Dotty West looked up from chopping peppers as her daughter breezed into the kitchen. She noted that Amanda had taken more care than usual this evening with her clothes and makeup. The girl was wearing a pair of black dress slacks that emphasized her long, slim legs, and a sparkly top that showed off the rest of her slender figure. Amanda's hair fell to her shoulders in the large, loose curls that Dotty liked best.

She thought about telling Amanda how lovely she looked but decided to refrain. She didn't want to make a big deal over the fact that her daughter was, at last, dating again - let alone that Amanda appeared to be putting effort into the date. Too much focus on it, Dotty knew, and Amanda might stop. Her daughter could be stubborn that way.

She resumed chopping peppers and kept her voice casual. "What are you up to tonight?" she asked.

Amanda filled a drinking glass with water from the tap and took a few sips before replying, "Alan has tickets to the Kennedy Center. The National Orchestra is playing Vivaldi."

"That sounds lovely, dear. And you're going out to dinner first?"

"Yes. We're trying a French restaurant in Old Town." Amanda finished her water and put the glass in the dishwasher. "What about you, Mother? It looks like you're staying in for dinner?"

Dotty nodded. "It's just Jamie and me tonight. Philip is going out with some friends."

"Philip didn't ask Jamie to join them?"

Dotty smiled wryly. "Philip's a college man now…or he's about to be. I guess he thinks hanging out with a brother who's still in high school isn't cool."

Amanda frowned.

"It's typical," Dotty continued, noticing Amanda's expression. "It's a phase kids go through. You were Miss Independence, too, when you left home for college." When her daughter raised her eyebrows and didn't reply, Dotty added, "Anyway, I thought I'd make pan steak with peppers and onions for supper. That's one of Jamie's favorites."

Amanda nodded. "It sure is."

"And don't worry about Philip. Once he starts living in the dorm, he'll remember all the things he liked about living at home, including Jamie."

"I hope so. They've always been good friends as well as brothers. I would hate to see that change."

"It won't," Dotty said confidently. She was about to add further reassurances when the doorbell rang. So instead, she merely smiled and said, "It sounds like Mr. Chamberlain is here."

Amanda grabbed her beaded clutch and headed for the door. "Yes, it's Alan. Have a good night, Mother. I'll see you when I get home."

"Don't rush back on my account, dear," Dotty called after her. "We can catch up in the morning." She wanted to add in case you decide to spend the night with Alan Chamberlain but - once again - stopped herself. Her daughter had always proceeded with caution when it came to men - more caution than Dotty. You'd almost think that Amanda was the parent.

In Dotty's opinion, Alan Chamberlain was the complete package. He was intelligent, had an interesting job that paid well, and was very attractive. He and Amanda had been seeing each other for a month. That should be enough time for the girl to let her hair down…at least a little. But knowing her daughter, Dotty was certain Amanda would be home before midnight.

She shrugged and began chopping the onions.

The digital clock glowed eleven-thirty when Amanda arrived home, entering through the side door and locking it behind her. She moved quietly in the silent house, sliding her shoes off before heading to the refrigerator to rummage for a snack. The restaurant in Old Town had presented its food elegantly but not abundantly. She and Alan had stared at the small, artistically arranged portions and joked about being hungry again in a few hours - which was turning out not to be a joke at all. She doubted she would fall asleep if she didn't have a little something before going to bed.

She wondered if Alan was heading toward his refrigerator in the residence hotel he was using in downtown DC. He had invited her back to his place, as he had the last couple of evenings they'd gone out, but Amanda had declined. She couldn't deny that Alan was an attractive man. It was clear that he found her attractive, too. Still, she hadn't felt ready to take it further.

She opened the refrigerator door and studied her options. Mother's steak must have been good because there wasn't a morsel left. In fact, the refrigerator looked pretty bare overall. The curse of having two teenaged boys, she supposed. Amanda spotted chunk of cheddar cheese and then an apple. She recalled eating fruit and cheese with Lee when they were on assignment in Paris. They were sitting on a park bench in the warm spring sunshine, their shoulders brushing as they tasted the good French brie. It had been lovely.

