"Fifteen North to Gettysburg. Then what, Chief?"

Justin Knight folded his map along the crease, and ran his eye north and east. "As the crow flies, that's about as close as we get. How fast are you going?"

"Seventy."

"I think eighty would be better." Justin looked at Agent Russell. "You don't mind driving fast, do you?"

"No, Sir. This is the kind of car you love to drive fast."

"Because of the government license plate?"

"Because of the smooth ride. I swear, it's like piloting a boat on the Chesapeake. Of course, having G2 tags doesn't hurt."

"You have a boat?"

"Naw, Sir, not me. Can't afford it. But, I have a friend who's got a cabin cruiser. He keeps it down the road, toward Annapolis. At that cove, oh, you know. What's the name?"

"Sandy Point?"

"No, further down the shore. Past the Severn River. I go out with him sometimes. Do some fishing, unwind."

"Ever do any crabbing?" Justin asked.

"My dad's got a rowboat that we put in down at Wye Mill. Perfect for crab pots."

"I prefer hand-lining, myself. I enjoy the precision of it. You have to be real cagey to outsmart a crab. Reel him in, hand over hand, and net him before he knows you've got him."

"Yeah." Russell drove a minute in silence. "You trying to distract me?"

"If you dwell too much on what might be in store, you can get all knotted up, and unable to function. You'll be fine, Russell. I've seen a lot of rookies, and you've got what it takes."

"Permission to speak freely? I'll bet you say that to all the boys. It's another one of your relaxation techniques, isn't it, Sir?"

Justin laughed. "Can't put anything over on you."

"You build up a guy's confidence, and he does a better job, huh?"

"I prefer a building up to a dressing down. I reserve my 'fear-throwing' for the bad guys."

Russell flipped on the windshield wipers. "Eighty-five all right with you, Sir?"

Justin lifted the phone, and dialed a number. "Bad guys don't stand a chance against you."

"Understood," Russell said. "When we get there, you aren't going into the field yourself, are you? Fieldwork is for operatives like me. You shouldn't even be out here. You should be back in the office, running things."

"Believe it or not, I can do both." Justin tried an alternate number. Then, a third. Finally, he heard the voice of his high school friend.

"Ag-Rotor. If you've got a pest, you've called the best. Wayne speaking."

"That's the worst slogan I've ever heard for a crop duster," Justin said.

"Who is this?"

"Look at you, pretending you don't know me. After all I've done for you. Bailing you out of jail."

"Oh, my God, it's the fuzz. What do you want, J?"

"I was going to offer you a lucrative government contract, but after that, I'll take my business elsewhere."

"What's up? Trouble?"

"With a capital T. You haven't had your aviator's license revoked, have you?"

"Hey, if you're buying, I'm flying," Wayne said.

"Nowthat's a slogan. I'm ten minutes from your airfield."

"Where are we going?"

"Remember where we buzzed those cows on spring break during senior year," Justin said.

Wayne wheezed. "Oowee, did those critters run. But buddy, have you looked out your window lately? It's dark, and it's damp."

"Which is why I need your special skills."

Wayne chuckled. "If I recall, you're kind of a squeamish flier."

"I'll try not to scream like a woman."

"This time." Wayne laughed again. "See you in ten."

Russell said, "Sir, did you hear that? On the police band. A three alarm fire. Right in that neck of the woods."

"Step on it. Can't get to that chopper soon enough."

"Ninety miles per hour, Chief. Aye, aye."

Geoff was on fire when he stumbled out of the wreckage. Glenn's coat was on fire, and her coat was still on him. Geoff dropped it as he cleared the porch. She was behind him, with the inferno behind her. She felt its breath on her hindquarters as the cottage disintegrated.

"I couldn't find him," Geoff said, choking. "I tried. You know."

He kept blinking at what remained of Misty Mount Cabin Number One. Then, he turned away. Glenn took his hand.

"You're burned."

"I was feeling around on one of the bunks when a beam fell. I was lucky to get away without being pinned underneath. I don't think he's in there. I think I would have found him if he was."

"We've got to do something. Which way out of here?"

Glenn inspected the red and black skid mark that crossed the back of his hand from knuckles to wrist. The skin was beginning to blister. Geoff pointed toward the other end of the clearing.

"There's a stream down there. We can follow it to the road on the other side."

Glenn retrieved the remains of her coat, and wrapped them around her shoulders. Rain was falling in unrelenting sheets. The umbrella of branches and twigs sheltered them slightly. They found a cool mountain stream, the kind of crystal water you see in beer commercials. Geoff plunged his hand in, and had his breath stolen away. He yanked his hand out, and cradled it in his arm.

