She hit the stairs running. Halfway up, she saw the 'Conspiracy' photograph tumble end over end, black-and-white, white-and-black, until it sailed to the pavement below. She watched it land, then looked back up to the platform for help.

"Geoff!"

He was gone. Everyone was gone. The camera dangled heavily, dragging her downward. She let it pull her along over the banister. Spectators were gathering around. Glenn got to the bottom of the stairs, scooped up the photograph, and pressed it to her chest.

"Go away. All of you."

"What's wrong, Hon?" asked an elderly woman. "Should I call the police?"

Glenn tucked the photo into her waistband.

"Do you need help, dear?" asked another solicitous senior.

"No, just leave me alone."

She gathered her equipment around her, and dashed back up the steps as fast as her legs would carry her. But, it wasn't fast enough.

7.

The narrow corridor ended abruptly. Glenn careened to the right, her gear lagging half a second behind, then jolting against her. A flight of iron steps led down, then the whole place opened into a hive. It was swarming with Christmas shoppers. Glenn slowed to a walk, trying to catch a glimpse. But, it was impossible. How was she to distinguish the men she was looking for among the merry multitudes? Geoff was young, with long hair, and a leather jacket. Shane had spotted him easily enough atThe Perfect Cup . If she could remember what the rest of them were wearing, maybe that would narrow her search. Suits. No, Shane was wearing, what?

Glenn ran a hand across her brow. Sports jacket. Brown. Dark brown, corduroy. What good was that? Where were they heading? That's what she had to figure out. Get him out of public. An exit? To what? Train? Metro? No, a parking lot. You don't kidnap someone without a getaway car. Kidnap? Was that what was going on? She searched for some sign: an arrow on the wall, paw prints on the pavement like at the National Zoo. Anything to point the way. This way to the Red Line. Time was slipping through her fingers. Wait a minute. This way to Massachusetts Avenue and First Street, NE. The cold outside hit her like a bucket of water, peeling her hair back, and making her eyes swim. She made it to the curb, and blinked at traffic. A dark figure sprang at her, and her vision cleared.

"Geoff! Where's Shane? Did you see him?"

"Who's Shane?"

Her fist curled around Geoff's lapel. "Where did they go?"

Geoff's hand closed over hers, and tugged her back through the Station. She managed to keep putting one foot in front of the other. They slid into the turnstile and fished for their fare cards. Geoff found his in his hip pocket, fed it through the slot, and spun on his heel. "Where are we going?"

She pulled her fare card from her coat pocket. "You know where they went?"

"No. Yes. I mean, ow." He buried his hand in his hair, and closed his eyes. "My head hurts. I've got to sit down."

"Get on the train. Come on." Glenn hustled Geoff to a seat, and sat next to him.

His face flushed, and his eyes winced shut. "My head. I cracked my head open."

Her fingers worked through Geoff's hair. "Ooh. Sticky...yep, blood."

"Ow! Get out of my hair!"

"You first."

"What?" He scowled. "Oh, I get it."

"Well, you're practically smiling," she said. "You can't be hurt all that bad."

"Oh, yes, I can. I'm just terribly brave. Did you see me chase those guys? As soon as you hollered, I took off after them."

She gently tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear, and sighed. "But, you didn't catch them."

"Yes, I did," he said. "For a second. Then, this guy with shoulders out to there hit me with a body block, and I lost my balance, and landed on my asphalt."

"You should get an X-ray, make sure you don't have a concussion."

"I need some ice." Geoff held his head. "Level with me. What's going on?"

"All I know is Shane asked me to meet him for a cup of coffee," she said.

"There must be more to it than that."

"No, he wanted my opinion on a photograph, and then I split."

Geoff pointed at her midsection. "Is that the one?"

"What?" She flattened the bulge against her rib cage, and tucked it further down into her pants.

"Don't put me through this. I'm not up to it," Geoff said.

"I don't know who those guys are. And, neither does Shane."

"Maybe they wanted to see the picture, too."

"What do you keep babbling about?"

"The picture your friend threw down the stairs, and you picked up. Who were those men, and what do they want with him? Are they coming after us next?"

Glenn stared at him. Then, her gaze retreated out the window to the flashes of light and color.

"I wish I knew." She leaned back. "I wish to God I knew."

As they got beyond the alphabet soup of city streets, the train kept getting emptier until only one other passenger rode with them. At their stop, they dragged themselves from the cubicle, and stood on the platform for a minute. Then, they wandered toward his car, and got inside. Geoff started the engine, and pulled out of the parking lot.