With a touch of sadness, she filed the memory away and put the cheese and apple on the counter. She was reaching for a paring knife when she heard a rustling sound, followed by a sleepy "Mom?" come from the couch a few yards away.

She walked over to find Jamie lying there in his pajamas.

"Sweetheart," she exclaimed. "What are you doing here? Did you fall asleep in front of the TV?"

Jamie blinked up at her and then shook his head.

"Did you have an argument with Philip?"

Jamie shook his head again and made a face. "No. He's not even home yet."

"Then why aren't you upstairs in bed?"

Jamie groped for the glasses that were sitting on the end table and slid them onto his face. "You got a phone call, Mom, sometime around eleven. I stayed up because I wanted to tell you about it as soon as you got home. It sounded important."

An important phone call. Amanda ran her fingers through her hair. The only important phone calls she got these days were from the boys' school or from the Agency, and the school didn't call on Friday nights. Come to think of it, the Agency didn't call her often on Fridays either, not since she spent most of her time behind a desk.

She perched on the arm of the sofa by Jamie's feet and kept her voice low. No point in waking Mother. "Who was it from?"

Jamie shook his head. "She didn't leave a name. She just said to tell you she was part of…" he paused and his brow furrowed. "Well, it sounded like she said 'barnstorm.' She said she was part of barnstorm. Can that be right?"

Barnstorm. It was a word Amanda hadn't heard in two years and it brought a flutter to her chest. Barnstorm was the name Lee had given the network of civilian contacts who passed him information. They worked all kinds of jobs all over the world - massage therapists, custodians, mechanics, you name it - and they often picked up useful intel because they were in positions that people tended to ignore. Lee had been able to close a lot of cases thanks to his Barnstorm contacts, and he'd spent years cultivating the list. But to the best of Amanda's knowledge, Barnstorm had died when Lee had died.

She hoped she sounded casual when she asked, "Did she say what she wanted? Did she leave a number?"

"She said she would call back."

"When?"

Jamie shrugged. "I'm not sure. She asked when you'd be home and I said I didn't know, but that it would probably be late. Then she said she'd call back and hung up before I had the chance to ask her anything else."

Amanda frowned. How would someone on the Barnstorm list know about her, let alone know how to contact her at home? Her number was unlisted. She turned and stared at the telephone as if willing it to reveal a name. Caller ID had become available to the general public a couple of years ago, but she hadn't signed up for it. It was expensive and most of the calls that came to house lately were for her sons.

"Is everything okay?"

Amanda turned back to Jamie.

"Fine," she replied, not certain if she was lying.

"Is Barnstorm something to do with work?"

He was studying her, his eyes narrowed behind the lenses of his glasses. That was her younger son, she thought. Quieter than his big brother, not as social, but more observant.

She shifted on the arm of the sofa. "What makes you ask that?"

He shrugged. "I've always wondered what you do at IFF. I think it has to be something more than editing films."

"You do?"

"Yeah. There seems to be a lot of emergencies. You're always getting phone calls and running off. And you meet some interesting people - at least, you used to. Remember the princess from Zakir who came to the play at our house?"

Amanda smiled, surprised that he remembered Penelope, the young American woman who had married a Middle Eastern prince. It had been seven years, after all. But then, the princess had caused quite a commotion.

He was still studying her. "And then there was Mr. Stetson."

She straightened on the arm of the sofa. "Mr. Stetson," she repeated. "What about Lee?"

He hesitated. She could see he was worried about her reaction.

"He sometimes carried a gun," he said slowly.

