--13--

i

As an ever-growing anxiety braided itself through her gut, Mandy kept her eyes riveted on Lee's face. From his grim expression, she knew he was bracing for the worst, and she steeled herself to do likewise. Brimstone had masterminded the hell they'd both lived in for the past five years; that their children were now involved as well chilled her through and through.

"Remember," the bespectacled agent manning the surveillance equipment admonished, "you have to keep them talking long enough for us to run a trace."

"I'm not a rookie, Beaman. You worry about your job and let me worry about mine."

"Okay, Scarecrow." The agent's response was unruffled, almost as if he expected Lee's flash of temper. "It's a go on our end."

Lee dropped her hand and reached for the phone. Mandy watched wide-eyed as he transitioned from distraught parent to cool professional in the blink of an eye.

"Lee Stetson." Though his knuckles were white where he gripped the receiver, his cool tone betrayed no trace of fear.

"You have what we need," the disembodied voice stated without any preamble. "And we have what you want."

"You don't say."

Lee's reply sounded even more controlled than before, if that was possible. He looked to the agent called Beaman, who nodded briefly, indicating that the signal was tracking.

"And just who is it I'm speaking to?" His tone was almost cordial, a direct contrast to his narrowed eyes.

"You know full well who we are, Scarecrow. It's only been five years, after all. Tell me, how is your lovely wife? It must be wonderful to have her back with you again."

The kidnapper was obviously baiting him; Mandy watched Lee stiffen as he struggled to keep himself in check. 'Come on, Lee,' she prayed silently, 'don't let him get to you.'

He seemed to hear her unspoken plea. Acknowledging her with a slight nod, he took charge of the conversation once again. "We both send our regards to you goons at Brimstone. Tell me, how's business?"

"Let's forego the ritual dance, shall we, and get down to it. I'm sure your tracking devices are already working overtime."

Lee glanced again at Beaman, who shook his head and wound his finger in the air. "Sure, if that's what you want," he said slowly, playing for time. "We'll be happy to consider some preliminary terms. You say we have something you need. What exactly would that be?"

"Mrs. King knows."

"I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more specific," Lee volleyed back, a slight tension creeping into his voice. "Mrs. King isn't available at the moment."

"On the contrary, Scarecrow, I have no doubt that she's standing by your side, hanging on our every word. Is the monitoring equipment turned up high enough? Let me know you're there, Mrs. King, if you want to see your children again."

Mandy opened her mouth, but no words came out. A low, whining sound buzzed in her ears, and she started to shake.

"Tell us what we need to know, and all this will end," the voice promised. "You'll be free to go back to your old life."

Her breathing quickened, her pulse thudded in her neck and the buzz in her ears became a roar. "It's a small thing, really," the voice continued, not waiting for a reply. "Not much to ask at all. You simply tell us what we need to know."

Just as suddenly, the background noise stopped. As if observing from a great distance, Mandy saw her shaking cease. A wonderful sense of peace flooded through her. Just a few more minutes, and she would be safe in a place where no one could hurt her.

"You bastard . . ."

Lee's snarl was the last thing she heard as the blessed blanket of silence enveloped her. His lips moved, but the words couldn't penetrate the protective bubble she'd wrapped around herself. She took note of the startled faces of the surveillance team with clinical detachment; it was difficult to recall who they were or why they were in the room. She could still see Lee, could vaguely connect who he was with what he was doing. But as the silence grew thicker around her, even that last, slim link fell away. The tall man stared at her with something akin to panic in his eyes. She found it mildly curious that he seemed so disturbed, but in a matter of seconds even that would cease to matter . . .

"Mom . . . Mom . . . Are you there?"

The words, spoken in a shaking voice, breached the edge of her awareness. Just as suddenly as it began, the phenomenon ended. Mandy came back to herself, and the action around her snapped into place, moving forward as if there had been no glitch in the first place.

"Phillip, it's me," Lee was saying. "I'm right here. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I . . . I think so," the boy replied, the tremor in his voice more pronounced.

As Lee caught her eye again, Mandy nodded that she was fine. Relief washed over him, and he focused his complete attention on the phone. "Jamie and Annie?" he asked Phillip. "How are they?"

"They're okay, too." There was a slight hesitation then Phillip asked in a stronger voice, "Can you guys get us out of this?"

"We're trying," Lee said. "You hang tough."

"Okay, I'll take care of—" The line went dead.

"Phillip?" Mandy cried, suddenly finding her voice. "Phillip, are you still there?"

