“I’ll get it,” Riley said. She hit it again with the heel of her hand, biting her lower lip against the pain.

Hazel appeared out of the dark with a magnum of champagne. “Try this,” she said.

Riley grabbed the heavy bottle and tapped the bottom of it against the raised iron knob. After several tries, the bolt slid clear with a shriek.

“Move me closer to the wall,” she told Cole. She pushed up and the wooden door rose and then fell open. When she scrambled out into the freezing night, sirens howled, not too far distant. She spun around and grabbed Hazel’s hand, then heard the sound of splintering wood. The pounding stopped.

“Hurry,” Riley said as she boosted Hazel up. Cole followed her out and grabbed Riley’s hand. Hazel led them at a run across the stone terrace to some smaller brick buildings around the perimeter of the property. When they reached the shadows between two of the brick buildings, Hazel stopped and turned around to look back at her house. The sirens had reached the street in front of the house, and then shut off.

“Cops are here,” she said.

Riley stood next to her looking back at the house. “You’re pretty cool under fire, my friend,” she said.

“Not the first time for me, either. I’m glad I sent Kayla home early. The bastard cut the power and the alarm system. I called 911 from my cell while I waited for you to get to the kitchen.” She tapped Riley’s arm with the back of her hand. “You took your time.”

“We didn’t know the house like you. In the dark, you were invisible in that black get-up. I couldn’t follow you.” Riley realized she and Cole were still holding hands, and she made a show of needing to blow on her hands to keep them warm. “Come on, we need to keep moving.” She didn’t like standing there talking when Dig might be about to come out of that cellar at any minute.

“I think he’s more worried about the cops than us, right now. But come on,” Hazel said. She turned and led them down a walkway with old oak trees on one side and a brick wall on the other.

“Where are we going?” Riley asked.

“These are the old slave quarters that I’ve made into rental apartments. Ironic, eh? I have a car in the garage of a vacant one. This way.”

At the end of the walkway between the apartments and the adjoining property, they had to pass through a gate to the street. Hazel opened the wood gate a crack, then pulled it closed again.

“A black car. I know, there are thousands of the damn things here in DC, but let’s wait a minute.” After they heard the car pass, Hazel hurried them around the side of the brick building and pushed an electronic fob on her key chain that opened the garage door.

Riley knew Hazel collected antique cars like she collected rich boyfriends, but she wasn’t prepared for the bright red little two-seater convertible.

“We’re going to fit three of us in that?” she said.

“It’s all we’ve got, honey.”

“Hazel,” Riley said, “it’s not what I would call inconspicuous.”

“Exactly. Nobody would suspect that the three of us would be driving around in a 1949 MGTC. You either sit on this fella’s lap all the way to Leesburg or —” She raised the lid on the back of the car and threw her bag inside. “We can lock you up in here. Your choice.”

Cole tossed his duffel inside. He looked up and down the car. “Wire-spoke wheels, tufted red leather seats.” He nodded. “We’ll fit,” he said, then he tipped his head toward the car. “Let’s get moving.”

Riley looked at Cole, then swiveled around to face her friend. She raised one eyebrow. “

A two-seater with right hand drive?”

Hazel nodded. “Let’s go,” she said. As she passed Riley going round to the driver’s seat, under her breath she added, “The shocks on these old cars suck, so it might get a little bouncy.” She winked. “Enjoy the trip.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

Georgetown 

March 28, 2008

6:45 p.m.

The door must be made of two inches of solid oak, he thought. Dig had tried everything from knives to bullets to a big meat cleaver he had found in a wood block on the kitchen counter. The hole he had made was not yet big enough to reach his hand through, though, when he first heard the sirens. He tried enlarging the hole with a few more shots, but the sirens stopped in front of the house. It was time to leave.

He backtracked the way he had come, passing down the hall, through the day room and to the grand staircase. As he climbed the stairs, he heard the voices of the police officers assembled on the front porch, their radios crackling. He had disabled the alarm system, but Riley and the others must have called from a cell phone. He heard the front door open and the jangling of the gear the officers wore as they entered the house.

Earlier in the afternoon, it had taken him more than an hour to find the manhole covers where he could access the power transformer and phone lines. He had his driver cruise the street past the front of the house several times. Twice he caught a glimpse of the Kittridge woman with Thatcher. Even at such a distance, he could see her animal sexuality. It was common in her kind.

He found his way back to the master bedroom window, and he climbed back out through the broken shards of glass onto the branch of the big old elm tree just as the police were starting up the stairs. The DC Police were a hopeless lot of barbarians. They’d lost all standards through affirmative action. Dig wasn’t worried about them, he thought, as he dropped to the ground. He hurried across the neighbor’s yard, removing his cell from his pocket, and then slipped out the gate onto a side street. His car met him at the corner and picked him up.

“Circle the block a few times,” he told the driver.

In front of the Kittridge house, half a dozen police cars with flashing lights lined the street. The few passing cars slowed, the drivers gawking. A Pepco truck had already arrived and was at work on the power lines. As they drove past the front of the house, he slid down in the back seat and watched out the window. He looked for them in the crowds in front of the house, or through the windows. Once, he saw a small woman about Riley’s size, and he told his driver to slow, but it wasn’t her. He imagined them down in that cellar, cornered, waiting for the police to arrive and save them. If only he’d had a few more minutes.

Priorities, he told himself. Operation Magic. He had no idea what it was, but he knew it would be his ticket, his entree, his reservation for a seat at the table. That was what he must concentrate on now. He’d shot at Thatcher’s duffel to motivate him. Let the man think he was out to kill him. In fact, Dig wanted Thatcher back down in the islands as soon as possible to find that submarine.

He had seen the way Thatcher looked at Riley down on Dominica. It turned his stomach, but the fact was that he could put that to good use. Thatcher would do whatever Diggory wanted – hand over whatever he’d found, as long as he had Riley to motivate the man. Then later, when he had Operation Magic in his possession and Thatcher had been dealt with, Dig could take his sweet time with Riley.

Dig told his driver to return to his apartment, then settled back into the seat and removed his gloves. He would fly to Guadeloupe and charter a boat. He spread wide the fingers of his right hand stretching the aching muscles. Then he would check on the barbarians, he thought, clenching his fingers into a tight fist. He would find Thatcher and his submarine. After closing his eyes, he pictured Riley’s naked body, her pale skin and long neck, and he squeezed until his knuckles turned white.

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

Leesburg, Virginia

March 28, 2008

9:05 p.m.

By the time they passed through the electric gate onto the unplowed road, Riley was beyond worrying what part of her body landed on what part of Cole’s. Even though Hazel tried to speed whenever possible, attempting to leave the Washington area during the evening rush hour was a horror, and it had taken them more than two hours to travel about forty-five miles. But thinking about the man’s body beneath her had at least prevented her from reliving the events that had taken place earlier in the day.