Katherine Conroy worked in the administrative offices of a national home-improvement supply company. The pay and benefits were excellent, but the work was boring and without status. Therefore, her relief at being able to leave work early compensated somewhat for the disquiet produced by the phone call she'd gotten that morning.

A Shop agent she'd never heard of was requesting a private conference in her home at noon. She'd agreed without hesitation. Driving home, she pondered what it could mean, but still didn't worry much.

If it was about Nathan, it would all be over and done with by now. She'd be going home at the normal time, to discover his body, perhaps...or nothing. One day he'd simply go missing. So it couldn't really be about Nathan.

And she seriously doubted it could be about...the other thing. No. The trail clearly led to Nathan. No one had followed her, and she was an expert on covert surveillance.

Still. She wondered why anyone from The Shop would want to meet alone with an agent's wife.

Kate did a quick scan of the street as she approached their four-bedroom ranch. There was a green Toyota Camry parked at the curb. Two people inside, one much taller than the other. She slowed only enough to make the turn into the driveway, then shut off the ignition and sat for a moment, thinking.

They wouldn't send two Shop agents to make an arrest. But something about those two men, sitting quietly...

She took a long breath, then got out of the car. Instantly, the door of the Toyota opened and the occupants emerged. The driver, she didn't recognize. But the passenger...

She'd never met Rainbird face to face. But from Nathan's accounts through the years, she felt she knew him. He was a legend. A dark legend.

Rainbird was a hitman. Everyone knew that. But would he bring a witness for that sort of work? It was all too puzzling, so she decided her best course of action was to let the meeting happen.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Conroy," said the other man, who carried an attaché case. She glanced at both of them. Rainbird was certainly a scary-looking sort and he surely knew it. The smaller man, however, had his own deadly aura. His face was sallow and pockmarked, and what passed for a smile was little more than a grimace. He regarded her from under heavy brows.

Nathan had told her that Rainbird was a lone wolf-that no one in the Shop had any use for him except Cap, and Cap was simply afraid of Rainbird. But Kate, who had years of experience in reading body language, measured a number of verbal clues and understood immediately that these two men had not only worked together on numerous assignments, but that they also had quite a close and respectful working relationship. But she still believed that Rainbird could handle any use of force on his own. So again, why two of them?

"Can I help you gents?" she asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She didn't like government, no matter what, and could not be civil to them. The White House dinner Nathan dragged her to earlier in the month had been almost unbearable. The opulence. The conspicuous consumption. The self-congratulation. It had been strictly business, and she had gotten her business done, but she could have done without the rich food and the shallow Capitalist pigs all sitting around the table. These two unfortunates standing in front of her didn't make a fraction of the pay of a typical Cabinet member; undoubtedly they worked much harder and took more risks. Of course. They were mere laborers for the system, and didn't even realize it. How sad that their brainwashing made them incapable of seeing the reality for themselves.

The shorter man produced his official ID and kept it suspended in the air until she had carefully read it.

"Don Jules? I don't believe my husband has ever mentioned you," she said.

"We don't travel in exactly the same circles, ma'am. Do you think we might sit down inside?"

"Oh, of course," she replied, and led the way. All the while noting that Rainbird had never bothered to produce credentials of any kind.

"Well. I haven't had lunch and suppose you haven't either. Could I fix us something?"

Jules replied, "Actually, we've eaten. But you go right ahead and have your lunch. We can wait."

She motioned them to seats in the less formal family room, which was only half partitioned off from the kitchen. She was hungry enough to be distracted by it, but searched for something simple and portable, and chose a frozen bagel and cream cheese. A few seconds at the microwave and a minute at the toaster, and she was seated in an easy chair, waiting to hear what the agents had to say.

Jules, sitting closer to Kate, cast Rainbird the briefest of glances, then opened the attaché. He selected a single sheet, which he passed wordlessly to Kate. Then he closed the case, and sat back, looking bored.

Kate examined the paper and felt everything in her mouth go dry, including the bagel and the cream cheese. Chewing and swallowing became an arduous effort, much akin to running in a terrifying dream. She was forced to close her eyes to concentrate, and finally got it down. She placed the uneaten portion on the floor near the chair and never thought about it again.

She felt an overwhelming sense of shame. Not for what she saw on the sheet of paper, but for her undisciplined reaction to it. She knew, had known, for over thirty years, that such a moment could come. She was not in a jailhouse. She had not been spirited away by masked men. There were no implements of torture poised over her body. She was perfectly safe, and well, and fine, in her own home. To a casual observer, she might be reviewing a mutual-fund prospectus. If this was how she reacted to discovery in such innocuous circumstances, she would surely need several months of retraining once she returned to...her real home.

