The elevator reached the lobby when he arrived at the third floor. Devlin listened to the elevator start up again, then continued down the stairs, slowing more as he reached the lobby. It was empty—no tricks. Devlin was seeing how he had to develop alertness until it was in every thought. The people after him could get lucky, he could turn a corner and walk into Norberto Torres. What else could Devlin do but try to stay alert? He crossed the lobby, eyes on the car outside. Why were they here? Had someone spoken of a letter?

As he opened the door to the sidewalk, Devlin caught a movement in the backseat of the patrol car. Time to act natural, the hardest thing in the world to do. Turning toward West End, he made sure his eyes seemed to take in the car, but not the guy in plainclothes sitting in the back. Devlin didn’t know him. This was a specific errand, no doubt about it, but not about a letter. All kinds of gold shields would be crowding around, if that were the case. If they had been here yesterday, the two who had gone upstairs would notice that the carpet had been taken up. Devlin pulled his head down and strode vigorously up the street, away from the direction the car was pointed.

In the Falcon, while the windshield defogger roared, he opened the letter.

March 13, 1986

Dear Jane,

In the past several weeks, as you’ve been aware, an issue has come up between us, one I’m certain has disturbed and confused you, all the more because we haven’t really been able to discuss it. I’ve said things, I know, but they could not have made much sense to you. I’m sure of that because I could see it in your eyes. If my handwriting is difficult to read, it is because my hand is shaking so badly. We’ve been seeing each other a little over five months. I knew as soon as you looked at me that you wanted to get involved. I’ve told you how skillful you’ve been in drawing and holding my interest. I sometimes forget that, as young as you are, you aren’t inexperienced. Is that so strange for me to say, after all my insistent curiosity?

Devlin wanted to get going. For all he knew, Levine’s people were onto the car switch and were looking for this one. Devlin wasn’t much interested in Jack’s “confession,” if that’s what the letter was. Jack had wanted something of Milburn, and Jack had gotten it. Devlin used a different approach on Eileen when he wanted to talk her into something good. He did it with a smile—but then, his idea of something good was nothing like what had been on Jack Brennan’s mind.