“Neither surprises me.”

“She shut down that FBI agent that’s parked inside guarding them, too. However, I didn’t promise I wouldn’t report to you. What do you want me to do?”

He thought about it. He didn’t like even a hint of a threat to Kendra’s mother and Olivia, but this was too vague to be a legitimate concern.

And God knows, Kendra had enough to worry about right now.

But Kendra would kill him if she found out there was danger to the people she loved, and he hadn’t told her.

However, no real threat had been demonstrated.

So accept the responsibility and do what Kendra’s mother was doing. Keep a close eye out for potential peril and protect Kendra from frantic worry for no reason.

“Lynch?”

“You’ve got a pretty good commander in chief out there. Do what she tells you. But keep me informed. I want to know if there’s even the slightest inkling of anything wrong.”

“You’ve got it.” He hung up.

Lynch stared thoughtfully at the phone as he pressed the disconnect. He was definitely uneasy.

Forget it. Nothing he could do now.

He had to concentrate on getting Kendra to that FBI meeting and zeroing in on Myatt.

FBI San Diego Field Office

10:25 A.M.

“FIVE MINUTES UNTIL SHOWTIME,” Griffin said into the P.A. microphone at the front of the war room. “Unit leaders, verify that your teams are in place and ready to move.”

Now it did seem like a war room, Kendra thought as she and Lynch moved through the crowd of agents and support personnel. A high-wattage projector was throwing a map of greater San Diego onto a twelve-foot-wide screen high on the front wall, augmented by two flat-screen monitors. Pulsing blue dots indicated the GPS tracking beacons of the response teams, located at strategic locations around the city.

A systems chief from the wireless telephone provider, Lightwire Communications, stood at the front of the room wearing a headset, linked to the company headquarters in nearby Escondido.

One by one, the response teams checked in. They were ready.

The room’s roar of voices abruptly subsided, dropping in volume as the clock inched closer to ten thirty.

Metcalf stepped closer to Kendra, watching the countdown displayed on the big screen. “With a little luck, this could be over by lunchtime,” he whispered.

“I sure hope so.”

The digital countdown clock neared zero.

10 … 9 … 8 … 7 … 6 …

Please let this work, Kendra prayed. Let this nightmare come to an end.

5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1.

Griffin nodded to the systems chief, and he spoke into his headset. After a moment, the technician looked up and spoke to the assembled agents and support staff. “They’ve initiated the ping test.”

He punched a button and patched his headset audio through the P.A. system.

“Account one is a no-go,” said the voice on the line. “I repeat, it is a no-go. We have no connection.”

Groans erupted in the room.

Griffin raised his hands to silence the staff.

Kendra looked around the room. Metcalf no longer had the same confidence he’d shown only moments before.

“Account two is also a no-go,” said the voice on the P.A. “Same story with account three. No connections with the towers on any of them. Sorry, guys.”

More groans from the staffers.

“Shit.” Kendra’s shoulders slumped. She had hoped against hope. All that soaring optimism she had tried to keep alive was ebbing away. “I guess there’s a reason they call them disposable phones.”

“It’s not over,” Griffin said. “We know that third phone has made contact with the prison less than twenty-four hours ago. He probably just leaves it powered down until he’s ready to use it. We’ll continue to live-monitor, and the teams will stay in place. I’m telling you this could still work.”

Kendra leaned against a table. “I want to believe that. Damn, I want to believe it.”

“It’s our best shot,” Lynch said. “In the meantime, we’ll just keep following every lead. You know how it works … keep chiseling until the dam breaks.”

“Chisel? I wanted a sledgehammer, remember?”

He smiled. “Just point me in the right direction.”

“Maybe I can point you there.” Agent Reade called from the other side of the room. “Come look at this.”

Reade was immediately surrounded by Kendra, Lynch, Griffin, and several other agents. She pointed to the screen of her laptop. “San Quentin sent over the fingerprints they had on file from that visitor who was posing as a crime writer. I ran them, and we got a match.”

Kendra inhaled sharply. Hope was again beginning to stir.

Lynch bent down and squinted at the readout. “And who is it?”

“His name is Norman Wallach.”

Kendra froze. “And where does he live?”

“Right here in San Diego. I haven’t had a chance to do a full search on him yet, but his record is fairly clean. He had a DWI about a year ago, and he was arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct earlier this month. It looks like he’s lived at several different addresses in the past few years.”

Kendra studied the record. “I want to talk to him. I have to talk to him.”

Reade looked at Griffin. “I don’t mean any disrespect, sir. But I thought since I ran this down, I should be the one to—”

“I know. I know,” Kendra said. “I understand. And I’m not trying to run roughshod over you, Reade.” She moistened her lips. “But I have to be the one. You see … I know who this man is.”

Mission Heights

San Diego

2:15 P.M.

LYNCH PULLED UP TO THE CURB in front of the dilapidated Mission Heights apartment building. He nodded toward the chipped stucco and dozens of missing vertical blinds. “It looks condemned.”

Kendra sadly nodded. “He used to live in such a beautiful house.”

Lynch gazed at her. “You talk as if you’ve been there.”

“I have.”

He was silent a moment. “You notice how tactful I’m being not to bombard you with questions? I figure you’ll tell me eventually.”

“I appreciate the restraint. Being tactful must be extremely painful for you.”

“Exceptionally.” He smiled faintly. “But you’re worth it.”

They climbed out of the car and walked up the sidewalk to the front entrance. Although it had obviously once been a security door, it now opened freely without being buzzed by a tenant. They climbed the stairs to the second floor and made their way to an apartment at the end of the hall.

Kendra knocked on the door, and after thirty seconds with no answer, she tried again. Finally, she heard footsteps. The door opened a crack, just enough to see that it was indeed the man from the interview footage.”

“Norman Wallach?”

“Yeah.” He looked as if he’d been sleeping. He was a slender man, midforties, with longish gray hair.

“I’m Kendra Michaels and this is Adam Lynch. We’re working with the FBI on an investigation. May we come in?”

He stared at her for a long moment. “Kendra Michaels. You know … actually meant to write you a note or something. I just … couldn’t.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” He opened the door wide for them to enter.

Kendra and Lynch stepped inside the virtually empty studio apartment. The furnishings consisted of a single lawn chair, a sleeping bag, and a small television set.

Wallach ran his hand through his hair. “So what can I do for you?”

She said gently, “I believe you might guess. Mr. Wallach … why were you visiting Eric Colby in prison?”

After a long moment, he finally spoke. “I guess I’ve been waiting for somebody to call me on that.” He looked away from her as he dropped down in the lawn chair. “It should have happened before.”

“A man murders your little boy, and four years later you pretend to be someone else in order to visit him?”

Eyes glued open staring …

Wallach still didn’t look at her. “Yeah. Pretty messed up, huh?”