"Well, since I can't do that, I'm asking you."

"Well, then you're out of luck, because she didn't tell me. She tells me only what she thinks I need to know, and I guess she didn't think I needed to know that. But I have an idea."

"We're waiting."

"Emilio Cardoza was listed as from Tarragona. In July of 2001, Mohammed Atta, the leader of the nine/eleven attacks, visited Spain and dropped out of sight in the Tarragona area. It's widely believed he met with high-ups from al Qaeda to finalize the plan of attack. I will bet-although I have no facts to base it on-that they used Bashar Sheikh's home as a safe house."

Eddie tapped the table. "You said he opened his account in July."

"Yep. Right after Atta returned to the U.S. Atta landed in Miami on the nineteenth, and the Cardoza account was opened on the twenty-third. Seems pretty obvious that Sheikh knew the details and decided to cash in."

Jack tried to put himself in that position and couldn't imagine doing something so d.a.m.n stupid.

"Idiot."

Harris smiled. "Maybe not an idiot. Maybe just greedy. Isn't greed amazing? Isn't it wonderful? Even sucking up to Allah doesn't immunize you. I love greed. It allows me to cherchez la moolah cherchez la moolah."

Swell, Jack thought. I'm having a beer with Gordon Gekko.

20.

"Max lost them," Szeto said.

Ernst grunted and squeezed the phone as he paced his office. "So we still don't know where she lives. Why wasn't I told before?"

Instead of answering, Szeto said, "They are back at hospital with third man. Josef followed them to restaurant and watches the place now." "They are back at hospital with third man. Josef followed them to restaurant and watches the place now."

So ... he'd delayed reporting Max's failure until he could report that the quarry had been spotted again.

"And the woman?"

"Max watches and-wait." Ernst heard some m.u.f.fled conversation in Polish, then Szeto was back. "Max, he overhear nurse say woman is waking up."

"Then get her out of there. Immediately."

"I will call Josef. We have plan in place. We will move upon his return."

Ernst ended the call and put down the phone. When he looked up, the One stood on the other side of his desk.

"Where will you be taking her?"

Ernst swallowed. "The Order owns s.p.a.ce in the Meatpacking District. They will take her there. They will find out where she lives. She will be a problem no more."

The One nodded. "And the Fhinntmanchca? Fhinntmanchca? You have a suitable candidate?" You have a suitable candidate?"

"Yes. A perfect candidate. I am working on isolating him now. Soon he will have no one left to turn to but me."

The One didn't smile, merely stared at Ernst with those bottomless eyes.

"And then it begins."

21.

Darryl rose from the bed and stepped to the window. He'd tried to nap, but as tired as he felt, sleep wouldn't come. His mind wouldn't stop racing, running high and hot but stuck in neutral and not going nowhere.

He wasn't thinking about the future because he didn't have one. He had AIDS, man. f.u.c.king AIDS. What wouldn't leave his head was the question of how how. How-how-how?

He'd lain there, searching through his past, looking for a way the virus could have gotten into his body. And then it came to him. That one summer years ago ...

Stupid! What a f.u.c.king idiot he'd been.

He looked down at the street from his third-floor window. The sun was dropping but still had a good ways to go. He had his window open despite the heat. No air-conditioning in this old building, but he didn't mind. He chilled so easily these days. The place was built like a fortress with thick stone walls that kept out the heat. The open window let some in.

How long did he have? He'd have asked the doc but was sure all he'd get was bulls.h.i.t, any excuse to fill him with drugs that would only make him feel worse and wouldn't work anyway.

His bladder started complaining so he headed out into the hall and down to the john. Too bad he didn't have his own bathroom, but no one did. No one had been living here until the Kickers moved in. The Septimus Order had used it only as an office building and meeting s.p.a.ce for a long time, but they'd offered it to Hank for his use. That seemed generous, but Darryl was sure there was something in it for the Order. They'd told Hank that certain of their goals coincided, but hadn't come right out and said which ones.

He stepped into the bathroom. It had two urinals, a toilet stall, and a shower. He was bellied up to a urinal, relieving himself, when a burly, bearded Kicker named Hagaman came in. He lived down the other end of the hall.

"s.h.i.t! What're you you doin' in here?" doin' in here?"

"Drivin' a cab. What's it look like?"

"You shouldn't be in here, man."

Darryl had a sudden bad feeling about what was coming.

"Why the h.e.l.l not?"

"Because you got the sickness, you got the AIDS, and shouldn't be around, spreadin' it."

"f.u.c.k you!"

Hagaman's face got all red. "Hey, I don't know who who you been f.u.c.kin', but it ain't me and ain't never gonna be!" you been f.u.c.kin', but it ain't me and ain't never gonna be!"

Darryl tried to hold back, but he lost it.

"Yeah? Well, how's this?"

He turned in a circle, spraying the room with a yellow stream. If Hagaman hadn't jumped back he'd have caught some.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h!" he shouted, raising a fist. "If I wasn't scared of catchin' something, I'd break your face!"

Darryl tucked himself back in and started toward him, pointing to his own chin.

"Yeah? Let's see ya try!"