As the dial tone hummed in response, Lee slammed down the receiver. "Damn it, Beaman, tell me you got that!"

The agent shook his head.

"I should have said something," Mandy muttered, her eyes staring blankly. "Why couldn't I say something?"

"It wouldn't have mattered, Mandy," Agent Beaman answered, kindness in his voice. "They routed the call through every switching station on the east coast. You could have kept him on the line until Christmas, and we still wouldn't have been able to trace it."

Lee leaned heavily on the table and pushed out a long breath. "At least we know the kids are okay for now. If we go over the conversation again, maybe we can pick up on something we missed." He looked to Beaman. "Get the written transcript to me as soon as possible."

"Will do, Scarecrow. It should only take a few minutes."

He dismissed Beaman with a nod then turned to her. "Are you all right?" he asked, dropping his voice.

"I . . . I think so." Mandy shook herself lightly. "It was so strange, Lee. In the middle of the conversation, I started to—"

"Let's go somewhere more private." There was a note of quiet urgency in his voice. Grabbing her elbow, Lee steered her into the den, safely out of earshot. "You started Harry Thornton's repression sequence again, didn't you?" he asked, frowning.

"That must have been it. How did you—"

"Your eyes—they suddenly went blank. I thought you were going to zone out on me completely there for a minute, and then—"

"It was Phillip's voice," she managed to croak. "I heard him calling for me."

"Thank God." His expression grew thoughtful. "What triggered the response, do you know?"

"That . . . that voice on the phone." The muscles in her face tensed and her lips quivered. "There was something familiar about it. Something almost . . . sinister. I remember him, Lee! He was saying those same phrases, over and over again . . ." Turning her back on him, she wrapped her arms around herself to stop her shaking, but it didn't help; her body had somehow disconnected itself from her brain. "Lee," she cried, her voice trembling even more violently than her limbs. "What's happening to me?"

A pair of strong arms wrapped around her from behind. "Everything's okay," he whispered in a gravelly voice. "No one's going to hurt you, Amanda. I'm right here. Just go with it."

Leaning back against his comforting bulk, Mandy closed her eyes against the waves of dizziness that threatened to send her crashing to the floor. Her stomach rebelled, and the piece of her brain that still clung to the present vaguely hoped that she wouldn't be sick all over them both.

"What do you see?" she heard Lee ask from someplace far away.

"A man . . ." She fought her increasing light-headedness. If not for the arms that held her fast, Mandy was certain she'd fall over in a heap.

"What does he look like?"

"He's tall. So tall that it hurts my neck to look up at him."

"Are you sitting or standing?"

"Sitting." She chuckled cheerlessly. "That's why he looks so tall, I guess. I'm in a chair. I'm . . . all tied up."

"What else can you tell me about him?"

There was a slight catch to Lee's voice when he asked the question this time, and she hesitated before she answered. "Dark hair . . . even darker eyes. A small birthmark on his right cheek. He frightens me."

"Anything else? What's he doing?"

"He's . . . he's questioning me. 'Tell us what we need to know.' He keeps pressing me, but I won't say anything. My wrists hurt so badly . . . they're bleeding. I want to take a breath, but my chest hurts, too, and my shoulder, my leg . . . I hurt everywhere . . ."

Lee winced. "What happens next?" he demanded gently.

"Then he . . ." There was a gradual loosening in her chest and the spinning room began to still. "He's going to . . ." As the panic receded fully, so did the fleeting memory. Mandy could feel her teeth grinding together. She'd been so close . . .

"Amanda?"

"I'm sorry, Lee . . ." As her breathing returned to normal, she disentangled from his embrace. "It's all a blank again. I can't remember."

He stepped closer and took her by the arms, his fingers rubbing in small circles. "It's okay."

"No, it's not." She yanked herself away from the comfort of his soothing touch; she didn't deserve it. "Brimstone has my children. What's going to happen to them if I can't remember?"

Lee expelled a tight breath. "We'll figure something out before the deadline."

"Deadline?" She frowned. "What deadline?"

He walked away from her to stare out the window, and she followed his gaze. If possible, it was raining even harder than earlier in the day. A bizarre image of Noah building an ark popped into her mind. How good it would be to hop on board and float away from this nightmare.

But she'd done that once before, hadn't she? And look where it had landed them. If she hadn't slipped away, hadn't repressed her memories so thoroughly that she'd forgotten every single person who mattered to her, maybe the lives of her children wouldn't be in jeopardy right now.

"Lee, please . . ." Mandy swallowed past the fullness in her throat. "What aren't you telling me? What happened during that call when I blanked out?"

