"No!"

Troy pressed a b.u.t.ton on the remote he held in his left hand, lowering Hamid until his head was into the ice-cold water up to his eyebrows and he began thrashing around to stay clear of it.

As Hamid flailed about, Troy hustled to a cage that was sitting on the table between the whip and the cattle prod, reached inside to one corner, and, despite his intense trepidation, grabbed the five-foot-long snake behind the head before it could strike. Then, as the bright orange serpent wrapped its sinewy body tightly around his forearm, he headed back to where the terrorist hung.

Troy pressed another b.u.t.ton on the remote to lift Hamid. As soon as Hamid was clear of the water's surface, Troy held the reptile out so its head and flickering tongue were inches from the terrorist's face. It was a harmless corn snake, but Hamid had no idea, and he began screaming like a newborn baby. Still, he wouldn't give away his secrets.

Troy lowered Hamid back into the water, this time below his shoulders so he couldn't lift himself up enough to breathe. Troy counted to twenty before he raised Hamid's head out of the water, then pressed the snake's head to the terrorist's mouth. The snake bit down hard on Hamid's upper lip, and the short, squat man screamed even as he coughed, snorted water out of his nose, and fought desperately to breathe.

"I tell you, I tell you!" he shouted desperately. "I tell you everything."

Troy pulled the snake from Hamid's lip and lowered the terrorist back into the barrel of water one more time just for good measure. To make certain he spilled everything there was to spill with no further delay.

He nodded to himself as Hamid's mouth broke the surface with another push of the b.u.t.ton. The p.r.i.c.k was already spilling his guts, already in mid-sentence babbling details about the plot and where it would take place.

Oh, yes, Shane Maddux had taught him very well.

SHANNON RACED through the darkness and the field of wispy, knee-high gra.s.s. She had no idea where she was. The ride in the van earlier tonight had seemed to last forever from beneath her blindfold, and the horizon was dark in every direction. The farmhouse was two hundred yards behind her and getting farther away fast-as fast as she could sprint. But she had no idea where she was going. She knew only that she was putting as much distance between herself and the house as fast as she could.

She'd flexed her wrists as tightly as she could earlier, while the man was binding her to the chair with the rope. That had enabled her to free herself when he'd finally left her alone. When she'd relaxed her wrists, there had been a tiny bit of play in the bonds, and that had been enough. She'd quickly freed herself and then found her way out of the dark house through a small bas.e.m.e.nt window at the top of the cement wall.

Dogs began barking wildly back in the direction of the farmhouse as she stopped for an instant and leaned over with her hands on her knees to try and get her breath.

Fear rushed through her body like it never had when she realized that the dogs were coming for her. They were the hunters-and she was their prey.

She headed for the edge of the woods, but the dogs were too fast. She could hear them panting as they closed in, and she screamed an instant before the lead hound sprang into the air and knocked her down into the wispy gra.s.s. She'd been so close.

They wouldn't make the same mistake this time-if they decided to let her live.

CHAPTER 18.

"YOU DID a nice job with John Ward." Shane Maddux sat on the other side of the small table, in the chair Ward had been sitting in a short time ago. "He was impressed. I could tell. He'll make sure everyone inside knows that Red Cell Seven is absolutely immune from prosecution." Maddux pointed at the envelope lying on the tabletop in front of Bill. "That we still have possession of the last original Order. He'll calm the rumors down."

Bill had known Maddux for many years, but what Maddux could do with that small physique still impressed Bill. How Maddux was like a ghost sometimes, slipping in and out of the shadows to carry out whatever was required. And he was always successful-except for that day in Los Angeles when he'd attempted to a.s.sa.s.sinate Dorn. As far as Bill knew, it was the only instance in which Maddux had failed to achieve a major objective.

The little man was a legend in the spook world. He might not look like much, but at kill time he was an animal. There was no one more ferocious, Bill was convinced-which made living here with him nerve-racking. Maddux wasn't above committing a sport kill every once in a while. It was the little man's lone indulgence and perversion. Even more unnerving for Bill, they'd had their differences over the years. So Maddux might not consider murdering Bill a sport kill. He might believe it was a line-of-duty thing.

