Lauren bit her lip. "Maybe he doesn't like Americans hanging out at his orphanage."

"Maybe."

The children were just finishing lunch, and Scanlon was saying something about the workers, how they seemed distracted, when Lauren caught the glimpse of a woman walking across the courtyard toward the front door. She held her breath; it was her informant. She stood in the doorway, and their eyes locked.

"Hey." Lauren leaned close to Scanlon, a smile playing on her lips so she wouldn't catch the attention of any of the adults in the room. "She's here. I'll be right back."

"I'll come too." He slipped his camera into his bag and started in beside her.

"No." She gave him a look that left no room for negotiation. "She wanted me by myself."

He pursed his lips and made a frustrated sound. "All right." He looked around her toward the front door. "Don't go far."

"I won't."

This time as she left the building, she could hear the children calling after her. She looked back over her shoulder and saw Scanlon running interference, gathering them and telling them that she would be right back inside. Lauren picked up her pace.

They didn't have much time. She stepped into the courtyard and was met by yet another gust of gritty wind. Shading her eyes, she looked around, but the woman wasn't there. "Hello?" She took another ten steps and scanned the yard. There were several nooks and small areas near half-standing walls, but the woman was nowhere.

Unease slithered up her spine, and she half-expected to see Feni step out from behind one of the broken walls. She owned a gun, but she didn't carry it with her. If Feni had something planned, she couldn't offer much resistance. She was about to turn around and go back inside, when she heard the sound of children's voices behind her.

"Miss!" It was Senia, leading another little girl and two boys out into the courtyard. "Miss, sweets? Please?"

Lauren was about to tell them no, that the sweets had to be eaten inside and that they needed to go back and wait for her, when an explosion of bullets rang out across the patio. In a blur that took a fraction of a second, she turned toward the sound and saw three figures cloaked in black, each with a machine gun aimed in their direction.

"Stop!" She held out her hand toward them, then spun to look at the children. Two of the kids lay spread out on the ground, their white shirts spattered with blood, a dark pool fanning out beneath them. "No!" She was about to run toward them when another round of bullets rang through the air.

A burning sensation ripped through her shoulder and knocked her onto the hot cement. She'd been hit, and even though she kicked her legs and tried to find her way to a sitting position, she couldn't do it, couldn't move. All at once a series of voices began shouting at each other, and she looked toward the desert sand at the place where the gunmen were still standing. They waved their guns and started toward her, and she understood. She was the one they wanted. In the blur of pain and confusion she realized what was happening. Scanlon was right. It was a setup. The story probably held no more truth than half the other crazy lures that had been tossed her way.

Usually she was smart enough to avoid meeting with unnamed informants who promised a shocking truth. But this time it had involved kids . . . babies. She felt herself losing consciousness and she fought to keep her eyes open. The men were coming closer, and she wanted to scream. But that would only make them open fire on her. Instead she lay unmoving. Maybe they would think they'd killed her.

And maybe they had. Her shoulder was on fire, and she felt something warm and wet beneath her. Spots danced before her eyes, and she willed herself not to let go, not to give into the darkness that pulled at her. No, she ordered herself. Not yet! The children needed her. They were hit, two of them, right?

She inched herself backward, toward them. But as she did, Feni ran out from behind a door across the courtyard, and in a rush of bullets, he shot and laid out the first of the three gunmen. At the same time, bullets came from a window in the orphanage and before the gunmen could react, all three were on the ground.

Feni ran closer and sprayed another round of bullets at them. When he seemed sure they weren't going to move again, he raced to her. She heard Scanlon's voice from behind her at the same time.

"Lauren!" He was at her side, turning her over. "We have to get help." He looked at Feni, who was just reaching them. "Call for help, please!"

She moved her good arm and took hold of Scanlon's ankle. "The children . . . "

"The women are helping them." He gulped. His face was pale and lined with worry. "Don't move, Lauren. Help's coming."

