The sounds of the city disappeared under the urgent burble of the engine of the launch. Devlin was thinking of Eileen in a hotel near the airport. He knew how the decision had been made today not to search for her—and who had made it. Budget. Liberty Week priorities. Liberty Week politics. With those factors in mind, Harry Levine had chosen not to send as few as four men—two teams—to canvass two dozen hotels. When Kevin surfaced again, any chance to correct the mistake was gone. Devlin had to accept it. He had to keep his mind clear. What more could happen? What more could crazy people do? If any part of what Vittorio DiBennedetti had told him was true, maybe all he had to do was lean on Brennan, and the rest—Hamilton, Torres, and finally even Kevin—would tumble. In fifteen years, and especially in the last two with Eileen, Devlin had made himself more free of their common madness than he had realized. Maryellen was all the proof he needed. This afternoon, Maryellen had been a gaudy, even obscene, caricature of herself—as always, almost in focus, almost whole, but unable to take that last step into real commitment as a person. And still playing it to the hilt, still mooching for patience. In the past, his failure with her had tantalized him. Now he knew he had no idea of what kind of person she would be, if any at all, if the raging inside her ever stopped. And the raging hadn’t eased, it was worse. She dreamed of romance while she decayed into incompetence. A part of her knew, just as another part wanted him back.

And another didn’t at all.

Devlin remembered Bingo Malone.

He felt the damp air again and smiled. Bingo!

Whatever it takes!

Yes. He almost said it aloud. They were coming out to the middle of the river. On the instrument panel was a radar screen, but the special transponder the police had fitted to the Seadancer hadn’t shown up yet. Harry Levine had been on the telephone with the captain of the yacht; there wouldn’t be any problems.

The launch passed a tall sailing ship, the hull bright with new paint. Blond teenagers with heavy accents hooted and yelled, “Copper! Copper!” Maybe they thought they were in an American movie. Maybe they knew America better than America knew itself—certainly better than it wanted to. The old man aboard the Seadancer had long ago proclaimed himself one of America’s favorite sons, his family one of America’s first. Had anyone ever mounted an effective argument against him? Devlin thought of holding Liz in his arms at the moment of her death.

“We have the transponder blip,” said the man at the wheel.

“How far away?”

“The whole five miles on the screen. We don’t want to push too hard. You don’t know what’s floating in the water tonight.”