Glenn sprang open the van door, the one Shoulders had risked his life to shut, shielding her. She swung it open, and leaped onto the road.

"Get back inside," her escort ordered.

She grabbed Shoulders around the waist. "Let me help," she said, tugging on him.

Glenn heard the insect drone of an engine race toward them. Her escort lifted Shoulders around the chest, and she circled his knees in her arms. They rolled him into the van as the motorcycle flew past. It made a tight turn 50 feet away. Her escort spun around, and positioned himself in front of her.

"Get back!" He brought a large gun with a scope up to eye level.

Glenn tried to crawl inside, but there were meaty legs in her way. She tried to move fast. Maybe she did. The whole world started moving in slow motion. The motorcycle came toward them in slo-mo. Her escort took a slo-mo step in front of her, and from her peripheral vision a sleek silver arrow shot out from behind a leafy bush. The motorcycle advanced, the large gun banged, and the arrow traveled straight and true. By the time she pivoted, and got her feet up and over Shoulders, the gun discharged two times, and Gramp's silver Pontiac made contact with the rear wheel of the motorcycle. The road became a wild wave. The motorcycle tire fishtailed, dropping the machine on its side, and dragging the rider through chrome sparks. The car skidded into the War Correspondent's Arch where it stopped, and Geoff rocketed out. Glenn saw him glance at the motorcycle, then focus on the van. Her escort aimed his gun.

Geoff looked right at it, but he didn't slow down. Evidently, the lizard part of his brain was in control, too. He picked up his pace, running toward Glenn.

"Freeze!"

She cried, "He's with me!"

"Don't move."

"No." She dove for her escort's arm. "He's with me!"

"Glenn!" Geoff called.

She yelled, "Stop running."

"Get down." Her escort shouted into the van. "Get her down."

Shoulders' zombie hand grabbed her by the collar, and yanked her to the floor where he used his beefy carcass to shelter her.

"Stop!" She struggled to get up. "Don't shoot!"

Her words hung suspended for a second, then she heard a balloon burst.

Time was meaningless-seconds, minutes, hours measured life slipping away. Did it matter? One man was lying next to her with his life leaking out, another was splattered over the pavement, while yet another had rushed headlong into a government bullet. Time stood still for him, and her for the rest of what remained of her life. The one thing Glenn had tried to prevent, had just happened: Mrs. Duncan had lost another son.

Somehow she pushed her way through the fog to wrestle with the unthinkable. If she believed in prayer, or God, this would be a good time to get Him on the phone. Life and death were entirely too relevant to take on her puny shoulders. This was a burden that needed to be shared with someone bigger. She pressed her face into her hands, and began to sob.

"Thank God," said the man, in the doorway. "I thought you were dead."

"Geoff?"

Glenn sniffled, and swiped the tears from her cheek. She leaped with a laugh into his arms, and buried her cheek in Geoff's neck.

"Oh, Geoff. I thought you were dead."

"Naw. It's that sorry son of a bitch on the motorcycle. He told him not to move, but he raised his stupid gun anyway."

"Who? I thought he was already dead."

"He is now."

The agent went a few yards out when a pickup truck roared over the hill, and screeched to a stop. It was the pink one she'd seen earlier. A concerned citizen? Her escort ran to him, had a short conversation, then ran back.

"We've got to get Lou to a medic. He's bleeding real bad. Somebody's gotta keep pressure on it."

Geoff said, "Okay."

"Not you. I'm going to need you up front. Ever ride shotgun?"

"Not officially."

"I'm going to deputize you. Remember, you can't disclose what you see. By the way, I'm Dave."

"I'm Geoff." They shook hands.

"Pretty fancy driving."

Dave took a fresh handkerchief from his breast pocket. He eased Lou onto his back, and placed the white square on a spot under his collarbone. Then, he reached for Glenn's hand, and put it over the handkerchief. She squirmed.

"Pressure," he said. "Firm, steady pressure." Frank emotion stared from his eyes. "His life is in your hands."