But it was still an unpleasant shock. Perhaps the reason was, that all those years ago at training camp she'd been young, single, childless, and at her idealistic peak. Now she was, well, let's face it. She was middle-aged and soft. Inwardly she renounced such decadent symbols as this four-bedroom house, the cars, the clothes and the rich food, but she'd gradually gotten used to having them.

And even more than these, she felt possessive and protective toward her family. Especially Lauren, who was so innocent of all this.

Forcing herself to look away from the paper, she responded as she'd been drilled. "This is very interesting," she said. "Please explain to me what it means."

"Hold it!" said Jules with a smile. "Let's see if we can follow along." Reaching into the attaché, he pulled out yet another document that Kate recognized instantly. A small white-bound book with a title in Spanish. "Yes, page thirty-nine. I've already bookmarked it. 'Your captors may produce documents that implicate you-they may contain your likeness, identification number and evidence of your activities. This is a simple intimidation tactic, and it is important to pretend ignorance of the documents and their significance. An acceptable verbal response is, "This is very interesting. Please explain to me what it means."'" Jules' Spanish was fluent and precise, yet still managed to retain sarcastic little traces of his native Texas. He extended the field training manual in her direction. "Do you have your own copy, or would you like to borrow mine, Señorita Goldworth-Miranda?"

Rainbird, still as the upholstery, said nothing and made no sound, but Kate, looking at him, saw the barest trace of a smile form on his wrecked face. Of course, she thought. Jules does the talking, Rainbird takes over later. Was this how it would end? Here in her family room?

Kate felt suddenly weary, and abandoned any scripted response. "I've worked at the same job for twelve years. My daughter is an honor student. My husband works as hard as he can in your organization. I wish we could just be left in peace. That is all I have to say to you."

Rainbird leaned forward a bit in his chair as Jules, now looking angry, addressed her.

"I beg to differ, Mrs. Conroy. Katie...Katarina... Now, I must say first, there is a vast difference between the quality of your husband's work and yours. It took us maybe two months to catch on to Nathan. But identifying you as the deep little mole that you are required a lot of late hours. Was Nathan selected for you, or was it...true love that brought you together?"

The words stung because they were true. The people in Havana who had installed her here had provided strong guidance in helping her choose a suitable foil. They'd continued to help her over the years in molding Nathan, shaping his point of view and encouraging his deceits. She learned early on that she could appeal to his greed, his weakness, and pride. She suspected that her husband actually believed he was the first successful double agent in Shop history.

Inwardly she sighed. Of course they had found him out with little effort.

"Well?" she asked Jules. "You came here with an agenda."

"As did you!" replied Jules cheerfully. "But-on to business. Tell me, Señora Conroy, have you not been homesick? Your husband has had many opportunities to hobnob with your fellow countrymen, but you have been chained to your duties as wife and working mom. Don't you think it's time you had a change of scenery? Trade in all that dreary snow for sun and palm trees year 'round! Nathan will make an excellent tour guide, and help you to adjust to the minor changes that have taken place in Cuba all these many years. I say 'minor' changes, since while our decadent society has plunged headlong like a dolphin through the industrial age, the atomic age, the space age, and now the information age, your beloved homeland has barely budged since 1962. For those who are nostalgic, or just resistant to change, I can think of no better refuge. It does get stressful here, doesn't it? Having to make your own choices, build your own destiny, and keep up, with no real help from the government? Wouldn't it be nice to go back to Cuba, where you have perfect job security, and don't even have to job-hunt! The government does it for you! House-hunting? The government does it for you! Child-rearing? The gov-"

"Yes!" Kate cried out, snarling and clenching her fist. "It would be nice. Go ahead and send us back. Your 'land of the free' is a stinking garbage pit of waste and pointlessness."

Jules regarded her mildly. "Glad you see things our way. On that note, I will be going. My colleague here will be able to discuss the details of your relocation." He stood, with his attaché, and pretended to look around. "Oh, feel free to keep the summary sheet from your 700-page dossier, and that handy training manual. We've got plenty of copies back at the Shop." He nodded slightly toward Rainbird, and departed quietly.

Rainbird stood unhurriedly and moved to the chair previously occupied by Jules. "Mrs. Conroy, your 46th birthday is Saturday, June 16th, correct?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Perfect. Then you and your husband can set that as your departure date."