"You know," he said. "You'd feel better if you talked about it."

"I don't want to talk about it. I can't stand to even think about it."

Geoff reached over, and covered her hand. "You're not alone." His voice was quiet. "I'm here." Then, his hand was gone. "We should report this to someone."

"What would we tell them?"

"That we saw a man kidnapped."

"Was it a kidnapping?" she asked.

"He didn't go willingly."

She gave it some thought. "I don't know about you, but those suits looked like Feds to me."

"Are you telling me Shane was arrested? And, what about you? Are you an outlaw, too?"

"You know, in the news business you investigate all sorts of conspiracies and cover-ups, and sometimes in real life the bad guys turn out to be the good guys."

"I still don't know what this has to do with you. What were you doing with Shane?"

"Listening. That's what friends do. They listen to each other."

"Okay," Geoff said. "Let's you, and me try this friend thing. Let's come at this from a different angle. It sometimes helps to imagine a reciprocal situation."

She stared at him. "Algebra final?"

"No, still Psychology. Let's say the tables were reversed. If you were snatched."

"What would Shane do?" Glenn asked. "Hm. He'd contact someone. I don't know who. He has a million contacts."

"Is there someone who would know his contacts?" Geoff asked.

"Lizbeth. His wife."

"You better call her."

Glenn shook her head. "Whoa, buddy, not me."

"Don't tell me you're having a twinge of conscience. It's interesting how you divide people into professional and personal groups," Geoff said.

"Its called 'professional detachment'. Not that you'd know anything about working for a living. I mean at a real job, not playing at school."

"I'd have to be schizophrenic to do what you do," he said.

"You'd have to be talented."

"I notice you didn't say compassionate."

"That goes without saying. I suppose I should be more like you?"

"Couldn't hurt," he said, and laughed. "I prefer you all prickly like this, instead of depressed."

"I'm schizophrenic, I can be both at the same time. Hey, that's a Frederick exit. Where are we?"

"I'm taking you to my place," he said. "I'm not taking a chance on running into Shoulders again. I think you should stay with me until we figure out what to do. My parents left for Jamaica this morning so you'll have all the privacy you need."

"So, now you're kidnapping me? Not bloody likely. I have to go home. All my stuff is there. I need the security of home base."

"I don't think it's safe," Geoff said.

"It's the only place Shane knows where to contact me." She looked at Geoff. "Please. I can't leave town...not yet."

"Let's stop up here. There's a Mexican restaurant. We can eat, and talk about it."

"I'm not going to change my mind," she said.

As they entered Casa Rico, Glenn saw a pay phone, and made up her mind to call Lizbeth. Even if she couldn't screw up the courage to tell her what happened, she'd have the satisfaction of knowing she'd tried. It was noisy with the clatter of utensils, and she pressed the receiver to one ear and stuck her finger in the other. Lizbeth answered.

"Hello," Glenn said. "Is Shane there?"

Lizbeth would say Shane isn't home yet, that would give Glenn an opening.

"One moment, please."

What did that mean? Maybe Lizbeth went to pick up an extension. She knew Glenn's voice, but there wasn't any note of recognition.

"Hello?"

It took Glenn a full five seconds to recover. "Shane? Is that you?"

Then, the line went dead.

Sadie Cozzoli read the report quickly. "I don't like this."

"What do you suppose he's up to?" asked Pip.

"It isn't good, you can bet on that." She tapped her chin with her index finger. "Singleton's office? What kind of mischief is that? Bleetz has no business there."

"He had an envelope with him. It was gone when he came out."

"Our agents tailed Singleton to Union Station where he met Prentiss," Sadie said.

"And, as far as anyone can tell, he passed the envelope to her."

"We don't know what it was exactly, but it's a photograph." Sadie looked at Pip. "I didn't share this information with the chief yet, so how did those agents know where to intercept him?"

"Same way we did?"

"A separate phone tap? Looks like we're going to be shadowed every step of the way. Can't afford any false moves. So, Prentiss wound up with the photo." Sadie drew a deep breath. "It's probably one of the composites he made. It can't cause too much damage by itself."

"As long as she doesn't interact with Bleetz any more," Pip said. "I knew it was a mistake to send him to pick her up."

"What choice did we have?" Sadie asked. "It's about time he was reminded of who's in charge. We know the AFIB had a chat with Singleton some time ago, and we know that Prentiss now has a photograph from Bleetz. Neither of these things should cause concern. We'll mop up this last mess of Bleetz's, then terminate his employment."

Pip looked at her. "Are you going to requisition that?"