Ethan reached out and flicked a switch. An engine growled into life beneath him as he kicked the Erik Buell 1190RS superbike into gear, the twin-cylinder symphony echoing down the narrow alley like rolling drums. The Yukon and the Lotus raced past in front of him as Ethan slipped the clutch and the superbike surged out of the alleyway and turned in pursuit. Frantic acceleration yanked on Ethan's arms as he twisted the throttle and the motorcycle raced up through sixty, seventy, eighty, the front wheel leaving the ground.

Ethan eased the bike around Lopez's accelerating Lotus, just able to hear the roar of her car's engine above his own as he raced past and crossed the lane in front of her.

He focused on the Yukon ahead as it swerved past traffic in an effort to escape the yellow car behind. The driver's attention was all on Lopez as she whipped the Lotus left and right in an effort to pass.

Ethan aimed for a gap between the Yukon and the central reservation and wound the superbike's throttle open as he screamed through the narrow space, the howl of the engine vibrating through his chest. He glanced left as he came alongside the Yukon and saw the bulky shaven head of Hayden Decker glaring at him from the driver's seat. Two-time bail jumper, $18,000 bond, manslaughter charges. Decker was worth a lot of cash to Lopez and Ethan.

Decker, one side of his face smeared with a huge purple spider-web tattoo, shot Ethan a savage grin. His mouth sparkled with gold as he span the Yukon's wheel toward the motorbike.

Ethan twisted the Buell's throttle and thundered clear as the Yukon narrowly missed his rear wheel and slammed into the central reservation to spray a blossoming fireball of sparks into the air. Ethan peered into his rear-view mirror and saw Decker wrestle the vehicle back under control. Lopez's voice chortled in his ear.

'Very James Bond, but I can't get by him and if you brake he'll plough straight through you.'

Ethan scanned the traffic around him, judged the distance to the next vehicle as 100 yards, and made his decision. He stamped the Buell down a gear and reveled in the wail of the engine as he raced away from the Yukon until the big vehicle was a small black spot in the center of his mirror.

'Where the hell are you going?' Lopez asked in confusion.

Ethan grinned as the wind howled like a banshee past his face. The past few years of his life had been almost entirely loathsome, the months and years grinding past beneath a crushing burden of repressed grief. The disappearance of his journalist fiancee Joanna Defoe from the Gaza Strip years before had left in its wake a chilling vacuum in his soul, devoid of passion, scoured of hope. Learning that she had not died in Gaza had somehow been both a blessing and a curse, for the mystery of her disappearance had only deepened further. It had been whilst hunting for her that he had encountered former Washington Police Detective Nicola Lopez, and if nothing else had happened since, his work with her had brought him back from the abyss. He hadn't felt so alive since he'd rappelled out of a US Marines CH-47 over Afghanistan, straight into a Taliban ambush.

Ethan closed the throttle and squeezed the brakes hard. The Buell's forks dove toward the ground as the rear wheel soared into the air behind him. Ethan leaned back to keep the weight central as the superbike shuddered to a halt in the center of the freeway. He kicked the side-stand down and climbed from the saddle, then turned and faced the Yukon bearing down on him from sixty yards away.

Ethan strolled forward, the sound of the big engine roaring closer with Lopez's Lotus just behind it. He stood in the center of the freeway and watched Hayden Decker's craggy features rush toward him behind the screen.

'Ethan?'

Ethan grinned as he saw Decker's face screw up in confusion.

'Drop your anchor, Nicola, now!'

The Lotus's wheels locked up in a cloud of blue smoke as Lopez stamped on the brakes. Ethan reached beneath his leather jacket and whipped out a Beretta M9 9mm pistol. The weapon had been the standard-issue sidearm of the Marine Corps in Ethan's day, and he had liked the weapon despite concerns about its stopping power. Compact, light and easy to use, he kept one for what he liked to call 'special occasions'. Ethan dropped onto one knee and aimed double-handed. He squeezed once and a single shot recoiled the pistol with a sharp crack.

The Yukon's front nearside tire folded upon itself as the big truck swerved violently to one side and slammed again into the reservation, grinding metal against metal in a screeching cacophony. Ethan stood his ground as the Yukon shuddered along the reservation and came to rest ten yards away, Decker's door pinned against the metal railings. Ethan saw him scramble across to the passenger door and kick it open before tumbling from the vehicle as Lopez screeched to a halt somewhere behind the Yukon.

Ethan dashed forward and aimed the pistol at Decker.

'Get down, stay still!'

Decker ignored him and stood upright, over six feet tall and 250 pounds of muscle bursting from a white vest. He glared at Ethan without concern.

'What, you goin' down for homicide too? You can shoot a tire, Warner, but you can't shoot me.'

Ethan lowered the pistol.

'Got that right,' he agreed. Decker squinted at him and then turned to run.

He made a single pace before Lopez's elbow ploughed into his solar plexus with a dull thump that made Ethan wince. Decker doubled over with a strangled gasp as Lopez span gracefully on one heel, ducked down and stabbed a boot across the inside of the big man's knee. Decker quivered and toppled like a fallen tree before slamming down onto the asphalt. Lopez whipped her cuffs out and thrust one knee deep into Decker's back as she forced the restraints around his thick wrists. She looked up at Ethan's Beretta.

