Wires hanging from under the dashboard were held together by electrician’s clips. The instrument panel clock showed one-twenty. He fired up the laptop and pushed the Recall button on the telephone. The clock in the corner of the computer screen read one-twenty-three — it had taken the kids just about three minutes to steal the car. Scott Waller answered on the first ring.

“Mistress Vicky’s Brazilian Massage.”

“You still have that pre-op transsexual?”

“No, he wanted a local anesthetic and died of fright during the surgery. Saw his bloody dick in a jar and decided he really wasn’t cut out for being a girl. Jesus, what happened to you? We were beginning to think you were dead.”

“I did, too, but death is probably more exciting. What have you got for me?”

“I’m not sure you don’t already know it. At this hour I thought I’d have trouble raising people, but they’re climbing out of the Washington woodwork. We’ve got a planeload flying down here right now. Chino’s the biggest money-launderer in the world, and one of the world’s biggest bankers period. Apparently, the money is where the money is, just as they say. His float is bigger than most national treasuries. He operates out of Cartagena —”

“You’re right. I know it.”

“But nobody yet knows where the hell he came from.”

“And you have nothing on a set-up, either?”

“Not according to what we’ve gotten so far from the DEA, but that, as we know, could mean anything from a, they know everything, including his cup size, to z, they don’t know squat.”

“Did you find out where Chino lives?”

“He’s got places all over. Cartagena. Mexico City. A six thousand square foot cabin in the mountains. For the past three years he’s been building a mansion, a palace, up in the hills outside Cartagena. It’s supposed to be the biggest house in Columbia.”

“An address, Scott. Do you have an address?”

“They’re working on it. That’s what they say.”

“If I don’t get the answer to that question pretty soon, I’m going to lose Amy. You said you were trying to get something together for me.”

“We have. And it’s strictly off the books. Washington is going to learn diddley. It’s the best we can do short of invading. A cutter heading from the Pacific to the ever-popular District Seven left Panama at twenty-three hundred last night. It will be five miles due north of Cartagena at oh six hundred tomorrow. You’ll have a fifteen minute window starting at that hour. All you have to do is get out there to get picked up. A consular official in Cartagena told the Colombians you promised to turn yourself in, and then reneged on the deal. They say you’ve been killing people right and left.”