Amanda turned her surprised gasp into a cough. Lee had always been careful not to bring his weapon into the house, at least not when he knew her family was there. It was something they had talked about - no guns in the King family home. Amanda kept her own weapon (she had a hard time believing she even had a weapon) locked in a safe at the Agency. But there had been times - emergencies - when Lee had stopped to pick her up and he'd had his gun holstered under his jacket. And Jamie - observant Jamie - must have seen it. She wondered why her son hadn't said anything at the time.

"I wasn't imagining things, was I, Mom?" He was looking at her expectantly.

It was Amanda's turn to hesitate. She had long become accustomed to brushing off questions like this. After all, who would believe that Amanda King, wholesome mother of two, worked with a man who needed a gun for his job? And she could probably brush it off now, she thought. It had been two years since Jamie had seen Lee. She could chalk it up to her son's youth and imagination and he might believe her. He was observant, but he wasn't always confident.

But she didn't want to do that. To start with, she didn't want to undermine his confidence. Her ex-husband Joe was a kind and loving father to both boys, but he had an easier time with Philip. The two of them were alike; they were gregarious, they laughed easily, and they had the same interests. Jamie, on the other hand, had always gravitated toward her. They were the quieter, more analytical pair in the family.

She resorted to the trick of answering a question with a question. "Did you tell Philip about the gun?"

Jamie shook his head. "No."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "I figured Philip would say that I was getting carried away with the books I was reading. You remember that I was in my spy phase at the time - lots of Clancy and Ludlum."

Amanda nodded. She remembered it well. She'd had a hell of a time getting Jamie to read David Copperfield for English class, but he'd devoured The Bourne Identity in three days. She'd told herself to be glad he was reading at all.

"So, was I imagining things, Mom?"

She looked at her younger son. His expression was trusting; he expected her to be honest. With a start, she realized that she wanted to share Lee - the real Lee - with someone in her family. But with her youngest - was that wise?

What do you want to tell him, Amanda? How much should he know? This felt like one of those pivotal moments where things could keep going as they always had or change forever. Almost like the day she had accepted that silly package from Lee at the train station. Her heart thumped in her chest.

"No, Jamie, you weren't imagining things."

His eyes widened and he sat up on the sofa. "I knew it. So, what exactly did Mr. Stetson do? Was he FBI? CIA? He wasn't a police officer."

"No, he wasn't police. He wasn't FBI or CIA either. He worked for a different agency…one that's not as well known."

"But he was a spy."

Amanda nearly smiled. She could hear Lee's voice in her head. I've never really cared for that word.

She rose from the arm of the sofa and came around to sit next to her son. Then she patted his knee. "He was a government agent, sweetheart. He did intelligence work."

"Isn't that the same thing as a spy?"

She shrugged. "Spy sounds kind of cloak and dagger. A lot of the work Lee did was with his brain. It wasn't like one of your novels." Except for when it was, and we were undercover or getting shot at.

Jamie nodded. "Does that mean you're a government agent, too, Mom?"

Amanda's heart, which had just begun to steady, kicked up again. It was one thing to confess to Lee's occupation. It was another to confess to hers. She could always say that she met Lee while doing film work at IFF. It was close to the truth after all. But that wouldn't explain the mysterious phone calls and running off. And it wouldn't explain Barnstorm.

She hoped her voice was steadier than her heartbeat. "I'm kind of an…assistant…agent," she replied carefully. "My job title is Analyst. I work in an office and I transcribe wiretap information and review surveillance videos - pretty routine stuff. I worked some cases with Lee. That's how we met."

She tried to make it sound boring, but he was staring at her, his eyes wide. "You work for an intelligence agency? Does Grandma know?"

She shook her head.

"Philip?"

"No." And this, she thought, is where it gets tricky. Because I can't ask my son to keep secrets from his brother and his grandmother. That's not fair.

But Jamie looked pleased. He had a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "So, I'm the only one you told?"

"Yes." Then she amended, "Well - your dad knows a little bit about it. Remember when he first came back from Estoccia and those men tried to grab you at the middle school? He learned about Lee then. But he doesn't know a whole lot about my job."