'We're not supposed to be carrying.'

The state of Illinois had a strict No-Issue policy over concealed weapons, meaning that no permit could be obtained from the courts or local law enforcement. Only Illinois and the District of Columbia had such policies in place. Ethan shrugged as he slipped the weapon into a shoulder holster beneath his jacket.

'I got tired of chasing dudes like Decker here with nothing more than pepper spray.'

Lopez hauled Decker to his feet. The shaven-headed, tattooed criminal towered over her.

'I got my rights!' he shouted at Ethan. 'You're carrying and you shot at me!'

Ethan was about to answer when the sound of roaring engines cut him off. He turned to see a pair of Police Interceptors screech alongside them, blocking off the lane as four officers tumbled out of the vehicles with their weapons drawn.

'Drop the piece!'

Ethan winced in disbelief as he raised one hand while carefully laying his pistol down on the asphalt at his feet. From the corner of his eye he saw Decker flash a spiteful grin. Ethan reached to the badge dangling from his neck and showed it to the officers as they advanced, their weapons aiming unwaveringly at his chest.

'Bail Bondsmen, custody's ours, guys.'

The larger of the two officers reached out and grabbed the badge with thick fingers before ripping it from Ethan's neck. As his partner covered him he grabbed Ethan's shoulders and span him around before ramming him up against the Yukon's crumbled hood.

'You had custody, right up to illegally discharging a weapon on a public highway.'

'Give us a break, guys,' Lopez called, holding Decker by his cuffs like a dog on a leash. 'We spent over a week chasing this walking trash down.'

The second pair of officers yanked Decker away from her and prodded him toward their patrol vehicle.

'You'll be more careful next time then, won't you,' one of them shot back at her.

Ethan felt the cold steel of handcuffs wrap around his wrists, and then he was hauled upright and twisted around to face his arresting officer. The podgy man's pallid face shone with the satisfaction of mindless spite.

'You ever been to Cook County Jail before?' he uttered.

Ethan was about to answer when a black Dodge Durango SUV pulled in alongside the reservation. Ethan watched as two men in gray suits and sunglasses climbed out, moving to flank an elderly man in a dark blue suit who hurried toward them.

Ethan watched as the old man surveyed the crashed Yukon, the cops, Ethan's cuffs and the blown-out tire.

'Release him immediately,' he ordered the cops and pointed at Ethan. 'He's on government time.'

'Who the hell are you?' the podgy officer uttered, his face now twisted with indignation.

'Douglas Jarvis,' the old man replied. 'Defense Intelligence Agency.'

'He's under arrest for illegal discharge of a firearm,' the cop protested. 'He's going nowhere but jail.'

Jarvis reached into his jacket and produced a cellphone that he brandished like a weapon.

'One phone call and your career will be over. Finished. I'm here on government business and you're an obstruction. There was no gun, no discharge and you were never here. Either remove yourself from this scene or I'll remove you from your job. Your call, son.'

'You've got no jurisdiction,' the cop snapped back, but his resolve was weakening before Jarvis's uncompromising glare.

'The Pentagon is my jurisdiction,' Jarvis replied. 'You feel lucky?'

The cop's jowls trembled with suppressed rage for a long beat as he glanced at the identity tag hanging from the lapel of the old man's jacket. His brain slowly digested the gravity of the threat, and then he cursed and unlocked Ethan's cuffs before marching back toward his vehicle. Jarvis wasted no time as he directed his men.

'Get this mess cleared up. We've got to move, right now.'

Ethan stared at Jarvis in surprise. 'Where's the fire?'

'Still haven't got the hang of abiding by the law, Ethan?' Jarvis asked, gesturing to the wrecked Yukon and the Beretta pistol at his feet.

'The job gets done,' he replied. 'I take it this isn't a social call?'

'It's a clean-up operation now,' Jarvis said moodily, and gestured to one of his men. 'Find the bullet in that Yukon's tire and lose it.' He looked at the cops now holding Decker. 'You guys dump that moron back at Cook County Jail where he belongs.'

'I got my rights!' Decker shouted as he was shoved toward one of the squad cars, and pointed at Ethan. 'I want him arrested for shooting at me!'

Jarvis glanced at the fugitive with an expression of mild disgust.

'Son, you lost your rights the moment you broke the law. You're not out of here in the next sixty seconds I'll arrange life without parole in Pelican Bay for you. Agreed?'

Lopez shook her head and started toward Jarvis. 'No way, we need that bond money.'

'Too late, you've lost it,' Jarvis shot back. 'We don't have time to argue. I need you in Florida, right now.'

'The hell you do!' Lopez snapped and jabbed a finger at him. 'You can't just come out here, click your fingers and take us off the street! That bond will pay the bills for two months.'

'There was no bond after what Ethan did,' Jarvis replied. 'Are you ready to go to work for some real money, or shall I just leave and let Ethan get himself arrested?'

