“A one-bullet problem?” Caitlin asks, echoing Kelly’s repeated phrase. “You mean you want to kill Sands? In cold blood?” Kelly looks around the circle of faces in the room. Along with Kelly and Caitlin, Carl Sims, my father, and I are seated in chairs in the den of a lake house owned by Chris Shepard, my father’s youngest partner. Because it’s after Labor Day, most of the houses used as second homes by Natchezians are empty now. As I drew the curtains over the broad glass doors on the far wall, I saw the narrow black line of Lake Concordia, the oxbow lake that carries the name of the parish, behind the house. I also saw James Ervin, who’s guarding us from the lake side, while his brother Elvin guards the road entrance. Danny McDavitt is sitting in the chopper across the lake road, in the cotton field where we landed. “Actually,” says Kelly, “my blood is still pretty hot at this point.” “Mine too,” says my father. “Gutless bastards.” While my father dressed Kelly’s wounded arm, we listened to his account of Jenny being attacked on the highway (not even the British police believe it was an accident), then brought Dad up to speed on the events on the river. While we talked, Carl tied the Bully Kutta’s severed head in a trash bag, then stored it in the refrigerator, so that its brain can be examined by the path lab in the morning. Coming after the events beside the river tonight, this scene was so surreal that I could scarcely separate thought from emotion. Kelly’s assertion that the time has come to kill Jonathan Sands seems perfectly natural to me, given the situation. I can tell by Caitlin’s hard-set face that she doesn’t agree. She doesn’t want to antagonize my father, but she’s not going to be silent when the matter at hand is assassination. “Look, I want the guy to go down,” she says. “He’s scum, okay? No question. But you can’t just kill him. I mean, if it’s all right for you to decide who lives and dies, the same goes for everyone else. Who empowered you? If you’re free to do that, where does it end? Back in the cave, that’s where.” Kelly listens patiently until she stops. “Let me tell you a secret, Caitlin. We’re still in the cave. It’s just bigger, and we wear nicer clothes. We make alliances and try to be civil, we save the weak instead of leaving them out in the cold to die. But guys like Sands, Quinn, Po…they play by the ancient rules. To them, life is a zero-sum game. You win or lose, live or die. And the most important rule of all is, you take everything you can, when you can, until somebody draws a line and says, ‘No more.’” “Is that your view of life?” “If it were, I wouldn’t be offering to kill a man in front of witnesses. You probably studied existentialism in college, right? Survey of philosophy course? I’m not trying to patronize you, okay? But I am an existentialist. A soldier. Asleep or awake, in uniform or out. There’s war in Afghanistan, but there’s war here too. When Sands threatened to kill Penn’s child, he opened hostilities and declared the rules of engagement. We know from Linda Church’s note that Sands probably murdered Ben Li, or else ordered it done. It’s a miracle Linda isn’t dead too—if she’s still alive, which we don’t know for sure. I’m sure they’re hunting for her as we speak.” Caitlin shivers at this thought. Kelly nods with certainty. “Given where things stand now, we have only one practical solution. Remove Sands from the equation.” “You’re willing to do that?” Dad asks. “If we say here and now that that’s what we want…then Sands will die?” Kelly nods soberly. “Quinn too, I think. Unavoidable.” Caitlin shakes her head in amazement. “And you’ll go back to Afghanistan and never lose a night’s sleep over it?” “I’ll sleep better.” What strikes me most about Kelly’s cool assertion is that a couple of hours ago, he was unwilling to put a dying dog out of its misery. But that mystery will have to wait. I look at my father, who’s rubbing his white beard with arthritically curled hands. “It’s tempting,” Dad says. “When I think of Jenny rolling over in that car, I could do it myself.” “I’m sorry to be a drag here, guys,” Caitlin says. “But this is way over the line. What does killing Sands even accomplish? If Edward Po is the problem, who’s to say he won’t carry on the vendetta and send men here to kill Penn and every member of his family?” “She’s got a point,” Carl says. “You’d be crazy not to consider that.” “I’ve considered it,” Kelly says. “Edward Po is a businessman. Whatever he’s up to here, he ultimately views it in terms of profit and loss. You can’t go around murdering government officials in small-town America. It draws the wrong kind of attention. That’s bad business. Sands is Po’s cat’s-paw, his control mechanism for Golden Parachute. If Sands dies, Po will simply order Craig Weldon to put someone else in that job.” “Yet you’re arguing that Sands will murder government officials,” Caitlin points out. “Or their families.” “I think he’s proved that he will. I don’t think Sands is motivated primarily by money.” “You don’t know that Po is