Kate felt off-balance. His words weren't making sense to her.

"You mean-we all just leave? You put us on a plane?"

"Well, yes, that's basically it."

She shook her head, as if to clear it. "There's a catch here somewhere. I can feel it."

Rainbird shifted in the chair then, to face her directly. He smiled, and it frightened her.

"There is a catch, Mrs. Conroy," he said softly.

Lauren received her high school diploma on Saturday, June 9th. She sat patiently through the parade of speeches, listened to the short list of accolades in her name, waited in line, received the scroll, and took one last look out over the sea of faces, young and old, mostly white, and felt little emotion. Her parents were there, looking strained as they had for weeks now. No other relatives. She supposed her real parents were "looking down at her and smiling," as she'd been told more than once. If so, that was nice. Nothing more.

She scanned the hall again, and realized she was looking for John Rainbird. She'd hoped to see him again following their dinner date, but he had not called, and she wondered if maybe he'd asked her father for permission to see her and her father had refused. There was no reason to think so, but she was very disappointed not to hear from John, and her parents were acting weird. She'd heard them up and moving about at all hours of the night. Her mother had started taking days off from work, and her attendance had always been perfect. Worst of all, her mother had started staring off into space, crying in brief spurts with no explanation...and had begun grabbing Lauren in fierce bear hugs at odd moments. Yet, by the same token, her mother had become remote, seeming to shut down whenever Lauren asked a question.

Lauren had plenty of questions. She wanted to know why her mother had begun sending her out on errands that took hours. They weren't difficult errands, but she got the distinct impression that her mother just wanted her out of the house. And yet, she was always admonished to return at or near a given time. What was this? It wasn't her birthday-that had been last month, and a very routine affair. Okay, her mother's birthday was coming up, but she doubted the behavior had anything to do with that.

She wasn't sure, but it appeared that some of her things were missing. There were some old journals and writings she'd filed away, magazine clippings...now she couldn't find them. Just odd things. Or some of her jewelry would be missing, but would turn up a few days later, and she'd swear she'd looked there.

Her father, usually as transparent as spring water, had become morose and uncommunicative, and sometimes she thought he was crying in secret, like her mother.

She wished she knew John better, so she could tell him some of this. Normally, it didn't bother her to have so few friends, but normally she could figure out her parents. John was so easy to talk to. Their one evening had gone by so quickly. She'd spent the ensuing weeks daydreaming about him. She was so grateful the real work of school was long over, or her grades would have suffered.

Sometimes it was as if there were a "Rainbird magnet" inside her. Every song on the radio, every old movie on TV, every borderline-erotic novel she read (something she'd never done before) seemed to relate to John. She knew he was Native American, and she knew he lived in Arizona. So she'd started watching old Westerns, projecting herself into any storyline that featured a sympathetic male Indian. There weren't many that she liked. She researched the Cherokees on the Internet, but realized his parentage probably included Hopi, Navajo or Apache to account for his desert origins.

The day after graduation, she woke early with a wonderful idea. She was eighteen; she'd just finished high school; she had the whole summer ahead of her. Why not travel? Was she really going to sit around here for three months? She'd thought about working, but neither the Shop nor her mother's employer was offering summer jobs or internships this year, due to the economy. Out of pure boredom, she'd checked with some local banks and offices, but most wanted experience, which she lacked. Stores advised her to reapply later in the year, as the holidays approached.

Well, she wasn't hurting for funds, so why not do something noble? Why not go out to Arizona and volunteer to work with the kids on the reservations? She was sure some church in the area would have an outreach program. And even if that didn't materialize, she could get a cheap hotel room and just drive around seeing the sights.

Maybe John would have some ideas for things she could do.

Maybe John spent his summers out there in Flagstaff.

Hmm.

The idea energized her-it sounded so right. She sprang out of bed, got dressed and went downstairs, where her mother was busy rearranging the kitchen cabinets. Boxes, cans and utensils were spread across every inch of counter and table space. From the stairs, she watched her mother moving like a sleepwalker, and again felt the waves of worry and depression coming off her.

But it was a beautiful day. Maybe her mother would feel better if Lauren were out of her hair and she didn't have to take care of her. Maybe she and her dad were burning out and needed some one-on-one time together. Maybe...maybe absence would make the heart grow fonder, because it looked like familiarity was breeding contempt these days.

She continued into the kitchen and asked her mother if she needed help. Her mother lifted her face-it was full of grief. Lauren took a close look and realized her mother had actually aged in the last few weeks. She was sure of it. There were definitely a lot more gray hairs on her head. Either that, or she wasn't plucking them out any more.