"Nothing you need to worry about it. I'll take care of it."

He'd hesitated for only an instant before replying, but in that fraction of a second, she knew he was lying. "Please, you don't have to baby me. Whatever it is, I'll handle it." Crossing to him, she gently tugged him toward her. "You asked me to trust you," she said, taking hold of his arms. "That goes both ways."

"I do trust you, Amanda." He whispered the words in a voice that was deep and low. "But I can't—"

She increased the pressure of her grip. "What does Brimstone want in exchange for the children, Lee?"

He looked back out the window for one brief moment. When he met her gaze again, his eyes were full of pain. "You," he told her hoarsely. "They want you."

ii

Jamie walked in an endless circuit around the white room. Too keyed up to sit still and too tired to stay on his feet, he took baby steps, resting at intervals against the wall. Though it was impossible to accurately track the time, he felt fairly certain that Phillip hadn't been gone for more than an hour. Intermittently, he put his ear to the door, straining for the sound of anything that might signal the return of their captors. But all that greeted him was a deafening silence. He was beginning to wonder if their makeshift prison might not be soundproofed.

On the cot in the corner Annie was beginning to stir. Jamie wasn't sure whether to be grateful that she was coming out of it at last or fearful of her reaction when she did. Here he was, practically an adult, and he was scared stiff. Annie was just a little girl . . .

Without warning, the door burst open and rough arms shoved Phillip into the room. As his brother stumbled, Jamie raced to steady him, his headache pounding wildly against the back of his skull as he moved too quickly. He did his best to school his expression into neutrality, the way Lee always did, but he didn't quite succeed; the fat giant flashed a knowing grin as he recognized the raw fear on his face. Un-cuffing Phillip, he yanked the hood from his head and quickly slammed the door, leaving them alone.

The noise roused Annie briefly. Her eyes fluttered open then immediately fell shut as her breathing evened out once again. Jamie heaved a sigh of relief. "Are you okay?" he asked Phillip, modulating his tone so as not to disturb their little sister.

Phillip squeezed Jamie's shoulder. "They didn't hurt me, if that's what you mean. As for being okay . . ." His brother shrugged.

Jamie walked him over to the cot farthest from Annie. "Where did they take you?" he asked as Phillip sat down with a groan. "Did you see anything? Could you figure out where we are . . .?"

"Hey, one question at a time, okay? You're starting to sound like Grandma."

Jamie gave a shamefaced shrug. "Sorry, I didn't mean to ramble."

Phillip nodded, tenderly fingering the area around his eye where a small bruise was already starting to form. "I wouldn't recommend disagreeing with our hosts," he said, leaning against the wall with a weary sigh. "And to answer your questions, no, I didn't see anything or anyone, except the big guy that dragged me out of here. They kept the hood over my head so I couldn't see any of the other faces."

"I was really worried, Phillip," Jamie began, but his brother just nodded.

"Me, too."

Jamie pulled at a loose thread on the flimsy blanket. "What . . . what did they want with you?" he asked in a small voice.

His brother smiled grimly. "They needed to prove to Mom and Lee that we were still alive."

"You talked to Mom?" Jamie looked up eagerly.

"No, Lee. Mom couldn't come to the phone, or so he said."

"For God's sake, Phillip—" Jamie began, but Phillip shot him a warning look. Following his brother's troubled gaze, he saw little Annie roll over.

"Keep your voice down," Phillip ordered in a harsh whisper. "It'll be better for her if she just sleeps."

"I know, I know." His every nerve on edge, Jamie willed himself to calm down. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Yeah—me, neither."

"What did Lee say?"

"It doesn't matter." Phillip blew out a quick breath. "Jamie, we've got to get the hell out of here."

Jamie rolled his eyes; his brother had a way of overstating the obvious. "That's a good trick, if we can manage it. Are you going to play 'The Amazing King' again and magically transport us some place else? And even if we could find a way out of this damn room," he continued hotly, "what then? You were blindfolded. You don't even know where we are . . ." He clutched at the thin blanket.

His brother seemed to understand. "You remember when Mom volunteered for that organization that provided guide dogs for the blind?" Phillip asked, his voice showing more patience than Jamie thought he could ever possess. "Well, I counted the steps, just like she showed us. I know I can find my way back to that room and call for help."

Jamie's face brightened just a bit. "That was quick thinking, Phillip."

"Yeah, well, despite what everyone thinks, I have my moments." His eyes swept over the room. "There's just gotta be a way out."