Hagaman backed out and hurried away. Darryl might have chased after him and told him a thing or two, but his throat felt so tight he didn't think he could manage a word.

So instead he hurried to his room and kicked the wall as he fought back a sob.

22.

The appetizers arrived. Jack leaned against the back of the booth as Eddie and Harris sampled their food.

h.e.l.l of a day so far.

Weezy Connell had come back into his life-in a comatose state, yes, but he hoped that wouldn't be for long.

He felt as if he'd fallen down a rabbit hole. He'd awakened with 9/11 a distant, bitter memory, but very much alive. Now ...

Eddie sighed. "Nine/eleven ... it's been misused and manipulated, and it's paraded out every time the powers that be think we need a little injection of fear. We need to put it behind us and move on."

Jack thought about that day. He remembered standing on his rooftop that sunny Tuesday morning with Neil the Anarchist and some of his neighbors from the building, all staring south. The towers themselves hadn't been visible, but the drifting gray-black plume couldn't be missed. Some had talked of traveling downtown for an up-close-and-personal look. Not Jack. He found the idea ghoulish. And besides, the city was in full lockdown mode.

And then suddenly the smoke changed-more of it, and a lighter color. Something had happened. They all ran down to the nearest top-floor apartment to watch reruns of the first tower's collapse. And then the second went ...

He remembered the gnawing in his stomach. Let the pundits and politicos and preachers argue about whether or not foreign policy chickens were coming home to roost. None of that mattered. This was his city. And some slimeb.a.l.l.s had attacked it. Rage had consumed him.

But he'd gotten past that. Or thought he had. Today was dredging up a lot of buried feelings. The rage flooded back.

"I agree with you about the fear," Jack said. "Yeah, put the fear behind. It's useless. But keep the rage. Stick it in a back pocket and take it out every so often. A gang of oxygen wasters came into our house and killed some of our family. We never never forget that. And we don't forgive." He slammed a fist on the table. "Ever." forget that. And we don't forgive." He slammed a fist on the table. "Ever."

He noticed the two of them staring at him. The intensity of his feelings surprised him. He'd dropped out, turned his back, and gone underground. He'd refused to partic.i.p.ate in the machine. And yet, on that day he'd felt part of the city, of its gestalt. Felt as if he he'd been attacked. He'd taken it personally ... still did. been attacked. He'd taken it personally ... still did.

That wasn't like him. But it was the way it was.

Go figure.

"All right. End of speech. Back to Weezy."

Yeah, Weezy. What had he learned? That she'd been interested in the owner of a Swiss account who, days before the attack, had bet on United and American Airlines' stock falling and the Tomahawk maker's stock rising. Obviously Bashar Sheikh had prior knowledge. And if, as Harris said, he'd hosted Atta two months before the attack, that would account for it.

But so what? Yesterday's news. What could that have to do with some shadowy "them" looking for Weezy, trying to tail Jack and Eddie to her home? No reason for her to want to torch her own house.

He tried a calamari ring. Better than he'd expected-rubbery, but not vulcanized. He wasn't hungry, though, so he pushed the plate to the center of the table.

"Help yourselves."

As Harris moved to do just that-his hand descending on the rings like a crane in a toy vending machine-Jack leaned forward. Time to get into tough-guy mode.

"Can I ask you a question, Harris?"

"Depends, but okay."

"Who the f.u.c.k are you?"

He dropped the rings, partially missing his plate.

"What do you mean?"

"Where are you from? What do you do? How are you friends with Weezy? Basic stuff like that."

"Oh ... well, I'm a Florida boy-believe it or not, some people are born there; we aren't all transplants from the north. I went to FSU"-he made a tomahawk chop-"go Seminoles. Majored in computer science. Spent years as a systems a.n.a.lyst for Bear Stearns until they got caught with their suspenders down. Now I write medical-imaging software for a company in White Plains. Mostly I work from home, but if I need to go in I just hop Metro North. It's a pretty good gig."

"And how does all this put you in Weezy's...o...b..t?"

"She came into mine when she began posting comments to my blog on tz9-11truthquest."

A blogger. Well, why not? Everyone seemed to be a blogger these days.

"The 'tz' stands for what? Twilight Zone? Twilight Zone?"

Harris gave him a sour smile. "Ha. Ha. If I had a dime for every time ... never mind. It stands for Ted Zawicki."

"And who's he?"

"The supposed author of the blog-you don't think I'd put my real name on it, do you?"

"Silly me."

Eddie said, "Why did she choose you?"

He looked offended. "Tz9-11truthquest is my site-a sort of clearing-house for Truther info. Not the first, mind you, but the oldest still operating. Nine/eleven sites and blogs come and go, but tz9-11truthquest hangs in there. It's the Energizer bunny of the field. My blog on the site has become the touchstone for Truther blogs. Everyone who is anyone in the Truther Movement drops in at least once a day."

"Must get real crowded," Jack said. This earned a glare from Harris but before he could retort, he added, "She must have said something special."

"And how. She raised a lot of hackles when she said we were right about conspiracy and the controlled demolitions, but wrong about the who and why. That we had to look deeper. That we were missing something important."

"What's the 'who and why' in your book?" Eddie said.