"It's . . . just my shoulder." She winced. Her words were sticking together, and she felt faint again. "I'm . . . okay."

A woman ran up to them with a roll of bandaging. She handed it to Scanlon and he worked fast, pressing it hard against her upper arm. The pain was like white-hot lightning hitting her again and again. It roused her up and brought her back to the moment.

"We need to stop the bleeding."

"The children, Scanlon." She waited until he had her shoulder wrapped tight, then she sat up. Nausea built in her, but she shook it off. Scanlon tried to stop her, but she jerked away from him. Crawling on her knees, she covered the three feet that separated her from the cluster of women. "Please! Let me . . . let me see."

"Move, please," Scanlon took the lead and helped clear a path to the kids at the center of the circle.

Lauren pushed her way closer until she could see them clearly. One of them was a little boy, moaning and moving his head from side to side. He lay on the ground and Lauren looked at the place where the women were working. The child's kneecap had been blown off his leg.

She brought the back of her hand to her mouth, but she stopped herself from getting sick. What about the other child? Two women were kneeling beside her and only then did Lauren notice that they were weeping. Weeping and wailing and stroking the child's hair. Lauren still couldn't quite make her out, so she crept a little closer and then . . .

"No! No, not her!" The words that came from her were almost silent, spoken with what remained of her strength. Senia, the little girl with the missing front tooth. "Oh, please!"

Scanlon dropped down beside her. "Lauren, come on. They're taking care of her."

One of the women let her head drop back. She clenched her fists and shook them at the sky. "Why? Why her?"

Lauren reached out, but she had no more strength, no way to reach the little girl. "Scanlon, is she dead? Tell me if she's dead."

"Lauren - " he put his hand on her shoulder - "let's move. They need room to work."

The wailing from the women grew louder, and others joined them. The only woman missing was the informant, the one who must've gotten away once the shooting began. The one who had set her up. She looked up one last time. The little girl's eyes were open and unblinking. One of the weeping women near her shut first one of Senia's lids, then the other.

Scanlon brought his head close to hers. "She's gone, Lauren. Let it go. Come on."

She wanted to run to the child and hold her in her arms. They hadn't had time for sweets. That's all the girl wanted. A lollipop. A lollipop and a chance to hold her hand the way she'd done the last time Lauren was there. The spots were back, and she let her forehead rest on the ground. It wasn't too late, was it? The sweets were still in her bag. Maybe if she found one she could give it to Senia and everything would be - The spots connected, and Lauren felt herself falling, as if she were being dropped from a thirty-story building and there was no way to stop. Something warm and salty was coming from her mouth, but she couldn't move her head, couldn't open her eyes. Help me . . . But the words died long before they reached her lips.

She felt the heat from the patio radiating through her arms and legs, and then a dizzying sensation. She was dying. She must've been shot in the chest, not the shoulder. Her heart was spilling out everything within it, the ocean of sorrow, the desire to bring peace to these people, and her will to live. All of it was leaving her.

"Lauren, stay with me!" Scanlon sounded a hundred miles away. His voice was tinny and distant, and she couldn't figure out where it was coming from. He was saying something else, but his voice faded more and more.

And then there was nothing.

Nothing but hot, burning pain, utter sorrow, and darkness.

NINETEEN.

Shane was finishing up a final briefing with a student fighter pilot. The guy was twenty-four, educated, and had a promising future at the Top Gun academy. He'd been through enough training that he knew what he was doing. But this would be his first solo flight, and Shane couldn't leave anything to chance.

Shane held a checklist in his hands. "Bail-out procedure."

"Bail out." The young man's words were clear and clipped. He stood at attention throughout the short examination, his flight suit perfect, his helmet tucked beneath his arm. Then, as Shane took notes, the guy rattled off a perfect description of the circumstances and situations when a bail out was necessary, and followed it up with a detailed account of the procedure.