Jamie moaned; he was hungry, thirsty and his head continued to pound. "But what if they catch us trying to escape?" he asked, his tone sounding very much like a whine. "That's going to make them even madder."

"That's a chance we'll just have to take."

"I don't know." He kicked at the foot of the cot. "I think maybe we should sit tight and wait for Lee to come for us. He's the expert on stuff like this."

Phillip blew out an exasperated breath. "We can't count on that."

"No matter what you think about Lee, he wouldn't just leave us—"

"Of course he wouldn't, worm brain, even I know that." Phillip raised an eyebrow. "But he may not have any choice in the matter."

"What do you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious? Whoever grabbed us did it to have some kind of leverage over the Agency."

"Then the Agency will give them what they want, and we'll be released."

Phillip groaned. "For someone who gets straight 'A's, you sure haven't got much common sense. Haven't you ever been to the movies or watched TV? The United States government never negotiates with terrorists."

Jamie went back to sullenly chewing his lip. Phillip's theory wasn't that far from the truth. Wasn't this scenario precisely the reason his mother and Lee had kept their marriage a secret in the first place? He remembered the haunted look on Lee's face that day in Parker General Hospital when he'd tried haltingly to explain their fear for the family's safety. They hadn't wanted to listen at the time, but he'd obviously spoken the truth. This was Lee's worst nightmare, come true after all.

"You're right." Ignoring the pounding in his head, he moved to his brother's side. "We've got to get out of here."

"Now you're talking." Phillip high-fived his brother, then began to run his hands systematically over the rough walls. "Maybe there's a hidden panel or something."

He snorted. "Don't tell me—you got that from a movie, too."

"It beats the hell out of watching the snow fall." Phillip shrugged at Jamie's raised eyebrows. "There's not much to do in Indiana in the winter, you know."

Jamie snorted, but nonetheless joined him in patting down the walls. Turning to him, Phillip managed a tense smile. "I'm sorry about last night. I guess there really were ghosts in the backyard, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess there were." Jamie's expression sobered. "But I wish to God you'd been the one who was right, Phillip, not me."

"Yeah, worm brain," his brother sighed, "you and me both."

iii

The board for the closed hearing was comprised of the intelligence community's finest—Dr. Smyth, Director of Covert Operations for the Agency, equally high-ranking members of the CIA and the NSA, Billy Melrose, Special Intelligence Liaison to the State Department, Paul Wolfowitz, the Deputy Secretary of Defense for the Bush administration and . . . Francine Desmond.

Under different circumstances, Francine's ego would have swelled at the opportunity to hob-nob with such lofty personages; but at the moment, her mind was far too occupied with her friends at the small house in Arlington, Virginia.

An uneasy silence fell over the room as the Deputy Secretary of Defense finished reading the file that had been placed before him. "This alleged terrorist cell," Wolfowitz consulted his notes, "Brimstone—there's no hard evidence against them, am I correct?"

Billy Melrose glanced briefly at Dr. Smyth before he spoke. "That's correct, sir. While we have an extensive dossier of suppositions, we have nothing specific to charge them with. Agents Stetson and King were on the verge of securing that evidence five years ago, before Mrs. King was taken out of action. We think she may be unknowingly in possession of information which could be the key to unraveling Brimstone's current agenda—if we can retrieve it."

"And what's been done in that regard?"

Melrose shifted in his seat. "Mrs. King has been working with Dr. Claudia Joyce, so far to no avail. There is another option on the table—"

"An Alpha One interrogation." Wolfowitz nodded. "Yes, I'm familiar with the protocol."

"Under the circumstances, it was felt that to subject Mrs. King to such radical measures at this juncture was premature. But in light of what's happened, Mrs. King has asked for the treatment. It's her hope that retrieving the information might lend some additional leverage in dealing with her children's kidnappers."

"And Agent Stetson—he agrees with this assessment?"

Melrose hesitated for a fraction of a second before saying, "No, sir. Agent Stetson's position regarding the Alpha One measures remains firm. There is a risk associated with using the drugs. Stetson believes that to do so at this time may jeopardize Mrs. King's chances of recovering any information regarding her past."

There was a murmur of voices, and the NSA's director cleared her throat. "I understand that Brimstone has proffered a trade—the missing children in exchange for our agent."

Melrose nodded. "At midnight tonight. Brimstone will contact us with the place."

"Agreeing to a trade carries a bigger risk than the Alpha One protocol." It was the CIA chief who spoke this time, and Francine watched the drama play out in front of her with wide eyes. "What makes you think the Agency can command the situation any better than during Stetson and King's last encounter with Brimstone?"