"Ward had better not mention my name, Shane. He'd better not mention that he's seen me. You never know where Dorn's people are."

"John won't say a word about seeing you," Maddux replied confidently. "But he'll tell the others that RC7 is absolutely safe, that there is no threat of congressional inquiries or presidential witch hunts. He'll say he's seen the Order. We're good to go at this point. Confidence within the ranks has been restored. You handled that situation well, Bill, as you always do."

"Thanks."

The man had no loyalty to anyone or anything except the United States of America. He'd kill his mother for the country, and the rumor was he had. Of course, the rumor was also that his mother hadn't loved him very much, either. Bill grimaced. With a face as ugly as Maddux's, maybe that was understandable.

"What is it?" Maddux demanded.

Too late Bill realized Maddux had caught him staring. "Nothing." Maddux was self-conscious about his looks. "I was just thinking about my family. I miss them," he admitted.

"Do you think they really believe you're dead?"

Bill's expression turned grim. "I don't know. But the people at First Manhattan certainly seem to. I read yesterday that the board and the new CEO had a ceremony to unveil a painting of me, which is to be displayed permanently in the lobby of the Wall Street headquarters. Beneath my name are the years of my life. h.e.l.l, they think I died last year, according to the painting."

"That's just the new CEO p.i.s.sing on the corporate trees and staking out his territory," Maddux said confidently. "It's a good move on his part."

Only the six highest-ranking leaders of Red Cell Seven, the division leaders, understood what was really going on: that Bill was very much alive and still running RC7 from the shadows.

And as far as Bill could tell, only the two of them knew Maddux's real story. That after the battle on Gannett Peak, Bill and Maddux had decided to keep Maddux completely "off the grid" as far as anyone knew. It was great cover, allowing Maddux to move through the world even more stealthily, because even spooks who'd believed he was immortal were starting to whisper that the little man might actually be gone.

"Is everything okay with the money?" Maddux asked.

Bill was running RC7 and managing the dollars required to fund the cell's operations, which were substantial now that they had more than two hundred agents inside. So several of the a.s.sociates-the wealthy individuals who secretly funded RC7-also knew Bill was still alive. But Bill had chosen all of the a.s.sociates carefully over the years. And though they weren't actually members of the cell, the three a.s.sociates who knew Bill was actually in hiding were equally as loyal as the initiated agents and would never give away the secret-or anything else about RC7.

"The money situation's fine, Shane," Bill answered confidently.

He just wished he could tell his family what was going on. But that would put them in grave danger, especially Cheryl. Stewart Baxter would stop at nothing to achieve his goals. Roger Carlson's wife had been found dead in the Potomac River. Bill a.s.sumed Cheryl would suffer the same fate if Baxter thought he could get information about him and Maddux out of her.

"We have several billion dollars in reserve."

Bill enjoyed watching Maddux's mouth fall slightly open. Maddux tried hard never to seem impressed. He always had, ever since Bill had first met the short man with the narrow shoulders and the spindly legs who walked with a limp but wouldn't tell anyone why. But the comment about "several billion dollars in reserve" had obviously impressed him. They'd known each other too long for Maddux to be able to completely hide his emotions and therefore his awe at the number Bill had just uttered.

"We have that much?" Maddux asked.

"And there's much more if we need it," Bill said, "much more. The a.s.sociates are very loyal to us. They appreciate what we do, and that's putting it mildly."

"No one can ever trace the money?"

"Never," Bill answered confidently.

"I'm sorry the board replaced you, Bill. I'm sorry they hung that painting up."

This cabin, located deep in the forests of western New York near Seneca Lake, was outfitted with all modern conveniences, including Internet service. So they were able to keep current on everything happening in the world. Maddux had read about the ceremony as well.

"It's all right." It was the first time in nine months Maddux had identified in any way the sacrifice Bill had made by disappearing. "Thanks, Shane."

"Have you heard anything about Daniel Gadanz?"

"What do you mean?" Maddux asked. "What about him?"

"It's been nine months since we almost got him in Florida. And he's got to be pretty d.a.m.n upset about his brother. He's a vindictive b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Shane. It doesn't figure that he hasn't stepped up and carried out some sort of revenge. Nine months ago he had kill squads shooting American civilians in shopping malls, for Christ's sake. It's not as if he won't go to extremes to carry out things."