The back doors slammed, and the van began weaving downhill. The only illumination came from an orange lantern fixed to the wall behind the cab. In a few minutes her eyes adjusted to it, and she looked at Lou. If he wasn't dead, he was doing a good imitation of it. She bent over him, trying to determine if he was breathing, but couldn't. She reinforced her hold on the pressure bandage with one hand, and loosened his tie and shirt buttons, just in case. His life is in your hands. Great! Just what I need . She looked away from the dark liquid seeping through her fingers.

The farmer in the truck must have been part of the operation. He'd driven past, verified her location, and called in the van. In the meantime, the motorcyclist had located her. The van arrived, and she was escorted to it, taking her sweet time about it. Lou squirmed.

"Hey," she said. "You alive in there?" She searched his face.

His hand floated up, and covered hers. "You... alive?"

"Yes. Thanks to you. And, now I'm returning the favor. Your partner there, Dave? He's driving like a bat out of hell. Got my friend riding shotgun. Guess that's usually your job, huh? Huh?" She jostled him, and he made a weak sound with his throat. "He deputized him. Ha, sounds like a bad western, huh? What's that mean, anyway? Is that something a person can like turn into a career? If you knew Geoff you'd know what a joke that is. That boy has majored in everything, and decided on nothing. Maybe this'll be it. They say there's a reason for everything. Maybe Geoff will decide he wants to be a federal agent. Just between you and me, I think he's a natural. He has a lot of courage. Don't tell him I said that. Am I rambling? It's not because I'm nervous. I'm sure you're going to be fine. I'm not worried about you. Not at all."

She gazed up at the ceiling. What's taking so long? Had it been long? Maybe they were still in slow motion. She risked peeking at the wound. It wasn't surgical lighting, but what she saw made her queasy.

"Oh, boy. Lou. Lou! Listen to me. We're almost there." That's pretty low, lying to a dying man . "Just hang on a couple minutes." It might not be a lie, they could be near . "I'm not going to let go, Lou. You might as well make up your mind to that. I'm the most stubborn woman you ever met. Tune in to my voice. Okay. I wish I'd known I could trust you. We'd all be safe right now. Don't blame Geoff. He was trying to help. Which is the same thing you were doing, so you understand. What? Did you say something?"

"Are... you...? You... safe?"

"For crying out loud. Yes, I'm safe. You saved me. I guess I owe you a drink. Soon as you get a Band-Aid stuck on this hole in your neck we're gonna go out on the town, you and me, and I'm gonna buy you a good strong belt, and we're gonna toast your health. How does that sound?"

A tear rolled down her cheek, and she swatted it away. She tried to stop chattering. The strain was showing in her voice.

"What's your drink? You seem like a beer guy, dark ale or lager. But, I want you to order something real pricey. Twelve year old scotch or... an expensive wine. How about this? A bottle of James Bond's favorite champagne. That would be appropriate, don't you think? You being a spy of sorts. And, me being... well, I'm not a Russian agent or anything. What'd you say? Please don't ask me if I'm safe again. You're breaking my heart."

"Dom... Perignon."

"That's right." She laughed. "Good old Dom. New Year's is coming up. Why don't we make it a date right now, to go out on the town, and drink until we puke? Doesn't that sound like fun?"

The van jolted to a stop, and the rear doors flew open. Two men in lab coats heaved Lou onto a gurney. Glenn was still grasping the bloody handkerchief.

"He's alive," she said, as she put the bandage in Dave's hand. "I got him to talk to me."

Dave looked embarrassed. "Ordinarily, this doesn't happen."

Glenn didn't know if he was talking about the chaos in the park, or his partner being shot, or his own show of emotion. Whatever it was, he immediately shook it off, and led them to a motorized golf cart. They were in a concrete tunnel lit by the same type lanterns as in the van, except these were citron colored. She guessed they were underground.

"Where are we?"

"I could tell you," Geoff said, putting his arm around her. "But, then I'd have to kill you. At least, that's what Dave said."

"You don't have to be so happy about it." She looked at Lou's blood splashed across the back of her knuckles. "Is there someplace I can wash up?"