Lopez simmered in fury but did not reply. Ethan, suddenly ashamed for having wrecked their latest mark, looked across at the old man.

'We got time to pick up some stuff before we leave?' he asked.

'Ten minutes,' the old man nodded. 'Believe me, there's no time to lose.'

5.

RIVER FOREST, ILLINOIS.

June 28, 07:22 Ethan Warner pulled off his leather biker jacket and tossed it onto a couch in the office that he and Lopez had rented since founding Warner & Lopez Inc. Lopez and Jarvis followed him inside. The office contained little more than two desks, some filing cabinets, a safe, a cooler and a small television. Posters on the walls portrayed numerous bail-jumpers in the Chicago area, right out as far as the Michigan border. Being bail bondsmen wasn't a glamorous part of their work, and nor was being hired as private detectives, but both jobs paid the bills.

Since losing everything years before in the aftermath of his fiancee's disappearance, Ethan had been prudent with the money that Warner & Lopez Inc. brought in, but Lopez was another story. Impulsive to the point of recklessness, she had bought her Lotus despite having only managed to furnish half of her tiny apartment. Forced to send a third of her salary home to her impoverished family south of the border, she seemed to have given up on her once responsible attitude and thrown caution entirely to the wind.

Lopez shot Jarvis a dirty look as she tore an image of Hayden Decker from the wall and tossed it into a waste-basket with a flourish.

'Eighteen thousand bucks down the drain,' she said to him. 'Thanks.'

Jarvis said nothing as Ethan and Lopez gathered cameras, notepads, cans of pepper spray and, from the safe, two sports bags that contained a change of clothes for each of them. Jarvis surveyed them from one side of the office, checking his watch every few moments.

The old man had once been Captain of a United States Marines rifle platoon, and Ethan's senior officer from his time in the Corps in Iraq and Afghanistan. Their friendship, cemented first during Operation Iraqi Freedom, and later when Ethan had resigned his commission and been embedded with Jarvis's men as a journalist, had led to Warner & Lopez Inc.'s unusual and discreet accord with the Defense Intelligence Agency, where Jarvis continued to serve his country. So far, Ethan and Lopez had been involved in two major investigations for the DIA, both of which concerned what the agency liked to discreetly term anomalous discoveries.

'So what's the story?' Ethan asked as he hefted his pistol thoughtfully in his hand. Then he stuffed it into his kit bag. Better safe than sorry.

Jarvis frowned at the weapon but did not protest.

'Homicide, way down in Miami. County Sheriff sends in officers to investigate a witness report of a man fleeing his home under suspicious circumstances. The cops arrive, gain entry and find a dead woman and child, both executed with a single shot to the head.'

Ethan grimaced.

'Any idea on the perpetrator? Could be family if the kid was shot too.'

'The man who fled the scene is one Charles Purcell, the husband and father of the victims. He hasn't been seen since, but he has contacted the police.'

Both Ethan and Lopez stopped what they were doing.

'Why'd he do that?' Lopez asked.

'That,' Jarvis replied, 'is why you're heading down there right now. He made a call to the officer heading up the investigation and told him to contact you, Ethan.'

Ethan stared at Jarvis for a long moment. 'I don't know anybody down in Miami.'

'We've already run checks,' Jarvis agreed. 'There's nothing to show that the two of you have ever met.'

Ethan felt a wave of foreboding sweep over him. Visions of a psychopathic serial killer with twisted plans of vengeance for some unknown or long-forgotten offense flickered darkly through his mind. Most all victims of the truly insane had no real understanding of why they were targeted, often because the reasons made sense only within the tortured crucible of their killer's mind.

'Then how does this guy Purcell know who I am?' Ethan asked. 'And what the hell's a suspected murderer want with me?'

'That's what's bothering us,' Jarvis admitted. 'This guy must have gone to some lengths in order to locate you.'

Ethan almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, but he glanced out of the office windows as though he were being watched. 'How would he know where to find me if he doesn't know me? It doesn't make any sense.'

'Believe me,' Jarvis replied, 'not much about this case makes any sense right now. You two ready?'

Ethan, his thoughts fogged with confusion, zipped up his bag as Lopez slung hers over her shoulder and they walked out of the office onto the street outside. Ethan had just locked the door when a UPS truck pulled up alongside and the driver stepped out with a board-back envelope in his hand.

'Ethan Warner?' the driver asked him.

Ethan stepped forward and signed the driver's palmtop, then took the envelope and looked at it.

'You can open it when you get back,' Jarvis said as he snatched the envelope away and slipped it through the mailbox. 'We've got to move, okay?'

Ethan shrugged and followed Lopez and Jarvis into the Durango, which immediately pulled out and sped toward the nearest freeway heading south. Ethan experienced a mild sense of self-importance as he glanced around the hushed interior of the SUV and saw several other Durangos join them on the on-ramp and form an honor-guard around them as they sped through morning traffic. Silent hazard lights flashed on the roofs. Working for the DIA had often proved dangerous, but it had its advantages too.

'Where are we going?' Lopez asked.

'Scott Air Force Base, Belleville,' Jarvis replied. 'I'll explain when we get there.'