Maddux shrugged. "Maybe he's gone soft. Maybe he's finally satisfied."

"No chance. Having all that money just makes a man like that even more dangerous."

Maddux shrugged again. "If he tries something we'll get him. For now let the DEA deal with him."

Bill rolled his eyes as he stood up. The DEA wasn't going to get Daniel Gadanz. More likely, he'd get them. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

"Don't be surprised when you get there."

Bill had been walking away, but he turned back around. "What?"

Maddux gestured toward the bedrooms. "Just go. You'll see. Happy birthday, Bill."

"Thanks," he said hesitantly. Something strange was going on here.

Bill caught his breath when he pushed open the bedroom door. Rita Hayes was looking back at him from beneath the covers. She'd been his executive a.s.sistant for a long time, since she'd been a young woman. She'd never married and had been open about her attraction to him from the very start of their working relationship. They'd been intimate over the years, but she'd never made trouble for him-until she'd secretly made that tape of them together for Maddux. But the tape didn't matter now. He and Maddux had patched up their differences. He certainly hoped so, anyway.

Physical desire surged through Bill as he gazed down at Rita. That urge never left men, no matter how old they were. And it had been a long time since he'd satisfied it.

"h.e.l.lo, Bill," Rita murmured. "Join me in bed."

Bill's eyes flickered down as she slowly slid the covers back. She still looked good, and he grimaced as he gazed longingly at her. Her death warrant had just been signed and sealed. She knew he was alive now. Maddux would never let her leave here knowing that.

THE SWAT team burst into the bas.e.m.e.nt of the East Los Angeles apartment with no warning. Twelve minutes ago they'd received a code-scarlet alarm from one of the anonymous numbers that they'd been told to always give highest priority.

Within seconds of breaking through the door, they had three men in custody and were already inventorying the staggering cache of bomb-making equipment stored in the four rooms.

The next day they would ascertain from one of the suspects during questioning that the men had intended to detonate a ma.s.sive bomb that week in the lobby of a downtown skysc.r.a.per-at lunchtime.

Troy Jensen had saved hundreds of civilian lives-though none of them would ever have any idea how close they'd come to death.

CHAPTER 19.

SKYLAR SAT on a smooth, narrow ledge listening to the waves pound the base of the cliffs a hundred feet below. As the surf crashed against the rocks over and over, she stared into the night sky above the Alaskan mainland, which was due north of her position and across the wide, deep strait the ledge overlooked.

Her premonition had turned out to be quite accurate. Despite how early in the fall it was, the northern lights were giving her a spectacular show this evening. As she sat with her back against the cliff and her legs dangling over the edge, yellow and green waves of gleaming light rolled back and forth across the dark canvas above her in s.p.a.ce like soft, slow-motion lasers. It was an incredible display of what nature could create. So much more impressive than what any Hollywood hotshot could produce with high-tech cameras and manipulated pixels.

She took a long drag off the joint, which she'd rolled tightly with Blackberry Kush, held the powerful smoke in for a seven-count, and then exhaled it deliberately through her pursed lips. She loved watching arctic fire glimmer through the night, especially when she was stoned.

Her eyelids were growing heavy. Sleep was quickly coming on, and thankfully, she was roped securely to the thick metal hooks she'd hammered into the cliff. She'd made certain to do that as soon as she'd rappelled the thirty feet down here from Kodiak's forest floor. She might not have remembered after smoking the Kush, and she definitely didn't want to wake up in the middle of tumbling a hundred feet down the sheer rock face. She moved a lot in her sleep, even after smoking this stuff. Lovers had told her that.

She was camping on this precarious ledge-six feet long and two wide-because she didn't trust that bear she'd scared off earlier. Grizzlies had unique personalities just like humans, and the one she'd run off earlier had a sinister look in his eyes. Despite his great size, he was a d.a.m.n coward. But he'd probably be back. One of the rainbows and a good deal of venison lay beside the smoldering fire on which she'd done her backwoods gourmet cooking.

