Rachel looked along the mezzanine. Clusters of peo¬ple were hurrying toward us. We stepped away from the stairs and let them pass.

The cop below moved toward the ticketing area and spoke into his collar radio again.

"We've got two choices. One, we change our appear¬ance and try to get out with the crowd."

"Change our appearance how?"

"Go into a store and put on all black clothes, maybe. Find some scissors and cut off your hair. Mousse mine up. Try to look ten years younger."

Rachel didn't look encouraged. "That'll get us nailed in the airport. We won't match our passport photos."

"You're right. Then we do the simple thing. Go into the back of a store, find a couple of big cardboard boxes, and hide in them until all this dies down."

"Simple is good."

"But the police might bring dogs."

"God."

"Come on," I said, suddenly sure what to do.

I ran down the curved staircase, watching for police uniforms. I'd seen a marquee for a theater on our way in, and from the station's layout, I guessed it was on the lower level. The staircase terminated in a food court. People were rushing to finish their meals, anxiety on their faces. Through a jumble of orange and yellow chairs I saw a line of moviegoers filing out of the theater doors.

"Where are we going?" Rachel asked.

"The cinema."

"They're evacuating it."

As we moved toward the theater entrance, a section of wall opened about ten yards in front of us, and a frightened-looking young couple walked out, squinting their eyes. Before the tire door's spring could pull it closed, I darted forward and blocked it with my foot.

The houselights were on in the theater, but the seats were empty. Up the sloping floor to my left, a man in a sport jacket was ushering the last moviegoers up the cen¬ter aisle toward the main exit. To my right, a ten-foot-tall Hugh Grant walked dejectedly along a London street, his hands in his pockets. Rachel leaned against my back.

"What's in there?"

I pulled the door open wide enough for us to slip through, then lifted the bottom of the heavy red curtain that ran along the wall and let it fall over us. We flattened ourselves against the wall and separated, so as to fit more naturally into the billow of the fabric. I could no longer see Rachel, but I realized with surprise that we were holding hands. The instinct was as primitive as that of two Neanderthals comforting each other against a cave wall.

"Why here?" she asked. "Why not the back of a store?"

In my mind's eye, I saw police converging on our stolen truck.

"Dogs," Rachel whispered. "A minute ago, this room was full of sweating people. Different scents. Not like the stockroom of some store."

"Right." The soundtrack of the movie died with a groan. I expected to hear voices, but none came. Fifteen minutes passed. Twenty. Rachel clung to my sweating hand. As I wiped perspiration from my forehead, a male voice penetrated the curtain.

"I got the center aisle!"

Rachel's hand clenched mine.

Police radio chatter echoed through the theater.

"Okay," called a second man. "I'll shine my light under the seats."

The men didn't worry me much, but the rapid pant¬ing that followed nearly stopped my heart. I might soon have to choose between surrender and a shoot-out with city police.

"She's got something!" cried the first man. "Look, she's on a scent. Go, girl!"

I tried not to breathe.

"Shit, it's half a hot dog."

"Wait, she's onto something else."

The voices were closer. Rachel's hand was shaking. How would she react if I fired my gun? These weren't assassins sent by Geli Bauer. They were probably D.C. cops doing their duty.

"She's going in circles," said the second voice. "Too many scents. I'm smelling some BO myself. We're gonna have to come back later."

"Okay. They want her down by the tracks anyway."

The voices receded.

"What are we going to do?" Rachel whispered.

"Wait."

"How long?"

"They can't keep Union Station closed all day."

"You think the dog is coming back?"

"I don't know."

"I think I peed in my pants."

"Don't worry about it."

"Won't the dog smell it?"

She was right. "Just try to be quiet."

An hour and forty-five minutes later, a male voice came over the PA system. "Dr. Tennant, this is Officer Wilton Howard of the Washington, D.C, police department. We want you to know that we know this is all a misunder¬standing. We've been made aware that the shooting in North Carolina was self-defense, and we are prepared to offer you protective custody and unlimited communica¬tion with anyone you wish to speak to. Please step into plain sight with Dr. Weiss, put down any weapons, and turn yourself in to any officer. You will not be treated as a criminal."

"What do you think?" Rachel asked.

"I hear Geli Bauer in that message."

"Maybe it's for real. I mean, all the cops in the build¬ing heard that, too."

"If they've been told I'm a terrorist or something like that, they think anything is justified to bring me out. Plus, they think I'm armed."

"Are you?"

I started to lie, but she needed to know the truth. "Yes."

"Oh, God."

The police message began again.

"David…"

I reached out and squeezed her hand. "Stay quiet."

Another hour passed, with more and varied messages coming over the PA system. On instinct, I told Rachel to lie flat on the floor and remain against the wall. I did the same.

The dog didn't come back, but more cops did. It sounded as if they were walking every row of seats. Now and then I felt the heavy curtain sway as one of them checked it. As footsteps neared us, I pulled my gun out of my pants and prayed that Rachel could hold her nerve. Heavy steps approached me, and then the fabric lifted off my face.

A pair of black boots was inches from my eyes. I held my breath, unsure whether I'd been seen or not. The cur¬tain danced along my right cheek. Then it dropped, and the boots walked away. The cop had only hit the wall a few times with his hand to check behind the curtain. My heart felt as though it had turned to stone. The boots approached again. The cop checked the curtain the way he had before, one row down. I tried to shut out the sound of his footsteps. After a seeming eter¬nity, I realized he had passed us by. The search continued for another five minutes, then the radio chatter died. I thought Rachel must be close to cracking, but I didn't risk trying to speak to her. After twenty minutes with no further appeals over the PA system, I heard a mechanical hissing and clicking that I recognized as rewinding film.

"Is that the projector?" Rachel asked.

"Somebody's rewinding the film. They must be reopening the station. We should go."

"Maybe we should wait until tonight."

"No. There'll be guards posted at the exits tonight. Right now, we can count on a lot of confusion as they reopen the station. This is our best chance."

We got up and moved down the wall to the exit door. After listening and hearing nothing, I opened the door a crack. Two women walked past wearing street clothes. I thought they might be cops, but then the PA announced a rescheduled train. An empty terminal needed no such announcement. I pulled Rachel through the door.

The escalators and staircases were filling with people, and the clangs of kitchen equipment reverberated across the marble floor of the food court. We walked to the escalator and started up.

"When we hit the main floor, walk twenty yards behind me," I said. "If someone spots me, blend into the crowd and disappear."

The escalator terminated near the entrance of the B. Dalton store. I kissed Rachel on the cheek, then struck out across the floor, scanning the crowd for uniforms.

Angry travelers were pouring into the station like water through a dam. Most were heading for the trains. I couldn't have asked for better cover. I glanced back to make sure Rachel was following, then prepared to turn right, toward the main entrance. If the police were funneling people through a single checkpoint, I'd double back and search for an alternate escape route. If not, I'd gut it out and trust to the anonymity of the crowd to get us through.