"There are no guarantees, Frank," Billy snapped. "You know that as well as anyone. We've agreed to Potsdam rules and every precaution will be taken. This will be a controlled exchange, with a view to securing the hostages while still retaining our agent."

"Ideally, yes. But we both know the ideal rarely presents itself in this business." The CIA chief narrowed his eyes as he turned to Secretary Wolfowitz. "Sir, if the trade is approved, I believe it would be in the country's best interests for the CIA to run the scenario. Mrs. King has information that may compromise national security and cannot be allowed to fall into Brimstone's hands. The Agency is too close to—"

"Are you implying that I have anything other than the interests of the United States government at heart?" Billy demanded, bristling.

"I'm simply stating a fact. Stetson and King are personal friends of yours—"

"The President has complete confidence in my ability to function impartially in this matter. He's given me and the Agency complete authority—"

"Gentlemen, please." Wolfowitz rapped his knuckles on the table. "This is neither the time nor the place for interagency squabbling. What is it you want from me—specifically?"

Francine twisted in her seat as Billy took a quick drink of water. The exchange with the CIA had hurt their case. Wolfowitz knew exactly why they were here; it didn't bode well that he'd asked for his role to be defined.

"With all due respect, sir," Melrose stated firmly, "the Department of Defense Directive charges the Deputy Secretary of Defense with the overall supervision of C3I affairs. We need your specific approval to trade Agent King."

Wolfowitz nodded, but remained silent.

"Sir." Billy's voice turned urgent. "The lives of three children are at stake here—"

"I'm well aware of that, Melrose. But I have to balance it against the lives of countless Americans. If the information the King woman has locked up in her head falls into the wrong hands . . ." He looked to the group seated around the conference table. "The policy of the United States government is clear on matters such as these."

Dr. Smyth cleared his throat and swiveled in his chair. "Mr. Secretary, if you don't mind?"

"Go ahead, Austin," Wolfowitz said, almost grateful to turn the gavel back to the Agency's chief. "I'd very much like to hear your opinion."

"While Mrs. King's desire to submit to the treatment she so adamantly refused not ten hours ago is laudable, I find that I agree with Stetson—I fail to see what it would accomplish now. Brimstone's deadline is a little over five hours away. Any information we might glean would most likely not come in time to save those children."

"Are you in favor of attempting a trade?"

Dr. Smyth glanced around the table, briefly catching the eye of each senior man and woman present before speaking. Francine recognized the drill; after all, the old man was no fool. It had taken Austin Smyth long years to maneuver his way to the top rung of the intelligence ladder, and he had no intention of losing his footing now. As Smyth was fond of declaring, job hunting was déclassé.

"As much as I feel for Stetson and King in this situation, I'm afraid I cannot in good conscience authorize this scenario. The information King has is obviously crucial to Brimstone's agenda. We can't chance compromising national security, however noble our motives."

"But if there's a chance to—" At Billy's warning look, Francine realized she'd spoken her thoughts aloud. "I'm sorry, sir," she said, addressing Mr. Wolfowitz, "but the family of Agents Stetson and King has been compromised—it's every operative's worst case scenario."

Wolfowitz's expression softened. "I understand your feelings, Ms. Desmond, and I applaud your devotion to your friends. Off the record, let me say that I feel exactly the same way. When I think of my own family . . ." The man shuddered. "But I took an oath to uphold national security—as did Stetson and King. If we start putting aside those security oaths for personal reasons, we all descend into chaos."

He turned to the rest of the panel, "I'm afraid this administration's position remains firm. Mrs. King will not be traded to Brimstone, for any reason. Your agency will have to find another option." Wolfowitz rose, indicating the session was over. "To that end, consider every resource of the United States government at your disposal."

Paul Wolfowitz vacated the room, the rest of the intelligence entourage quickly following. Francine caught Billy's disheartened gaze. "It's amazing how fast the powers-that-be rush to jump from a sinking ship," she observed dryly.

Dr. Smyth forced a cigarette into his trademark holder and slowly struck a match. "You didn't really believe the outcome would be any different, did you Desmond?" He regarded her curiously as he lit up and took a long drag. "You don't strike me as someone who's particularly naïve."

"I was hoping . . . oh, I don't know what I was hoping for, sir." She glanced apprehensively at Billy, who shrugged that the hypothetical ball was in her court. She turned back to Dr. Smyth. "May I speak frankly?"