"Good." Shane placed a check next to the words bail out on the form. They went through three more terms, and then Shane looked at the pilot. "You ready?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"Okay, call sign Doogie." Shane grinned. "Let's see you fly." He shook the pilot's hand, spun around, and headed for the tower. For the next half hour he was inconstant communication with the pilot as he practiced routine flight maneuvers. Finally - right on time - he requested permission to land.

"Roger that, Doogie. Bring'er in." Another instructor was watching from over Shane's shoulder. Shane held up his hand and the two gave each other a high five. He pressed the radio button one more time. "I can see why they recommended you for Top Gun, Doogie. You're gonna be a good one."

"Thank you, sir."

Shane had some more paperwork and another fifteen minutes with the pilot. Then it was time for lunch. He strutted across the flight deck and wiped the sweat off his brow. The cloudiness of a few weeks ago was gone, and the sun was hotter than usual for January.

He went to the cafeteria, bought himself a chicken Caesar salad, and took a table by himself on the outdoor patio, the one that overlooked the runway. It was loud outside, but Shane didn't mind. Every landing and takeoff still shot adrenaline through him, and made him long to be in the cockpit. He bowed his head and thanked the Lord for his food.

Then he adjusted his sunglasses and stared into the vast blue. There was nothing like taking an F 15 out over Nevada and looping up across New Mexico and down along the coast of California all in less than thirty minutes. That kind of power never left a guy. He leaned forward and anchored his elbows on the glass-top table.

What was it about flying lately? His job as flight instructor had always been rewarding, but these days he couldn't wait to come in and work with the young pilots. Part of his job was to stay adept at the cockpit himself, but since his engagement party he'd been putting in twice the required hours in the sky. As if he couldn't get enough sky time.

He was about to take another bite of his salad when he felt his phone vibrating in his pants pocket. With the noise on the flight deck he'd miss every call if he didn't have it set to vibrate. He pulled the phone out and squinted at the small Caller ID window. Ellen. He waited for the surge of excitement to hit him, but it never came.

He tapped the receive button. "Hey, how's my girl?" He set his fork down and pushed his chair back, giving himself room to cross one of his ankles over his knee.

"Hi." She was talking loud, and he heard a chorus of voices in the background. "I'm in D.C., and you won't believe it!"

D.C.? Had he known she was going there? He massaged his brow with his fingertips. "You're in D.C.?"

She did a frustrated breath. "Yes, Shane. I told you Wednesday I was coming to D.C. for the weekend." Her tone lightened some. "Daddy had some friends he wanted me to meet."

"Oh." Shane let his hands drop back to his lap. He had no memory of her telling him about the trip. Not that it mattered. She flew to Washington, D.C., at least once a month. He removed his sunglasses and checked them for scratches. There were none. "Okay, what's up?"

"I took the red-eye, so I got here in time for some meetings." Excitement made her voice shrill. "A lot of the big guys from the party were here, and Daddy put in a plug for you."

"He did?" Shane slipped the glasses on again and watched a pair of F 16s coming in for a landing. He released a single laugh, but it didn't sound amused, even to him. "I thought we talked about this, Ellen. I'm not running for office."

"I know, but that doesn't matter." She was undaunted, her voice louder still. "Sorry about the noise. The meeting just broke up. Daddy explained it to the group. He told them that by the time you were on a ballot, he wanted everyone to know who you were."

A small thrill ran through Shane. "Everyone?"

"Yes." She paused for effect. "Even the president, Shane. The whole party's excited."

"That's amazing." He tried to imagine Ellen's father getting the big hitters in the Republican Party excited about his future son-in-law. It was a heady picture. "Tell him thanks for me."

"He wants you to come with me next month. Everyone wants to get to know you."

"Sounds good." Another plane was taking off from a different runway. Shane imagined himself behind the controls. He blinked and gripped the arms of his chair. "I'll have to see about getting off."

Ellen giggled. "If the president of the United States wants to meet you, I think the navy might be willing to give you a few days."