"Woo!"

Glenn looked around. The air was thick with wood smoke, which used to be a pleasant fragrance to her. She took a deep breath, and let it escape as steam through her teeth.

They hiked downhill, down to where rivers meet the ocean, down to where everyone goes to meet his destiny. Down to the sea in ships. Down to the sound of sirens. Geoff's head came up, and he stared hard toward the horizon. Fire engines. Glenn's head swirled with the sound of it. Rescue. Men in shiny rubber boots and fire hats. Heroes with hoses and hatchets. Her Dalmatian heart stirred, and she sank to her knees. Geoff stood beside her, rumpling her hair. Safe. Safe at last.

They staggered on toward a strip of highway where it met the rivulet at a trench. A white and yellow vehicle screamed past with red lights pulsating like popping corn. It was followed by a fire truck. By the time they reached the roadside, all the action was up at the cabin.

"You want to hike back up?" she asked.

"We could wait here and flag them down on the way back."

"We should tell them about Dave. Maybe it's not too late."

Geoff set his jaw, and nodded. They went less than fifty yards when they heard a motor behind them. Geoff stopped, and turned. Glenn kept plodding uphill.

"It's a van. I don't believe it." The cloud lifted from Geoff's face. "Hey!" He waved his hands over his head. "Our luck is changing. It's Terry."

"Terry? Is there anyone in the tri-state area youdon't know?"

A white van stopped in the middle of the road. Glenn could see the side panel. There was a picture of a peacock, and blue block letters that read WHAG 25 ALIVE. A news truck. If there was anything more wonderful than a fire engine it was the sight of a news van. It made Glenn's heart ache.

A man leaped from the driver's side. He was wearing an asbestos coat with strips of yellow reflecting tape on the cuffs. His brown hair was swept over his forehead in a bang which he ran his hand through to get a good look at Geoff. He came swinging toward them with the wiry gait of a man in his early twenties.

"Holy smoke, dude!"

"Smoke is right," Geoff said. "But, there ain't nothing holy about it."

The man whistled. "What happened to you? Let's get you to the rescue squad."

"Glenn, this is Terry Reeder. An old friend," Geoff said. "And, a sight for sore eyes."

Glenn said, "Hello, Terry."

"Hi. Come on, and help me get Geoffrey inside."

"I can walk," Geoff said. "Think it would be all right if we got in back?"

"Just mind your feet so you don't wreck my stuff."

Geoff started to laugh. He doubled over, and laughed so hard they had to help him inside.

Terry asked Glenn, "What's so funny? Did I miss something?"

"I think he's hysterical."

"Hysterical," Geoff said. "It is hysterical. Look at you. Two of a kind." He lay down on the floor of the panel truck, held his stomach, and shook with laughter.

Glenn shrugged. "I'll sit back here with him."

Terry drove, glancing over his shoulder at them. Geoff sat up, wiping away tears with his sleeve. Terry again asked what happened.

"You won't believe it, Ter, but the CIA just tried to bump us off."

Terry slammed his foot on the brake. The rear of the van fishtailed. Terry turned in his seat, and stared at him.

"Why?"

Geoff pointed at Glenn. "She knows something. We don't know what she knows, but they don't want anybody else knowing."

Terry turned to Glenn. "There's a story here."

Geoff said, "You have no idea."

Terry looked at Geoff. "How're you feeling?"

"Nothing fatal."

Terry looked at Glenn. "Feel like talking? How about telling me your story?"

"Now?" she asked.

"Yes. Hell, yes! We need a reporter. No, just a talking head. I point the camera at you, and you tell me what happened. First, we need a backdrop. The fire. Of course. It's perfect." Terry put the van back in gear. "I'll get the fire footage. I'm picturing I'll do a rack shot. You stand in front of the fire. I fade out on the fire as I bring you into focus. This isn't too technical for you, is it?"

Geoff started laughing again. "Birds of a feather."

"No," Glenn said, grinning. "You're not being too technical."

"What's so funny? Tell me the joke."

"The joke is," said Geoff, "you're talking to yourself."

Glenn said, "My name is Glenn Prentiss. I'm a photojournalist. I guess that's what started all this."

"Yeah," said Geoff. "Do me a favor. Do you have someplace you can stash her for a while?"

"I knew it," Terry said. "I knew there was a story here."

"And," said Glenn, "it's an exclusive."

Terry nodded. "Yeah, I can stash you. Hell, yes, you better believe I can stash you." He stepped on the brakes again, and did a U-turn.

"What about your fire?" Glenn asked.