Shane pretended to take another glance at the resume. There was no need, but he was using the opportunity to study the man in the chair on the other side of his desk. Mike Adams was a wiry African-American man, of average height and build, dressed conservatively in dark slacks, a button-down shirt and sports jacket. Not exactly what most people would picture when asked to describe a bodyguard.

But Shane could tell Mike knew his job. Even if Shane did not know the man had worked for several years in the Secret Service, it was evident just in the way he studied the room around him. His looks were casual. To someone who did not know better, he would just seemed to be glancing around. However, Shane suspected if he asked Mike to name the third book from the left on the second shelf, he would give a correct answer.

"This isn't exactly like protecting major dignitaries," Shane said. "Andrew's only five."

Mike smiled slightly. "I'll bet he's tougher to contain than the Vice-President."

Shane had to laugh. "You must have met my son." Then he grew serious. He had already told Mike about the attacks on Andrew, but he wanted to make something clear. Shane stood up and walked over to the window. Outside, he could see Andrew playing in the garden under Simmons' watchful eye. "Andrew . . . and my daughter, Eve . . . They're the most important things in my life. No, that's an understatement. They're more important than my life." He glanced back at Mike. "Do you have kids?"

Mike shook his head. "No, sir."

"Then you can't really understand," Shane said. "I know they trained you in the Secret Service to take a bullet for your charge - and I know from experience what that takes." He thought back to that night on the pier in Stockholm and how he had taken a bullet meant for Gillian. "Human instinct is to get out of the way, but not when it comes to family. I'd do anything to protect my kids. I'd step in front of a hundred bullets to keep them safe."

Mike nodded his head solemnly. "I'll do whatever it takes, sir. Your son will be safe with me."

That was what Shane wanted to hear. "Good. Why don't we go outside and I can introduce you to Andrew?" He waited for Mike to stand and started for the door, but the phone rang. "Sorry," Shane said. "Can you just give me a minute?"

He waited for Mike to step outside and close the door, then answered. "Donovan here."

The voice of the director of the local ISA field office came over the line. "Captain, we have a bit of an issue."

Shane did not like the sound of that. "What's the issue?"

"Maurice Marchand's body was found in Green Oaks Forest this morning."

"What?" Shane tried to force himself to remain calm. Marchand was supposed to be under 24-hour surveillance. "How did that happen?"

The director hesitated. "We don't know exactly. All we know is that some campers found the body just off the turnpike."

Shane was dumbfounded. "Where was our surveillance team?"

"Right where they were supposed to be, sir," the director said. "We had the unit outside Marchand's office watching him until he left at 6:05 p.m. He was followed to the Sand Dollar, where he had dinner until 8:24 p.m. Then he returned to his home, where surveillance teams made video and audio contact until 10:48 p.m., which is when he went to sleep."

"And nobody saw or heard him leave the home?" Shane still could not believe the report. "We're not talking about an ISA agent trained to evade surveillance. Maurice Marchand is a bloody lawyer." How did a lawyer suddenly disappear from his home with a surveillance unit on his doorstep? From right under our bloody noses.

The field director sounded apologetic. "I don't know, sir."

"I want a report summarizing every visitor and phone call Marchand had yesterday," Shane ordered. "Get full transcripts of all recordings from the wiretaps of the office and any audio we have from the home. Okay? There has to be something."

"Yes, sir." There was a pause on the other end of the phone. "I assume you would like to know about Marchand's contacts with Alamain. His last visit was three days ago."

Plenty of time to arrange for a hit, Shane thought. "Anything on the recordings of Alamain's visitors?"

"That's the problem," the director said. "Alamain hasn't had any other visitors this week."

Shane sat back in his hair and ran his hands through his hair. He had been convinced that Lawrence was using Marchand to run his operation, but that hardly squared with killing the man. Did Lawrence know Marchand was under surveillance? Maybe Marchand outlived his usefulness. That might explain why, but it did not explain how Lawrence ordered the hit. And Shane was convinced that only Lawrence would make that call. He was not the type of man who delegated control on those kind of matters.

