She shook her head. "The traffic's a nightmare."

"I don't care," Geoff said. "It's worth it to see the capitol lit up. Hey, think that's what they meant by a thousand points of light? I bet there's more than a thousand lights on the national tree. What do you think?" He kept walking with her. "In an hour, then? Beside the ticket machine?"

Glenn stopped, and fussed with her camera strap. "Yeah, whatever."

She watched until he was gone, then foundThe Perfect Cup . It was an open area with small, square tables. Shane sat next to a column of cement and tile. He pointed to two mugs in front of him.

"Hey, it's still steaming." She stripped away her coat, and camera.

Shane eyed the room. "You alone?"

"More or less," she said.

"What's that mean?"

"It's a long story, and I don't want to bore you with the details. But, I wasn't followed, and I shook the guy who brought me."

Shane reached inside the breast pocket of his brown corduroy jacket. He placed a 5X7, black-and-white glossy on the table in front of him, and folded his hands on it.

"I want you to look at this, and give me your best guess as to its origin." He rotated the 4x5 half a turn, and slid it toward her.

Glenn lifted it part way off the table, then slapped it back down. "Very funny." She stopped smiling. "Why'd you really call me?"

He shoved the picture toward her. "Tell me what you know about it."

"I wish I'd done it," she said. "It's a media sensation. This is a black-and-white of the Israeli Defense Minister, an American businessman, and a representative of Iraq thought to be in the elitist Bath party. In the background is a blur that's been inconclusively identified as a member of the president's staff, implying that he was present at this meeting. Doesn't really matter. No sooner was it featured inTime ,Newsweek , andForbes , and as the lead story for every news broadcast on every TV station in the world, then it was discovered to be a hoax."

"And, the photographer?" Shane asked.

"Anonymous," Glenn said.

"You have a theory. Everybody has a theory."

"The suggestion that it had to be a darkroom genius is nonsense. The media concocted that story to divert the blame. The truth is, anyone who knows anything about developing could have made these subjects appear together on photosensitive paper. I could have done it; you could have done it. Shoot, even Lizbeth could have done it. In fact, when I first saw it, my hunch was that it was an amateur. Of course, the reproduction was grainy but, now that I see the...original? Is this it? The original? The photographer's name is on the back. You know who it is, don't you? No, you couldn't, or you wouldn't be asking me."

"This is an original, and it does have the copyright on the back," Shane said.

"Can I see it?"

"Turn it over."

It was currently the most famous picture in the world, cloaked in intrigue and suspense, and Glenn was about to find the answer to the question all the world was asking. Who did this darkroom sleight of hand? There was a little scraping sound as she turned it over.

GLEP.

GLE, the first three letters of the first name, P the first initial of the last name. Glenn Prentiss. The name she invented to copyright her material.

"Me?"

"Just as I thought." Shane swept the picture back into his pocket. "You don't know anything about it, do you? I had to be sure."

"This makes no sense," Glenn said. "Where did you get that? Why would anyone give me credit for his work?"

"Think about it," Shane said.

"I can't. My mind is numb. You don't give away your pride and joy, your livelihood. Unless it would do more harm than good. But, that's nuts."

"Stop thinking with your lens for a second," he said. "Whoever did this went way underground, covered his tracks."

"Sure, because somebody's gonna want to have a real serious conversation with him."

"Right before they make himor herdisappear," Shane said.

"So, this picture was doctored? For insurance? How did you get it? How many people have seen it? How many copies are there?"

"The blood is finally getting back to your brain. I found this on my desk."

"Through the mail?" she asked.

"Hand-delivered. By someone who wanted me to be the first to know."

"Any idea who?" she asked.

Shane drummed his fingers on the table. "The name I keep coming up with is Phil Bleetz. Look how he suddenly sprang up again after all this time. That can't be a coincidence."

"No way he could have anything to do with this. I mean, if he did he'd be blackmailing somebody for sure. Or, be passing it off as his own."

"Maybe that's what this is...blackmail."

"He was pretty mad last night. This is the sort of perverse thing he'd think was funny."

"First things first," Shane said. "Couldhe have done it? Does he have the equipment?"

"My copyright stamp? I guess I could have left one behind. But look, is Bleetz bright enough to pull this off? His dirty tricks have always been fairly obvious."

"Whereas, whoever's behind this..." Shane squared his shoulders. "One way, or another we have to find out."

"Subtlety is not his long suit." Glenn looked at Shane. "My brain must have gone numb again. What did you say?"

He leaned forward. "Sweetheart, the government is investigating. Experts are on the trail, a trail that could lead to you. We may want to take advantage of the time we have before going public." He patted his breast pocket. "As soon as your name is raised you're going to be under surveillance. If you're not already."

"Wouldn't they have picked me up if they knew anything?"

"They'd watch first, get a fix on any co-conspirators. Then, you'd disappear."

She swallowed. "Disappear?"

"Methods are pretty universal in the espionage game," Shane said.

"Espionage?" Glenn stared into her coffee. The foam was disintegrating.

"This might have something to do with what you're working on," Shane said. "Don't waste that innocent look on me. I don't know exactly what's going on, but I was there last night. They've got you over a barrel, because of your connection to some supposed 'incident'."