She wanted no part of that bear while she was stoned. She just wanted to kick back and mellow out. Thankfully, no matter how much that bear might want to, he couldn't get down here.

Her cell phone buzzed as she was about to take another hit from the joint. "Jesus," she muttered, "can't people leave me alone for one night?"

She pulled the phone from her jeans and glanced at the tiny screen. Not surprisingly the incoming call was tagged "Unrecognized." She didn't want to answer, but at the start of all this she'd taken that oath to always serve and protect, and part of what that oath required was the responsibility to respond as soon as a call came in-not when she felt like responding to it.

"h.e.l.lo," she answered deliberately, conscious of what she was saying and how she was saying it. If this had been the regular stuff, she might have been too paranoid to answer. You got what you paid for in life. And what you deserved. This stuff was good.

"Agent Jet?"

That was her handle when she was needed immediately. "Yes." Christ, what a time for this call.

"You know who this is?"

"Yes." It was her direct superior. He was supposed to be somewhere in Nigeria by this time. That had been the plan forty-eight hours ago, but he could be anywhere by now. "What do you want?"

"I need you to get west as fast as possible." He hesitated. "You're not going to believe this, but the Eagle wants to see you." He laughed a sincerely blown-away laugh from the other side of the earth. "I know I don't believe it."

Despite the marijuana coursing through her, adrenaline was suddenly pouring through her system as well. "West" was code for east. And "Eagle" was code for President David Dorn. Apparently her premonition earlier had nothing to do with the northern lights.

BILL LAY on his back, naked, staring up at the ceiling fan as it rotated above him in the dawn light seeping into the cabin bedroom. If he followed the blades closely enough as they raced clockwise, every once in a while he could make out one as if it had stopped. As though for a very brief second it was in freeze-frame.

It was a stupid game, but he had to distract himself somehow. Maddux had just come in to take Rita away after they'd spent an hour making love.

"PLEASE DON'T kill me," Rita begged as she knelt before Maddux in the woods. "I've done everything you've asked of me."

"Yes, you have," Maddux agreed as he pressed the hot end of the Glock to her forehead. "You've been a patriot."

"Please, Shane. I'm begging you. My G.o.d, this is my life."

"You're a good person, Rita, but you know too much. Your survival wouldn't be best for the country. But you did a good thing for Bill. He needed that."

"Shane, I-"

He fired once as she looked up at him through the tears streaming down her face. He'd used a silencer so Bill wouldn't hear.

He smiled nostalgically as he gazed down at her corpse. She had been a patriot. So she hadn't suffered. It had been a while since he'd thrill-killed anyone, and he was thirsty for one. But he hadn't made her suffer at all. This hadn't been about him.

If it had, the victim would have suffered, because he enjoyed watching that. But he'd made it quick for Rita. Out of respect.

SKYLAR SLIPPED the cell phone back into her pocket, took one more hit from the joint, and then flicked it over the side of the cliff. When the tiny orange ember disappeared halfway down to the crashing waves, she unclasped herself from the ledge and began climbing the rope dangling down the face of the cliff.

If she was getting to DC as fast as possible, she was leaving now. That seemed rational to her, even in her slightly enc.u.mbered state of mind. It was a long hike through the dense woods back to the canoe. And then a long paddle to town.

As she climbed the last few feet over the top of the cliff to the forest floor, she became aware of a presence out there in the night. Even in her condition she had an acute and unique awareness of her surroundings, which people had always told her bordered on the extrasensory. Danger was close at hand, and she'd left the rifle at the campsite, which was about fifty yards in front of her.

Hadn't she? She touched her shoulder without taking her eyes from the gloom ahead. No rifle.

She had the bowie knife on her belt-she could definitely feel that-and her wits about her despite the buzz. But that was all. The knife and her wits against whatever enemy she was facing. Was it human or animal lurking out there in the darkness?

The growl and the snort from forty yards away answered her question. She couldn't see the bear, but she could tell from the growl that it was the same animal she'd confronted this afternoon, the same huge male. Just as all bears had unique personalities, they all made distinct sounds, at least to the trained ear. And she recognized this one after hearing the growl, as quickly as if she could see it and it was wearing a name tag. In general bears were very much like humans, though not quite as evil as a whole, she believed.