Jamie's smile grew broader. "Cool."

Amanda frowned, not so certain it was cool. She was essentially handing her sixteen-year-old son the burden of her secret. He was a good, trustworthy kid, but he was still a kid. A wave of guilt ran over her. Too late, Amanda. You should have thought about this before you opened your mouth.

"Mom?" He was watching her carefully.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I won't say anything, not even to Grandma and Philip."

She reached out to smooth his hair. "I don't want to make you do something you're not comfortable with."

He shrugged. "I am comfortable with it. I mean, I get why you couldn't tell us. Secrets are hard to keep. And once you tell one person, it almost never stays a secret anymore." He gave her a wry smile. "Grandma would have a lot of trouble not saying anything."

Amanda chuckled despite her guilt. "That's true."

"And Philip has other things to think about." There was a hint of bitterness in his voice.

She pursed her lips. "That's temporary. He's caught up in the excitement of college. Before you know it, things will be back to normal with him."

"Maybe." He shrugged again. "I still won't say anything. It will be our secret. And you shouldn't feel bad about telling me. I probably would have figured it out, you know."

"Really."

"Uh-huh. That phone call tonight was pretty weird."

The phone call. Amanda sat up. She'd gotten so caught up in revealing her secret to Jamie that she'd forgotten about the Barnstorm phone call.

"About the call, sweetheart," she began.

The phone rang. It seemed especially loud at midnight on a Friday night, with the rest of the house silent. She raced over to it, nearly knocking the damn thing off the kitchen island in her haste.

"Hello?" she said breathlessly.

There was a pause. Then, "Amanda King?" It was a woman's voice; accented, although Amanda couldn't immediately place the accent.

"Yes. Speaking."

"You don't know me, but I am part of the Barnstorm network. Lee recruited me almost ten years ago."

Middle Eastern, Amanda decided, and educated. Her grammar was perfect, the accent leaning toward British English rather than American. "What's your name?" she asked.

Another pause. "My name is not important. What matters is that I am part of Barnstorm. I know you know what that is."

Amanda glanced over at Jamie. He was staring at her. "How do you know about me?" she asked the woman. "How did you get my name?"

"You are Lee Stetson's partner."

You are. Present tense. Amanda pressed her lips together. If the woman was really part of Barnstorm, then shouldn't she be aware of Lee's death? Her English was more than good enough to know the difference between you are and you were.

She opted to play along with the fiction that Lee was alive. "How do you know I'm his partner?" she asked. "It's not like it's printed on Lee's business card."

The woman chuckled. "To those of us who have known Lee a long time, it was evident when his situation changed. He has always been protective of his Barnstorm contacts, but a few years ago he became…" she hesitated as if searching words, "more so. And more interested in our personal lives. It was clear that somebody is having an influence on him." She chuckled again. "I must say, I was quite surprised. I always thought he preferred working alone."

And so he had, Amanda thought, when they'd first met. In fact, for the first year he'd sworn that every assignment they worked together was a one-off and that they were unlikely to see each other again. It wasn't until their third year that he'd admitted they were a team. She'd felt a sense of accomplishment then, as if she'd summited a mountain after a long, hard climb. She'd always trusted him, but now he was trusting her, too.

Of course, none of this gave her insight into why the woman was calling - and she seemed in no hurry to reveal her purpose. Amanda considered her options and decided to go with the direct approach. The caller seemed like a direct sort of woman.

"So, you're part of the Barnstorm network," she said. "That doesn't explain why you're calling me, especially now."

"'Especially now?'" The woman repeated. "I see. You believe, along with the rest of the Agency, that Lee Stetson is dead."

"Lee is dead. He was killed by a bomb." Too late, she remembered that Jamie was a few yards away on the couch. She looked over at him. His eyes were wide, his mouth open.

"Injured, Mrs. King, not killed. Lee Stetson is very much alive."