"True." He squirmed in his seat and uncrossed his legs. "Hey, listen. Lunch is almost over, I better go."

"Okay, me too." She made a squealing sound. "I'm so excited for you, Shane. For both of us."

"Right. Thanks. Tell your dad I said hi."

The conversation was over before Shane realized that he hadn't told her he loved her. Of course, they didn't say it all the time - mostly only when they were alone or kissing good-bye after an evening together. Even then it felt almost businesslike. He slipped his phone back into his uniform pocket.

If he really wanted to be a politician, if he wanted the chance to represent the people on the Republican ticket, he should've felt like flying across the flight deck without any plane at all. This was the chance most aspiring political leaders only dreamed about. Perfect connections, a groundswell of favorable opinion, the support of leaders - all the way to the president.

Shane picked up his fork and took another bite of his salad. He should be excited. He and Ellen had talked more about the idea in the days since the engagement party, and he had to admit the possibility was enticing. The country was ready for someone with his moral fiber, she'd told him. Everyone was saying so.

He poked at his salad. The lettuce had wilted during his phone call, but he was too hungry to care. He chewed another bite and thought about the plan he and Ellen had devised. He would work another year as flight instructor, through the days of their May wedding and their honeymoon to Jamaica. Then as the year drew to a close, he would line himself up for position on a ballot. His parents and Ellen's father would bankroll them for the next year while he built a following in Nevada.

"After that," her father told him the last time they were together, "there'll be no stopping you, my boy."

It sounded wonderful. Who wouldn't be excited about that sort of plan? Still . . . Shane stared into the blue. None of it felt like his plan. Before meeting Ellen, he'd been content to be an instructor at Top Gun. No, not content. That wasn't how he felt. He was living his dream. Yes, the idea of running on the Republican ticket sounded good, but not nearly as good as teaching young guys to be hotshot fighter pilots.

A warm breeze blew over him. God, everything is happening so fast. I feel like I've lost me.

He waited for some kind of response, a sign of God's guidance. But today there was nothing like that, no sense of understanding, no quiet inner whispers of reassurance. Shane watched yet another jet leave the runway and lift into the sky above Reno.

Okay, God, I know You're there. Even when I don't feel You. Give me wisdom, please. Just a little wisdom to help me know what to do next.

Still no answer resonated within him. He returned to his salad and suddenly, as it had done every day since his engagement party, Lauren Anderson's face came to mind. He had prayed about that too. He was getting married. It was time to let Lauren go forever. He looked at his salad, and her image faded. The chicken was lukewarm, but it tasted all right. As he ate he thought about his prayer. Wisdom was exactly what he needed. Direction about what to do next, something that would help him understand why he was uncertain about a future that only a few months ago had felt bright and exciting. Yes, wisdom was exactly what he needed.

So he didn't make a decision he'd spend a lifetime regretting.

TWENTY.

Emily was pretty sure her father was an instructor at the navy's Top Gun training facility. The problem was, she couldn't prove it. She had his birth date, his physical description, and his name. But three times she'd contacted the academy, and all three times she'd come away with no information. The last time she'd called was Friday, two days ago, and her conversation was particularly frustrating.

"Hi." She tried to make herself sound older than her eighteen years. "I'm doing a story on your flight instruction program." She held her breath.

"You'll have to talk to the public information office, Ma'am." The guy connected her call to the right department.

Emily didn't mind. This had happened each of the other two times she'd called. She waited until someone picked up the call. "Media relations, Private Walton here."

"Yes, hello." She paused, so she wouldn't seem desperate. "I'm a freelance writer working on a feature story about flight instructors."

"How can I help you?" The woman was pleasant, but her tone said she was in a hurry.

"Actually, I'd like to set up an interview with one specific flight instructor. Shane Galanter."

"Officer Galanter's a busy man. Maybe I can fax you over a list of frequently asked questions and their answers."