either. You’re ignoring the question of face. If Po is a criminal, can he afford to let other criminals know that his lieutenants can be killed without reprisals?” “I considered face,” Kelly says patiently. “Also guanxi. I think killing Sands is actually the most elegant solution to our problem—and not just for us. If Sands is killed, I suspect Po will claim credit for the murder—unofficially, of course. Competitors will assume that Po had Sands murdered for interfering with his niece, Jiao, whom Po vowed to protect from people like Sands.” Everyone is silent, not least because Kelly seems two steps ahead of us all. “We either kill him or we back off,” Kelly concludes. “Conventional methods are too slow. They’re just going to get someone we care about killed.” “Carl?” Caitlin says pointedly. “Would you kill Sands?” The sniper gives her a “Why me?” look, like a grade-school student being called on by his teacher. “Kelly’s a free agent,” he mumbles. “The man makes his own decisions.” “I’m asking about you.” “Depends on the situation. If somebody was going to die because I didn’t, I would, yeah.” “But would you shoot him sitting at his breakfast table?” Carl turns up his palms. “I don’t think so, but it’s complicated. I have shot somebody who was eating dinner, because the Marine Corps told me he needed to die. Now, I don’t know Jonathan Sands from Jonathan Livingston Seagull. But if I knew he was going to kill my sister or my mother…then I’d vaporize him.” Caitlin turns to me, as though I’m the court of last resort. “You’re an attorney, sworn to uphold the law. You’ve sent people to death row for doing exactly what Kelly’s offering to do now. Are you really going to send him out of this house to commit murder?” The fact that I think Kelly is right surprises even me. I’ve been in similar situations before, with the power of life and death over someone almost as evil as Sands, and I chose to use the court system, even with the chance that they might escape punishment. But Sands is a special case. I wish Caitlin and I could have this discussion in private, because she tends to get more stirred up when she’s in front of people. But there’s no alternative now. “I have sent people to death row,” I concede in a level voice. “But not for doing something like this. This is a unique situation. Tim stumbled into something far bigger and more complicated than he knew. Blackhawk’s position and Peter Lutjens’s warning prove that. We still don’t really know what we’re dealing with. We only know that the government is involved in some way, and that Sands and Quinn are prepared to kill to prevent anyone from learning what they’re doing. I also know that wherever they are, my mother and Annie are scared to death. They’re holding their chins up, but they’re terrified that they’ll get a phone call saying that Dad or me is dead. And I believe that’s a real possibility.” “That sounded like a summation, not an answer,” Caitlin says, her tone still challenging. “Caitlin…this is like a stalking case. When I was a prosecutor, I saw a lot of women die needlessly because the police had no effec tive way to intervene until after they were dead. A lot of the men who killed those women went to prison afterward. But the women were still dead.” This time I get no ricochet response. “In this case, there are four women who could die,” I go on, “all of whom I love. And one of them is you.” “Don’t do that,” she says with startling intensity. “Don’t use me to justify killing someone.” “Maybe we should take a vote,” Kelly suggests. “No!” snaps Caitlin. “We’re not taking any goddamn vote. No one here has the right to vote on murder. If you kill Sands, you’ve done it on your own.” “What would you do if he went through with it?” I ask. “Would you report Kelly to the police?” She gets to her feet and turns to my father. “Tom, you’re not seriously condoning this?” Dad looks up at her with sad eyes. “I understand your feelings, Kate. I believe in the rule of law. And Sands hasn’t killed a member of my family—yet. But that’s only thanks to chance. My daughter could easily have died two hours ago.” “But she didn’t, Tom. She’s going to be all right. We have time to take another path.” “What path would that be?” “We could go public. I can have this story on the front page of twenty-three papers tomorrow, and a lot more than that, if I bring my father into this. I’d hate to do that, but if we’re to the point of assassinating someone, then I think it’s time to break the story nationwide.” “If we go public,” I point out, “Edward Po won’t set foot on U.S. soil for ten years, at least. Whatever he’s doing here, he won’t be nailed for it.” Caitlin looks at me like I’m an idiot. “What do you think Po is going to do if you murder Sands? You lose Po that way too.” “What exactly would you print?” I ask. “Unsubstantiated allegations?” Kelly leans forward and says, “I know going public seems like a magic solution, throwing light onto people who live in the shadows. But men like Po don’t see the world the way you do. They’re not politicians. While