"I need to throw out a lot of things here. If we aren't going to use them, we should throw them out. We have too many things as it is. It's criminal. People just accumulate things and give no thought to whether or not they need them." Her mother spoke these words in a monotone. It was a speech Lauren had heard before-she thought her mom was probably a closet socialist-but there was a distinct undertone of despair this time.

"Say Mom? I was thinking. I have nothing to do this summer, and it occurred to me, maybe it would be a good opportunity to travel. I've been accepted at seven colleges and narrowed it down to four, and I have until mid-July to accept. I can bring stamps and mail an acceptance in from wherever I am. I can drive out to Arizona, maybe, and stay at a cheap motel-"

She stopped because her mother's face had twisted into a mask of insanity. She raised her hands, buried them in the hair at her temples and shrieked, "No! You can't do that! You can't! You - have - to - stay - HERE!" She punctuated the last sentence by pounding her fists on the kitchen table. "You can't go anywhere! You have to stay RIGHT HERE!" The boxes and cans on the table jumped in rhythm with her mother's blows. Lauren backed away. "All right, Mom-we'll talk about this some other time."

Her mother took a few steps toward her, still looking panicky. "Lauren, I am deadly serious. You must not leave here! Please don't get any ideas about running off! Please!"

"All right, Mom! But please don't scream at me, and please think about going to see a doctor," Lauren said. For it had occurred to her, out of the blue, that her mother was most likely in the grip of menopause.

That stopped her mother. Kate stood with one hand on the back of a chair, swaying slightly. "What?"

"A doctor, Mom. You're turning 46. I saw a commercial about hormone-replacement therapy, and they were talking about how menopause sneaks up on you. They said it's easy to be in denial about it!"

Kate stared at Lauren; her mouth was open and her eyes looked almost crossed. Then she threw back her head and uttered a loud, chilling laugh. She kept laughing and laughing. Finally she sank into a chair, still cackling, and as Lauren tactfully left the kitchen, she heard her mother muttering, "Diós, Diós!"

Her father had been off golfing as usual when Lauren had that bizarre encounter with her mother. She kept to herself and waited until he returned. After golf was always a good time to approach him, because he was generally in a mellow mood.

Lauren watched Nathan drive his CRV into the garage and prepare to stow his golf gear. She knew she'd better try to talk to him now before he went for a shower and then got involved with Mom.

She knew as soon as her father saw her, he'd give her one of those weird looks. Lauren wondered why both her parents had taken to scrutinizing her lately. There were all these long, sad looks. As if they expected her to be going away soon and not-

She wondered if it was just the fact that she'd be going away to college. She had declined to apply at anyplace local. She wanted the dorm experience. In the back of her mind, too, was the remote possibility of seeing John, without having to hear her parents' complaints. She knew them well enough-she never discussed Rainbird with them, but could predict that the age difference would alarm them. Even if Rainbird were someone they liked.

So maybe that was it. She knew also that their marriage was on shaky ground, and if she went away, they'd be stuck here with each other. They-

Another leap of thought. Her mother. Practically begging her not to leave. Looking tired, worn...beaten down?

Was there a SERIOUS problem between her parents? Domestic violence, perhaps? She hadn't seen or heard anything, and her father was generally so mild-mannered it was nauseating, but maybe things had deteriorated to the point that there were threats. She'd seen Court TV enough times to know that sometimes wealthy married people got bored and found it easier to kill one another than to go through a messy divorce. Maybe her mother suspected that her father was planning to do her in.

And wouldn't it be easy? She didn't know for sure, but she had a good enough idea what went on at the Shop to realize how convenient it would be for one of her dad's friendly co-workers to, well, maybe make a little pocket money on the side some night.

When Nathan emerged from the car, he saw her standing a few yards away.

"Hey, sweetheart. How are you?"

"Dad? Do you love Mom?"

Nathan's face was very different from Kate's. Kate had sharp eyes that missed nothing, and a mouth that could kiss or hiss, at will, with equal effectiveness. Nathan was all circles-big round eyes, a big round, balding head, and a big, round, open mouth. He walked around in a perpetual state of uncertainty, even on a good day, and when you presented him with a problem, it was as though a little gray raincloud had sprouted over his head, like in a cartoon.

He approached her slowly, and he looked like such a child-so open, so vulnerable, so totally useless in a crisis-that Lauren wanted to slap his face.

"You'd better love her. You'd just better." She walked away quickly because she didn't want to hear his voice.