"Sir?" The director's voice interrupted Shane's train of thought. "Are you still there?"

"Yes," Shane answered. "Alamain must be using someone at the prison to carry his orders." That had to be it. Calls from the prison phones were recorded, so the ISA would have known the content of any calls Lawrence made himself. So the instructions had to be sent out through another prisoner or a prison guard. But who? And were they being sent by phone or through messenger.

Shane tried to ignore the thought that, if Lawrence could get out instructions on Marchand, he could do the same on Andrew. "Okay," he finally said. "Let's double-check our taps on the house and make sure we didn't miss anything. I don't care if it's the plumber coming to fix a toilet. Then let's check the LUDs on the prison phones and see if any of them match with any of the Alamain phones or any of his people." Shane thought through what he had read in the files on Alamain's operations. "Let's also put surveillance on the head of Alamain's charitable foundation." Shane tried not to let the irony of that comment get to him. And there was Lawrence's manservant. Shane asked, "What do we have on Ivan Marais?"

"He spends most of his time at the house, but we only watch him there."

"That's not good enough," Shane said. "Put him on 24-hour surveillance."

"But . . . the cost-"

Shane did not care. "Damn the bloody costs," he snapped. "We have to get out in front of this. Let's also send in some agents undercover at the prison. One guard and two inmates. No . . . three inmates. And tell them to be circumspect. Alamain's not a fool." Not like Cal Winters, Shane thought. Cal had been easy to trick. A couple of days with Johnny Corelli followed by a push from Shane, and Winters had jumped at the chance to take part in Johnny's "escape" plan. Lawrence would not be so easy. It would be much harder for a plant to get close to Lawrence. Still, a couple of undercover agents might be able to ferret out some rumors about prisoners or guards getting paid to carry information out of the prison.

He heard the director take a deep breath, before saying, "That's a lot of manpower. Should I assume that you will authorize the additional budget?"

"Yes, of course," Shane said. "Prepare emergency requisitions. I'll sign them when I'm in the office next. Is that it?" When the director said it was, Shane gave a final instruction before he hung up, "I want to know everything that happens with Alamain. And I mean everything."

Tarrington might object to the additional costs, but the ISA had already spent a fortune on its surveillance set-up. Besides, based on Steve's information and the reports from the ISA scientists, stopping Lawrence now had to be the ISA's highest priority. Shane would convince Tarrington to authorize the additional expenditures by pointing out the political and PR disaster the agency would face if budget issues prevented the ISA from stopping Lawrence Alamain's toxin from being releasing on American civilians. That would work if needed, but Shane did not particularly feel like putting the screws to his boss unless it became absolutely necessary.

Another thought popped into his head, and he dialed Roman's number at the police station. There was no immediate answer and the call went to a recording. "Roman, it's Shane. Listen, I need to meet with you . . . . I'm sure you heard about Maurice Marchand. I think we have some . . ." He paused to think of the right words. "Um . . . jurisdictional details to discuss, and I'd like to have that meeting in private. I'd appreciate you coming by the house later if you can. "

As he hung up the phone, Shane took a few deep breaths. They did not work. "Dammit," he spat, as he slammed a hand down on his desk. His son's life was at stake, and his men could not stop a prisoner from putting out a hit on someone already under surveillance.

For a moment, Shane debated walking out of his study and telling Mike Adams that his services were no longer needed - that Andrew would not be leaving the grounds until Lawrence had been stopped. But then he remembered Kim's plea from a few days earlier. We can't have Andrew spending months or even years being kept away from anything public. She was right. They could not keep Andrew a prisoner, even if that was the best way to keep him safe.

Shane sighed and headed for the door. He would take Mike to meet Andrew first, and then would tell Mike just how hard his job was going to be.