastic. It had Ross's picture on it. But it was blank on the back, unlike real federal IDs.

"Not Littleton's fault. He was eating lunch on a park bench. A digital camera with a zoom lens gave me a close-up image of his ID badge. I used a graphics program to paste in my own photo, then a portable card printer. All from the confines of my car." Ross frowned. "No smart chip inside, though. So I couldn't actually get into a federal building. But it's very good for moving around the public spaces without arousing suspicion."

Merritt pocketed the ID. "You're under arrest, Mr. Ross."

"The Daemon exists, Agent Merritt. No living person was running the defenses in that house. You know it's true. Now imagine the exact same thing loose in the world, and you'll have some idea what we're up against."

Merritt paused, but then shook his head. "No. I don't know that. I was angry-"

"They didn't tell you everything they knew. Didn't you think it strange that they sent a hostage rescue team in to bridge a pit? It's because they knew they were sending you against a barricaded suspect."

"Tell your story in court."

"I'm not an American citizen. I don't think I get a trial."

"Either way, you're coming with me."

Ross just gave Merritt an impatient look. "Agent Merritt, I watched you go through the metal detectors earlier. I know you're unarmed."

Son of a bitch.

"I, on the other hand, am armed-so I suggest you listen to what I have to say. Because after the shooting starts, there will be no more talk-and you may never get the answers to those questions that keep you up at night."

They said Ross was slippery. Merritt did need answers. He looked beyond Ross at two Capitol Hill police walking in the distance. He knew he wouldn't call them. Not yet.

He looked back at Ross. "Okay. I do want answers. For one: why on earth should I believe anything you say? If you were the mastermind behind the Daemon hoax, then, of course, you'd have a copy of that video. It doesn't prove anything."

"But why would I risk my neck to come down here to show it to you? What would I gain?"

Merritt tumbled it around in his mind, looking for the angle. He couldn't see one, but that didn't mean there wasn't one. "Then where the hell did you get it?"

"It was screened on the secret altar of the Dark Faction in the Kingdom of Cifrain."

Merritt just stared at him.

Ross noticed the look. "Don't any cops play online games? Cifrain is the largest kingdom in Sobol's online computer game The Gate.What you're looking at here, Agent Merritt, is a recruitment video."

"A recruitment video." Merritt said it matter-of-factly.

He recalled the news reports at the time of the estate siege. The Feds had shut down The Gate.CyberStorm relaunched it in China-and the lawsuits were still pending. But the game rocketed in sales after the crisis. The free publicity couldn't have hurt.

Merritt remembered screen shots. He was thinking of the possibilities for a secret organization-meeting in the dark corners of an imaginary world.

"You're saying that the Daemon is recruiting people inside a computer game? Recruiting them for what?"

"That's the big question."

"And how did you manage to get your hands on this video?"

Ross grinned. "Because I'm leet. I was good enough to attract the notice of the Daemon. And I successfully navigated the Ugran-the death course."