Amanda leaned back in the large leather seat and tried to relax. In any other circumstances she would marvel at the fact that she was flying on a private jet and take time to appreciate its luxuries. There was the well-stocked bar in the rear of the aircraft, with an assortment of wines, soft drinks, and gourmet food. There was the fact that she could stand up and stretch her legs anytime she wanted without being chastised by a frazzled flight attendant. And the seat itself was designed to flatten into a bed so that she could get some real sleep - not the usual fitful dozing achieved by leaning up against an airplane window.

But she wasn't sleepy - or in the mood to take advantage of the plane's amenities. Her mind was too busy rehashing her plan, running through various what-if scenarios. What if the undersecretary didn't rise to the bait? What if he had already found a buyer for Lee?

"Try to sleep, Amanda," Alan said gently. "This is a ten hour flight."

She looked into his concerned eyes and sighed. "I know. It's just - it's hard. I'm worried. There are a thousand things that could go wrong and I've never planned anything like this on my own before. I've always had a partner."

"Your partner being Lee," he said dryly.

"Yes."

He didn't reply, just continued to regard her carefully. She thought about the lengths he was going to for her; the jet, traveling thousands of miles, putting his safety at risk - all to reunite her with a man who would put her out of his reach, at least romantically. He was either an incredibly good guy or a glutton for punishment.

Despite her nerves, Amanda smiled at that last thought.

Alan raised an eyebrow. "Something funny?"

"Not really." She shook her head. "I was thinking that you're either an incredibly good guy or a glutton for punishment."

"Maybe I'm both."

She laughed. "Maybe you are. At any rate, I don't know what to say. Thank you seems inadequate under the circumstances."

He shrugged. "I'd like to think that I'm a good enough friend to want your happiness, no matter what it means for me personally."

"Well, that would put you in the incredibly good guy category."

He smiled but looked embarrassed. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Are you going to tell me what's in the duffle bag that you ran off to fill at the last minute? You know, the one you won't let anyone else handle?"

Amanda pressed her lips together. The duffle contained her gun plus a few items she had pilfered from Leatherneck's workshop. She liked to think of Leatherneck as the Agency's version of James Bond's Q; a gruffer, less polished version, but still a genius when it came to espionage gadgets. He could hide a stun gun in a makeup compact or turn an ordinary pair of glasses into night vision goggles. His workshop was full of unusual things.

Of course, strictly speaking, no one other than Leatherneck was supposed to have access to his workshop. Items were signed out, and a record maintained of what each agent took. It was one of the Agency's rules for accountability. But Leatherneck had long ago shared the entry code with Amanda so that she could drop off his favorite lemon-poppyseed muffins when she baked a batch. It was their personal ritual. She felt bad about taking advantage of his trust now, but she would do anything to improve her chances of getting Lee back.

She shrugged. "I took a few things from the Agency that might help with the mission. That's all."

Alan nodded. "I see. And you'd rather not tell me what they are."

"To be honest, I'm not even sure what they are and how they work. I grabbed a few gadgets that looked like they might be useful. I'm hoping things go well and I won't have to figure them out."

That last statement was true. Amanda hadn't had time to be selective. She'd breezed through the workshop in less than ten minutes, pulling stuff off shelves and out of cabinets.

Thankfully, Alan didn't pursue his line of questioning. He nodded again and said, "I hope things do go well for you." Then he paused. "And in the meantime, I really think you should try to get some sleep. You won't do yourself or Lee any good if you arrive in Zakir completely exhausted."

He was right, she thought. She hadn't slept at all last night. Two nights in a row would be pushing it.

She sighed and tapped the button on her arm rest. The seat made a soft whirring sound as it flattened into a bed. When the whirring stopped, she stretched out and closed her eyes.

Francine poured a steaming cup of coffee and carried it, along with the Sunday newspaper, to her kitchen table. It was a little after seven in the morning, an obscenely early hour to be awake in her opinion, particularly given that no one had awakened her. For some reason her eyes had just…opened, without any prompting from an alarm clock or telephone. When she'd tried to go back to sleep, she'd tossed and turned.