Dave turned the cart left, and stopped in front of a metal door like on a submarine. A guard in a green uniform and matching beret went through the formalities of checking Dave's ID before buzzing them through, and cranking open the hatch. Behind it was an octagonal office. What a blast from the past. The upholstery was burgundy-colored leather, the lamps were green-shaded with brass pedestals, the artwork generic landscapes with earth tones. Glenn glanced at the round clock face on the wood grain paneling, half expecting the minute and hour hands to be frozen in time like everything else in the room seemed to be. In the middle was a mahogany desk so large and self-important it dwarfed the man sitting behind it. She halfway expected it to be President Eisenhower.

"Good to see you." He pivoted in his chair, and ejected himself across the room. "Dave, excellent work. I wouldn't worry about Lou. He's as strong as an ox. He did the job, that's what matters." He clapped Dave on the shoulder. "You can stand down now."

"Yes, Sir."

"Better check on those doctors, make sure Lou's getting the care he deserves."

Dave saluted, and left the room. The man then turned his attention to Glenn.

"We meet at last. Justin Knight." He took her hand, and looked it over. "You're not hurt, are you?"

She pulled back. "Is there someplace to wash up?"

"She stayed with Lou," Geoff said. "Probably saved his life."

"Through that door is a washroom. Help yourself."

She stared at him for a moment. "Haven't we met before?"

"Isn't that supposed to be my line?"

"You look so familiar."

He pointed toward the washroom, and she left to scrub her hands. When she returned, Geoff was sitting in a chair talking to Justin Knight who was seated on the edge of his desk. He gestured to a chair in front of him. As she got near it, he stood, and the jolt of recall was devastating. Dizziness overwhelmed her, and she crashed to the floor by the desk. Geoff lifted her into the chair. She slumped back, and ran her hand across her eyes.

"I need a drink." She dabbed at her parched lips with her tongue.

"I've order you a cola," Knight said.

She opened her mouth to speak, but gagged on the words. "I want to go home." Another dry retch convulsed her chest. "Take me home."

She looked at Geoff. Geoff looked at Justin Knight.

"She's not in any condition to be interrogated."

"And, she won't be any better until we complete this investigation. You care about this young lady? Then, for her sake, convince her to cooperate."

"Cooperate?" Glenn staggered to her feet, her eyes flashing. "I've done nothing but cooperate, and look where it's landed me."

"I can't let you leave," Justin said.

"Oh, yeah? Try and stop me."

She went to the door, pushed it open, and walked into the guard's line of vision. His hand slapped the rifle slung over his shoulder, and he stepped into her path. She rotated on her heel, and re-entered the room. The soldier closed the door behind her.

"Please, take your seat."

The Commander motioned to it in butler fashion. She sat down, and folded her hands in her lap. Geoff remained on his feet, her personal sentry.

"I'm sorry you're not feeling well. But, believe me, when I tell you I have your best interests at heart."

"Fine. I believe you. Ask your questions."

Justin pressed a button, and spoke into an intercom. "We're getting started."

A woman entered from a wood-paneled side door with two cans of Coke on a plastic tray like a flight attendant. She served them, then opened the drawer of a table to the side of the mahogany desk. Setting a microphone on the corner of the Commander's desk, she gathered a tape recorder, a pile of folders, and two legal pads. At a nod from her, Justin Knight asked Glenn and Geoff to state their names and addresses, and promise to tell the truth, just like in court.

Glenn answered each question fully, with Geoff chiming in with his recollection of events. Commander Knight nodded at intervals, and asked for additional clarification. When they got to Phil Bleetz's death, he stopped Glenn on a variety of points. Then he leaned back, and looked at the stenographer. She clicked off the recorder.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Justin asked.

"I can go now?" Glenn asked.

"I'll show you out." He came around his desk.

Geoff asked, "What happens next?"

"Someone will give you a ride home. Hope you don't mind riding in a limo. You have your government's gratitude."

"Just like that?" Geoff asked.

"When will I find out what this was about?" Glenn asked.

"Do you really want to know?" Justin Knight crossed his arms, and stared at her with an amused expression.

She made a survey of his features, especially his eyes. "Yeah," she said, quietly. "I think you owe me that much."

His eyebrows wriggled like fuzzy caterpillars. "A glutton for punishment."