"Oh, sure. That was it. Everybody hates L.A., so why do they keep going?"

"The well-marked freeways," said Hood.

"Well, how about I ask the President what's going on?" Rachlin said, poking the cigar back into his mouth. "He'll have all the information right there on his desk, right?"

"I wouldn't know," Hood said. "Give me a few minutes to talk to Mike and Bob and I'll get back to you."

"Sure, Paul," Larry said. "Just remember something. You're new here. I've been at the Pentagon, the FBI, and now here. This isn't the City of Angels, friend. It's the City of Devils. And if you try and pull anyone's tail, you're gonna get burned or pitchforked. Understand?"

"Message received and appreciated, Larry," Hood said. "As I said, I'll get back to you."

"Do that," said the CIA Director, using the tapered tip of his cigar to punch off his image.

Hood looked over at Mike Rodgers. Everyone else had left to attend to departmental business, leaving the Director and his deputy to wait for word from the Mosquito.

"Sorry you had to hear that," Hood said.

"No sweat," said Rodgers. He was sitting in an armchair, his arms crossed, his brow creased. "You don't have to worry about him, though. We've got photos. That's why he has to bluster so damn much. He doesn't really carry a lot of weight."

"What kind of photos?" Hood asked.

"Of him on a boat with three women who weren't his wife," Rodgers said. "The only reason the President replaced Greg Kidd with him is that Larry had wiretaps of the President's sister trying to hold a Japanese company up for under-the-table campaign contributions."

"That lady's a piece of work." Hood smiled. "President Lawrence should have given the CIA to her instead of Larry. At least she'd have used it to spy on our enemies instead of on us."

"Like the man said," Rodgers told him, "this is Purgatory. Everyone's an enemy here."

The phone beeped. Hood thumbed the speaker button.

"Yes?"

"Incoming from Striker," said Bugs.

Rodgers jumped over.

"Private Honda reporting in," said a clear voice from a sea of quiet.

"I'm here, Private," said Rodgers.

"Sir, myself, Pups, and Sondra are on board the extraction craft--"

Rodgers felt his gut tighten.

"--the other three are still on the train. We don't know why they haven't stopped yet."

Rodgers relaxed slightly. "Any indication of resistance?"

"There doesn't appear to be," said Honda. "We can see them moving in the windows of the cab. I'll keep the line open. Contact in thirty-nine seconds."

Rodgers's hands were fists and he leaned on them as he stood beside the desk. Hood's hands were folded beside the phone, and he took the opportunity to pray for Striker.