The door to the jetway for the Chicago flight opened and was secured by an agent. Almost immediately the passengers began disembarking. Shanahan picked up the bible and stood. He gazed at each passenger expectantly.

The tenth person looked promising, although the individual's appearance was not anything like Shanahan had expected. The man was thirtyish, slender, blond, and deeply tanned. He was dressed in a pinstriped business suit and carried a black ostrich briefcase. Sunglasses were perched on top of his carefully coiffed head. The man halted just inside the terminal and swept the area with his blue eyes. Sporting Shanahan, he walked directly over.

"Mr. O'Brian?" Derek questioned. He had a slight English accent.

"Mr. Leutmann," Shanahan said. He was taken aback. From Derek's phone voice he'd expected a dark, heavyset. physically imposing individual. The man in front of him resembled an English aristocrat more than a hired killer.

"I trust you brought the money." Derek said.

"Of course," Shanahan said.

"Would you mind handing it over," Derek said.

"Here in the terminal?" Shanahan questioned. He looked over his shoulder nervously. Shanahan had hoped to discuss the money issue in the privacy of his car in the parking garage. He was supposed to try to negotiate down both the down payment and the fee.

"Either we're in business or not," Derek said. "It's best to find out immediately to avoid hard feelings."

Shanahan removed the envelope he had in his inner jacket pocket and gave it to Derek. It contained five thousand dollars, half of the ten K the killer had demanded. There was no way Shanahan was going to try to bargain in public.

To Shanahan's horror, Derek put down his briefcase, blithely tore open the envelope, and counted the money. Shanahan anxiously looked around. Although no one appeared to be paying them any attention, Shanahan was acutely uncomfortable.

"Excellent," Derek commented, before pocketing the cash. "We're in business. What are the details you are supposed to provide me?"

"Could we at least start walking?" Shanahan managed to say despite a dry throat. Derek's nonchalance was unnerving.

"Of course," Derek said. He gestured down the concourse. "Why don't we proceed to baggage claim?"

Thankful to at least be moving, Shanahan started out. Derek stayed abreast, treading lightly on crepe-soled loafers.

"You have checked baggage?" Shanahan asked. It was something else he didn't expect.

"Of course," Derek said. "The airlines frown on firearms in the cabin. In my line of work, one has little choice."

They were walking along with a stream of other arriving passengers. To their left passed an equal number of people clutching tickets and hurrying in the opposite direction. There was no privacy.

"We have a car for you," Shanahan said.

"Excellent," Derek said. "But at the moment I'm more interested in the identity of the quarry. What's the name?"

"Reggis," Shanahan said. "Dr. Kim Reggis." Once again he scanned the faces around them. Thankfully there were no signs of interest or recognition. "Here's a recent photo," Shanahan said. He handed the picture to Derek. It wasn't very good. It had been copied from a newspaper article.

"This is quite grainy," Derek said. "I'm going to need more information."

"I've put together a bio," Shanahan said. He handed the paper to Derek. "You'll notice it has a physical description of the man. There's also the year, model, and type of his car along with the tag number. You have his address, but we have reason to believe he's not staying there at the moment."

"This is more like it," Derek said as he scanned the sheet. "Yes, indeed. Very complete."

"We believe Dr. Reggis spent last night at his former wife's residence' Shanahan said. "She bailed him out of jail yesterday morning."

"Jail?" Derek questioned. "Sounds like the doctor has been misbehaving."

"That's an understatement as far as we are concerned," Shanahan said.

They reached the baggage carousel and pressed in among the other passengers. The baggage from Derek's flight was just beginning to appear.

"There's one thing that I think you ought to know," Shanahan said. "There was a botched attempt on the doctor's life last night"

"Thank you for your forthrightness," Derek said. "That is indeed an important point. What you mean to say, of course, is that the man will be highly vigilant."

"Something like that," Shanahan said.

A shrill beeping sound made the tense Shanahan jump. It took him a moment to realize it was his pager. Surprised at being paged since Bobby Bo knew where he was and what he was doing, Shanahan snapped the pager off his belt and glanced at the small LCD screen. He was further confused because he didn't recognize the number.

"Would you mind if I used a phone?" Shanahan said. He pointed to a bank of pay phones lining a nearby wall.

"Not at all," Derek said. He was contentedly studying the information sheet on Kim.

Finding a few coins in his pocket en route to the phone, Shanahan quickly dialed the mysterious number. The phone was picked up on the first ring. It was Carlos.

"The doctor is here!" Carlos said in an excited, forced whisper.

"Where the hell are you talking about?" Shanahan asked.

"Here at Higgins and Hancock," Carlos said, keeping his voice low. "I'm using the phone in the lunchroom. This has to be fast. The doctor is working here as a slop boy. He looks crazy, man."

"What are you talking about?" Shanahan asked.

"He looks weird," Carlos said. "He looks like an old rock singer. His hair's cut short and what's left is blond."

"You're joking," Shanahan said.

"No, man!" Carlos insisted. "He's also got stitches on his face where I cut him. It's him, I know it is, although I had to look at him for a couple of minutes before I was sure. Then he came all the way around to my station and stood there for a couple of minutes until the boss came and dragged him away."

"What boss?" Shanahan asked.

" Jed Street," Carlos said.

"Did the doctor recognize you?" Shanahan asked.

"Sure, why not?" Carlos said. "He was staring at me. For a minute I was thinking he might come after me, but he didn't. If he had I would have done him in. You want me to do it anyway? I can get him while he's here?"

"No!" Shanahan shouted, losing control of himself for a moment. He knew that if Carlos killed Kim in the middle of the day with a hundred witnesses it would be a disaster. Shanahan took a deep breath and then spoke quietly and slowly. "Don't do anything. Pretend you don't recognize him. Just stay cool. I'll get word to you. Understand?"

"I want to do this guy," Carlos said. "I told you I don't want the money."

"That's very generous of you," Shanahan said. "Of course, you were the one who screwed up to begin with, but that's not the point at the moment. I'll get word to you, okay?"

"Okay," Carlos said.

Shanahan hung up the phone. He kept his hand on the receiver while he looked over at Derek Leutmann. This was a quandary. For the moment he didn't know what to do.

An unexpected tapping on the driver's-side window made Tracy 's heart skip a beat. During the time that she'd been parked at the end of the slaughterhouse, she'd seen occasional people coming and going from their vehicles. But no one had come near her car. Hastily Tracy pulled off the stereo headphones and turned to look out the window.

Standing next to the car was a grisly man clad in soiled overalls and a dirty turtleneck. On his head was a baseball hat turned backwards. Glued to his lower lip was an unlit cigarette that bobbed up and down as he breathed through his open mouth.

Tracy 's first impulse was to start the car and drive away. That idea was abandoned when she remembered the antenna teetering on the roof. Feeling she had little choice, she cracked the window.