Ross looked Merritt in the eye. "Pete Sebeck is innocent. So am I."

"Well, if you guys didn't commit the murders and the embezzlement, then I'm supposed to believe Sobol did?"

Ross nodded.

"Why would Sobol throw away tens of millions of dollars just to frame Sebeck?"

"To make everyone believe the Daemon doesn't exist."

"And what would that accomplish?"

"If you don't believe something exists, you won't try to stop it."

Merritt halted. It had a nasty, effective simplicity-an ant climbing through the chinks of his armor. There was no ignoring it. He pondered it for a few more moments. "The murders, the stock swindle, they were all just the beginning of something bigger?"

Ross didn't even look at Merritt. "I know it for a fact."

"For the sake of argument, let's say the Daemon exists. If Sobol didn't want anyone to stop his plan, then why would he make the Daemon famous to begin with?"

"To create a global brand. One that is instantly recognizable. One that will rally the disaffected to his cause. Worldwide."

"And what cause is that?"

"I don't know yet."

Merritt limped along silently.

"Agent Merritt, I know this much: the Daemon is growing in power. It's not visible yet, but soon it will show itself. When it does, bad things will happen."

Merritt glanced around again to see if anyone was watching. No one nearby. He turned back to Ross. "Turn yourself in, Jon. I'll do everything I can-"

Ross shook his head. "If I get locked in a cell and news of my capture is sent through the wrong e-mail server, I'm as good as dead."

"We have a witness protection program-"

"Don't even try."

"What about going to the media?"

"The Daemon has infiltrated the media, Agent Merritt."

Merritt rolled his eyes. "How the hell does a computer program infiltrate the media?"

"News organizations use data systems to prioritize, track, and prepare stories. The last thing we want to do is get this into the news. Even before it reaches the airwaves, the Daemon will know about me. That is, if the story ever reaches the airwaves."

"Now I'm supposed to believe the Daemon controls the media?"

"Controls, no. Influences, yes. There are only five major media companies in the world. It doesn't take a lot to influence content-particularly if you are inside their systems and you have secured key people."

Merritt was still shaking his head.

Ross looked uncomfortable. "I've stayed too long." He started heading for a nearby bus stop.

Merritt limped after him. "You said you were going to show me evidence of the Daemon. I'm not letting you out of my sight until you do. I'll start howling bloody murder if you try to leave."

"I have irrefutable proof that the Daemon exists. But you have to trust me-"

"The hell I do."

"Why would I risk everything to come talk to you, and then never contact you again? I want something from you."

"What?"

"Your help."

Merritt laughed ruefully. "It's my help now? The nads on you…"

"I need you to get a message to Dr. Natalie Philips at the NSA." Ross handed Merritt a piece of paper. "I can be reached at this e-mail address. At least for a while."

Merritt glanced at it. An inscrutable e-mail address consisting of random numbers and letters was printed neatly on it. "Why don't you contact her yourself?"

"Let's just say she's unlisted. But you can probably find her. Tell her that she can get in direct contact with me at that e-mail address. Tell her that I found the back door in Sobol's game. If she doubts my identity, tell her that I was there when Sobol phoned Sebeck at the funeral."

Merritt saw a policeman walking along the Mall not far away. He squeezed the piece of paper in his hand. Then sighed and turned back to Ross. "I want something, too."

"Okay. What?"

"Give me that DVD."

Ross popped the DVD out of the player and then hesitated. "Agent Merritt, I wouldn't watch this if I were you. Your squad burns to death on camera. It's very disturbing."

Merritt hesitated, too. His hand wavered. Then he took it. "They say you're a master con artist. I promise you: if you caused the death of my men, I'll hunt you down. No matter how long it takes."

Ross met his gaze. "I would expect no less."

Merritt slipped the disc into his coat pocket.

"Don't show that video to anyone. Not yet. If the Daemon knows you're on to it, it will kill you."

"Yeah, I'm shaking like a leaf."

Ross headed toward the bus stop.

Merritt limped after him. "When do I get to see this irrefutable proof?"

"I'll contact you."

They reached the bus stop shelter, slathered with advertising posters. Ross peered down the street to see a bus-any bus-coming down the block. He turned to Merritt again. "I'll show you everything I know about the Daemon." He looked seriously into Merritt's eyes. "I think your republic is in danger, Agent Merritt. I don't know who else to turn to. Please realize I came to you because I saw that video, and I know you are a courageous man. That's what your republic needed at its founding. And it's what it needs now."

Merritt felt the rush return. Love for his country swelled within him. Was he being nave? He had always wanted a grand purpose. He avoided eye contact for the shame he felt in having his buttons so easily pushed.

The bus squealed to a stop. The doors opened. Ross turned without a word and merged into the line of commuters. In a few moments he was aboard.

Merritt watched the bus pull away, still wrestling over whether or not to alert the police. He committed the bus number and license plate to memory.

Had he really just let the FBI's Most Wanted man go? He withdrew the DVD from his jacket pocket and looked at it. It bore the handwritten title Sobol's House.

To Merritt, something had never seemed quite right about the Daemon hoax. Something about it just seemed too tidy. In his heart he had always had doubts, but after the deaths of his men it seemed self-serving to question the simple story. High-tech experts had declared the matter resolved.

But months ago in Sobol's mansion, Merritt had seen and heard things no one had ever satisfactorily explained.

He looked around at the oblivious commuters waiting for their buses. He limped back the way he came. There was physical therapy to do. He would be ready for what was coming, and this time he would not fail his country-whether or not Ross was behind it all.

As Merritt moved away through the crowd, he didn't notice the six-foot-tall bus stop poster framed behind graffiti-carved Lexan. It boasted a medium close-up of Anji Anderson, all business, arms folded, set against an infinity background. She glowered at passersby from above the logo of her network news show, News to America.The tag line read:

"The Most Trusted Name in News…"