Dr. Smyth puffed once more. "By all means, Desmond. I appreciate frankness as much as the next man. This will be, as they say, just between us," he said, with his usual affected sneer. "Off the record."

Francine took a deep breath. "Lee Stetson and Amanda King were . . . are . . . two of the best agents I've ever worked with. Their jobs have already cost them far too much. To ask them now to sacrifice their children on the altar of their country seems to be too much to demand of anyone."

Smyth leaned back against the polished conference table. "Bravo, Desmond, well said. Oh, come now," he grinned as she exchanged a look with Billy, "I'm as much a sucker for sentimentality as anyone. So much so that I'll even humor you and answer those questions you've been dying to ask me."

He sat down in the sleek leather chair, rested his elbows on the sturdy arms and steepled his fingers. "No, I did not tell anyone of the scheduled meeting with Stetson and King this morning in Billy's office. Not even Harlan Quidd—his presence at the meeting was as much a surprise to him as it was to you. I went personally to collect him, which is why we were late—the man is damned difficult to locate. Scarecrow and Mrs. King may not be my favorite couple, but I have no desire to see three innocent children twist in the wind. If news leaked out, it did not come from me."

"I didn't really suspect you, Austin," Billy said, with a short sigh. "We were simply covering all our bases."

"Yes, an admirable trait." Smyth's eyes flashed, and Francine had the uncomfortable feeling that he was toying with them, much the way a cat plays with a mouse before pouncing. "One I'm very much in favor of. Tell me, what's the verdict on the country doctor? Stevenson, I believe his name is. Is he still heading the list of suspects?"

"A dead end," Billy replied. "Claudia Joyce and I spent the better part of two hours quizzing him at the hospital. He asked for and passed a polygraph. We're in the process of doing a deeper dig into his background, but if the man's a liar, he's a damned clever one."

Dr. Smyth took another long puff of his cigarette. "Yes. Well, you have to admire a clever liar, don't you? Much more redeemable than a poor one, any day."

Francine arched her eyebrows as she caught Billy's eye. Smyth was sitting on something big; she was certain of it.

Melrose rested his weight on his forearms as he leaned toward Dr. Smyth. "Okay, Austin, you've had your moment of drama. If you know something, share it. We don't have time to waste."

Dr. Smyth smiled. "I know a great many things, Billy, some even pertinent to this case. But as fascinating as it might be, I'm sure you're not interested in my intelligence quotient—even if it has led us directly to our mole." Removing a slim dossier from his briefcase, he slid it across the table to Melrose. "Take a big, wide gander at that."

Billy's frown deepened as he read the file. "How long have you—"

"The incident this morning tickled my suspicions. Mrs. King was my leading candidate for the role of informant, as you know, but even I have to concede that the woman would never involve her own children." Smyth chuckled, as if pleased with his own remark. "And before you ask why I didn't come to you earlier, I knew I couldn't approach you without solid evidence. You're the loyal sort, Melrose. You wouldn't have believed it."

"I still don't. Even with all this," he jerked his hand over the papers, "staring me in the face. Are you absolutely certain?"

"Yes. Our mole admitted it quite readily. Even gave some song and dance about wanting to come forward."

"I just can't believe it. Of all people . . ." He shook his head. "There it was, staring us in the face all this time . . ."

Smyth pushed away from the table and slowly rose. "It just goes to prove that the old saying is true; give someone enough rope and they eventually hang themselves. I suppose it makes sense, in a perverse sort of way." His chuckle rasped in his throat like a death rattle. "Desmond is more right than she knows—sacrificing your child on any altar is above and beyond the call of duty, it seems."

Francine turned to Billy Melrose. "What is he talking about?" she demanded, beyond caring if she was rude to Dr. Smyth.

Smyth smiled. "Fill her in, Melrose, but you'd better do it while you double-time it back to the Agency. There's a team bringing in our friend in as we speak. I understand our mole is brimming over with remorse and wants nothing more than to offer full cooperation."

"Billy," Francine began, but Melrose silenced her as he bounced out of his seat.

"Come on, Francine," he said, gathering the file even as he headed for the door. "We may be able to give the Stetsons good news yet."

"But how . . .?"

"Dr. Smyth has located the mole," he told her, incredulity still running through his voice. "Smack dab in the middle of my office."

Francine's big blue eyes grew even larger. "You can't mean—"

"I'm afraid I do." Billy's eyes filled with sorrow as he leveled his gaze at Francine. "Our mole, the double agent who's been working hand in hand with Brimstone, is none other than my own assistant—Mavis Marsten."