"You know too much. Somebody's going to figure that out." Her eyes involuntarily flicked around the room.

"Don't think I haven't thought of that. When I took a desk job I thought it would be the end of going out on a limb. I have a future to think about."

"Sorry about the limb," Glenn said.

"It's not your fault. We're just victims of circumstance."

She grinned. "Like you always say, if you're gonna play with pictures..."

"You're gonna get framed. I know."

"We'll have to go through DISCO," she said. "You know, DOD. You also warned me to never trust anyone who hid behind initials."

"Well, was I wrong? So, Department of Defense is the one pulling your strings? They may be up to their ears in this 'Conspiracy' picture."

"Not DISCO. Paper pushers. All they do is teach businesses with government contracts the proper procedures for handling classified information. Like running 3 sheets of blank paper through the copier behind everything to make sure nothing accidentally stuck to the Xerox machine, blah, blah." Glenn plunged her spoon in the middle of her coffee, and stirred, creating a tiny tornado.

"How do you know that?" he asked.

"They classified me. I have this song and dance I have to do to send my photos."

"How secret are you?"

"Not top, just plain secret. I can't even contact the AFIB directly. I have to go through DISCO. I'm going to drop a dime, talk to my contact," she said.

"Save your coins. Unless you have something to give them, they won't come to the phone."

"Gosh, Shane, you're such a cynic all of a sudden."

"Not so sudden." He shook his head. "We've got to work this out ourselves."

"What do you mean 'we', paleface? It's my butt in the sling. You keep yours in your nice upholstered chair."

"Big talk, little girl. I'm looking under some rocks. Go back to your end of the world until I have a chance to figure something out."

She lifted her cup by the handle. "Then, we have our usual understanding."

"Yes." He clunked his mug against hers. "You're going to do whatever the hell you please."

"And, so are you." She swallowed some warm liquid. "Going to see Bleetz?"

"I'll give you that honor. I'll call him, and say we have some work for him."

"He's stupid enough to believe that," Glenn said.

"Arrogant enough, anyway. You up to it?" Shane looked past her. "Hey? You know a guy with a ponytail, about six feet tall?"

"Wearing a leather jacket?"

"He's been circling around trying to look like he's not watching us."

She rolled her eyes. "I'll kill him. He swore to me."

"And you believed him?"

"You're right. That was my first mistake," Glenn said.

"Wait a minute, is that who I think it is? And, you've already got him wrapped around your finger?"

"Oh, sure. You see how well he listens to me," she said.

"Maybe he's got a little crush on you," Shane said.

"He thinks I'm up to something."

"Good instincts. Well, put your mind to it, and you'll win him over."

"Think so?" Glenn asked.

"Sure, right before you break his poor heart."

"Guess that's my cue. I'm out of here."

"Where are you going? Forget I said that. The less I know, the less I can blab in my sleep. I'll find you when I need to," Shane said.

"I appreciate your resourcefulness. It's saved my hide enough times. Now, if only I knew what to do about the Shadow over there."

"Here's a unique concept. Why don't you level with him?"

"Yeah, right," she laughed.

"Keep your headlights on."

Glenn strapped her gear around her. Then, she glanced around. Geoff was leaning against a pillar, sipping something in Styrofoam.

She groaned. "Do you believe this guy?"

She rolled her eyes, and strolled toward the exit. Glenn kept her pace unhurried, and swung her eyes from side to side. When she got to the ticket machine she whirled around, prepared to surprise Geoff. He wasn't behind her. He'd been so clumsy about tailing her. Was it possible he'd lost her? Some people need a trail of breadcrumbs, she thought, and retraced her steps. When she got toThe Perfect Cup Shane was gone, and she had a pretty good idea of what had happened to both of them.

Union Station was a cavernous structure of concrete, and steel. Its domes and archways gave it the appearance of a gigantic ribcage, with massive engines throbbing like a heartbeat. The camera found its way to Glenn's eye. Sleek, silver lines filled the wide-angle lens. She moved closer, noting the perspective of the scene: track stretching away, reaching into the distance. Not exactly new. She switched from the camera with slide film in it, to the one with print film. She dug the long lens from the bottom of the duffel, and screwed it into place. Her eyes ran along the walkway above the train. As she centered on the stairs to the left she heard a human whistle, and looked up.

Geoff waved from the platform. She couldn't hear what he was saying. He leaned on the rail, and she raised the telephoto lens. As she brought him into focus, her eye picked up the geometry of the shot, the right angle of wall to ceiling, the rectangular block of the iron railing. She turned back to the corner, and snapped a few shots, which were marred by intruders on the walkway. Geoff made a flourish with his arms and stepped back, rear-ending three men who scattered like bowling pins. One collided with the railing, and for one terrifying moment it looked as if he was going over. A hand snagged him by his corduroy jacket. For a second he clung to the railing. His hand disappeared into his jacket, and returned with a flat rectangle. A forearm wedged around his throat and his hand kicked forward, releasing the paper from his fingertips. The other man made a grab for it.

"Shane!"