She suspected it was the consequence of having an early Saturday night. Normally she went out and did something social on Saturday, like attending an embassy party or dining at one of the trendier restaurants. But this Saturday she'd worked most of the day and had been content to come home to a bubble bath and a good chardonnay. She hoped the fact that she was happy with an evening in wasn't a sign that she was slowing down or - God forbid - maturing. A bubble bath on a Saturday night sounded like something the domestic Amanda King might do, not the cosmopolitan Francine Desmond.

She also suspected she was still keyed up over Lee. As hard as she tried to pretend this was a professional matter, the chance that he might be alive had her heart beating a little faster. There had been no calls yet from the agents around Zakir searching for news of him - but then she hadn't expected to hear anything this early. She needed to be patient and give them time to do their jobs. She was a little surprised that Amanda King hadn't checked in at least once to find out if Francine had heard anything. It wasn't like Amanda to do nothing, not when it involved the Scarecrow. But maybe she had realized there was nothing she could do.

Francine took a sip of coffee and began skimming through the paper. She paused at an ad that showed Neiman Marcus selling the latest Givenchy handbag. Then she squinted at the price. Surely they had added one digit too many?

She sighed as she admitted the designer bag was out of reach. She was moving on to the advice column when the phone rang. At this hour, she figured it was either the Agency or her mother. No one else would have the nerve to call so early. Maybe, it was news about Lee.

She picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Francine? It's Leatherneck."

"Leatherneck?" So, not news about Lee. That was disappointing.

"I'm sorry to bother you so early," he continued, "but I came into the Agency to catch up on a few things and I noticed that someone had been in my workshop. I wanted to talk to you before reporting it through official channels."

Francine frowned. Why did Leatherneck think he had to talk to her? She wasn't his boss and they weren't exactly pals.

"I'm sorry," she said coolly. "I don't think I understand."

He cleared his throat. "Well, you know, Mrs. King is a nice lady and I didn't want to get her in trouble over what is probably an honest mistake. So, when I saw her on the security video, I figured I would talk to you first. I thought you might know what she was up to."

Francine frowned again, forgetting for the moment that frowning led to wrinkles. "You're telling me Amanda King was in your workshop? When?"

"Last night. She came in around eight, took a few things, and then she left. Couldn't have been here more than ten minutes."

Francine's mind started racing, despite the early hour. "How did she get in if you weren't there? That area is locked."

There was a moment of silence. Then Leatherneck said quietly, "I may have given her the security code a couple of years ago. She keeps me supplied."

"Supplied? Supplied in what?"

Leatherneck mumbled something.

"I'm sorry," Francine said. "I didn't quite catch that."

"Muffins," Leatherneck said in a louder voice. "She keeps me supplied in muffins."

Francine blinked. "You gave her the security code to your workshop so that she could bring you muffins?"

"Yeah," he replied, a little defensively. "She drops them off first thing in the morning - they're here for me when I get in. You know what they say - breakfast is the most important meal of the day. And it saves me time from going to the cafeteria or stopping someplace on the way in to work."

"Right," Francine agreed dryly. "Free muffins. That's a good reason to risk your job."

"First of all, they're very good muffins. And second - risk my job? It can't be that serious."

"You gave an unauthorized person unfettered access to classified weaponry."

He stuttered as he replied, "But this is Mrs. King we're talking about. She doesn't even like going to the range to practice with her pistol. She's not interested in weaponry."

"She was in your workshop for something. You said she took a few things. What did she take?"

"I haven't done a full inventory yet."

"What did she take?"

Leatherneck sighed. "At a glance, I'd say she took a couple of mini-canisters of zap gas, the audio bug disguised as a ballpoint pen, some explosive wire, and…" His voice trailed off.

"And?"

"She may have taken the TS54."

"The TS54?" Francine raised an eyebrow. "That's experimental, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Oh hell."

Leatherneck snorted, "I doubt she knows what it is. It was next to the zap gas and she probably grabbed it by mistake." He paused. "So, I take it she wasn't in here on behalf of the Agency and you don't know what she was up to."

Francine glanced at her coffee and watched her Sunday morning evaporate in a puff of steam. "You're half right. She wasn't there on behalf of the Agency. But I have a pretty good idea what she was up to."