It took a second for the words to register, maybe because there was a roaring sound growing in Amanda's ears. She swallowed and said, "What?"

"Lee Stetson is alive. He was badly wounded by that bomb, but he wasn't killed."

Amanda gripped the phone so hard she was surprised the plastic didn't crack. "How do you know this?"

"I overhead it when I was working with one of my clients."

"Clients?"

"I am an English language tutor, living in Zakir. I teach the children of wealthy businessmen, oil magnates, and government officials. That gives me access to some interesting places and people."

"And who exactly did you overhear?"

"I was at the home of the undersecretary for defense, tutoring his son, and I heard him talking on the telephone. He claimed they had captured a U.S. spy and were putting the spy up for sale. I think he was bargaining with the Russians."

The roaring sound was getting louder. Amanda could feel the spark of hope swell in her chest and willed herself to remain objective. She'd been down this road several times before, only to have her hopes flattened when it turned out to be a dead end. She needed to be rational now. She needed to be smart.

"What makes you think he was talking about Lee?" she asked.

"The official mentioned him by name."

"And how do you know he was speaking to the Russians?"

The woman paused. "I don't know…for certain. But he was speaking English, not Arabic or Farsi. That suggests he was not speaking to someone local, or from any other Middle Eastern country. And of all the countries that would be willing to pay money for Lee Stetson, Russia would be at the top of the list."

That that made sense, Amanda admitted. The USSR might be dealing with unrest from its constituent countries, but that didn't mean the KGB had gone away. And the KGB would love to get its hands on Lee, to know what he knew and how he knew it. They'd be particularly interested in finding out if Lee had converted anyone within their organization to a double agent.

The spark of hope was growing into a flame. She tried to control it.

Think, she told herself. Where are the holes in her story?

"It's been nearly two years since the bomb," she said to the woman. "Why are you calling now?"

"Because I only overhead the phone call three days ago."

"So, they held onto Lee for all those months? That doesn't make sense."

The woman was silent. "It depends on how badly he was hurt," she finally said. "It could have taken him months to heal, especially if he did not receive the best of medical care."

Maybe, Amanda thought, not liking to think about the injuries that would require Lee months to recover from. "Why would the undersecretary take the trouble of having Lee nursed back to health at all?" she asked. "Zakir is a wealthy country, with its oil reserves. The money from selling him to the Russians can't be that much of an incentive."

There was another moment of silence. Then the woman exhaled. "I am not an agent, Mrs. King, nor an expert in government affairs. I am a language tutor, useful to Lee as a Barnstorm contact because I have access to a few important people. However, if I were to speculate, I would guess that the undersecretary is acting on his own behalf, not on behalf of the country. Prince Rheza Khan has worked diligently over the last decade to reduce corruption. Money from Zakir's oil resources is now being used to build schools, hospitals, and other modern infrastructure, not line the pockets of government officials."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"It has made the prince popular with his people, but not so popular with what is left of the old guard in the government. Some of them have had to make adjustments to their lifestyles. The price tag for Lee is probably in the millions, or even tens of millions. What is it you Americans say? That kind of money is not to be sneezed at."

Amanda nodded. Once again, the woman had a reasonable explanation. That didn't mean it was the truth, though.

"Did the undersecretary say where Lee is being held?" she asked.

"No, but I think it has to be in Zakir, not far from the government complex. I do not think they would take the risk of bringing him across borders."

"Can you find out where he is?"

"I think that will be difficult."

Yes, Amanda thought, it probably would be.

"How about scheduling extra tutoring sessions with the undersecretary's son," she suggested. "That way you're more likely to overhear another phone call."

The woman sighed. "I suppose I could do that. For Lee."

"Thank you."

They were both silent. After a moment, the woman asked, "What are you going to do with this information?"

Amanda glanced at the clock. It was after midnight, not exactly a social hour. But Billy had been roused from his sleep for far less important matters.

"I'm going to call my superior," she replied.