you’re stirring up your media storm, they will be acting. To them, this is war. And if they take you out, or Annie or Peggy or Penn, none of us is going to feel comforted by the fact that you splashed Sands’s and Po’s names in the paper. Because that won’t bring back the dead.” Dad seems to be weighing all the arguments in his mind. “You saw those two old black men outside?” he says to Caitlin. “The ones watching over us?” She nods. “Before they were cops, before there even were black cops in Natchez, they were members of something called the Deacons for Defense.” “What’s that?” “A group of men who got fed up with their friends and neighbors being terrorized, beaten, and killed. They patrolled their neighborhoods with pistols, lay out all night in ditches with shotguns, all to keep their people safe. They did that because they couldn’t turn to the police. The law had failed to protect them, so they did it themselves.” “Has the law failed to protect us?” Caitlin asks, looking around our circle. “We haven’t even asked for help yet.” “Kate,” my father says gently. “Let me tell you a story a patient of mine once told me. Back in the sixties and seventies, they had gambling and prostitution not far from where we are now. A place called Morville Plantation. Very close to where Penn and Kelly got attacked. Some of the girls who worked at Morville were held there against their will. God only knows where they’d been taken from, or what hell they’d been through. But one day, one girl got away from there. Half naked, she walked all the way to the sheriff’s department. She was crying with relief while she told her story. The sheriff listened, then put her in his car and drove her right back to the whorehouse.” Caitlin stares at my father in silence. “Kate, you’re sitting in a parish that didn’t have jury trials for almost ten years—from 1956 to 1966.” “We’re not living in that time anymore,” Caitlin says quietly. “That’s true. But how far are we from the story of that poor girl? If we believe Tim Jessup, the same thing is going on today.” Dad’s mention of Tim seems to move Caitlin to silence. “This is what I know,” I conclude. “Peter Lutjens warned me to stay away from Sands, said he could give me no information whatever. Peter would only do that if Sands was involved with the government in some way. Sands is either a target, an agent, or an informant. I’m almost afraid to find out which. But the fact is, he’s been committing felonies since he arrived here, up to and including murder. Yet he’s still roaming free.” “Maybe the government doesn’t know he’s doing that!” Caitlin argues. “The same government you want to pillory for its handling of Katrina and Iraq?” I shake my head. “Either we’ve stumbled into something really rotten, or something so serious that we can’t even grasp its significance. Either way, we have to assume that if Tim’s death didn’t matter to whoever’s in charge of this mess, none of ours would either.” Caitlin looks as if she’s winding up again, but before she speaks, Dad says, “I think Penn and I have to make this decision alone. Caitlin, you and Carl will have no part in it.” “But we know about it. We are a part of it, whether we want to be or not.” As passionate as she is about this, some part of me wonders about Caitlin’s true motive. “If we decide to go ahead,” Dad says, “you do whatever you feel you must.” The room is so quiet that my cell phone vibrating in my pocket stops the conversation. It’s late enough that I feel I need to check it. The screen shows one new text message. The area code is 202—Washington, D.C.—but I don’t recognize the number. The message reads: GO OUTSIDE AND TURN ON YOUR SATELLITE PHONE. “What is it?” Kelly asks, seeing the color drain from my face. I toss the phone to him. He reads the screen, then jumps to his feet and grabs his gear bag. “What is it?” Dad asks worriedly. “Is it Annie or Peggy?” “I don’t know what it is,” Kelly says, “but it ain’t good.” He looks at me. “Who have you given the sat number to?” “Nobody.” “Shit. Either it’s someone from Blackhawk, or they gave the number to somebody in D.C.” “What do I do?” I ask. “How do they know I’m inside?” “They tried to call the satphone and you didn’t answer. Take it easy. They can’t see us or anything. But you’ve got to take the call. I’ll go out with you.” We brush aside the curtain and go out the patio doors. Caitlin follows. As soon as Kelly sets up the link to the satellite, the phone starts to buzz. “This is Penn Cage.” “Hello, Mr. Cage,” says a voice with a vestigial Southern accent. “My name is William Hull. I’m an attorney with the Justice Department.” “They’re a pretty big employer. Could you be more specific?” “I’m special counsel to the Department of Homeland Security.” “That sounds ominous.” “Very boring, I assure you. Being an assistant DA in Houston is twice as exciting.” “What are you calling about, Mr. Hull? And how did you get this number?” “We have some mutual friends. They were kind enough to give me your private number. As for the purpose of my call, it’s about Jonathan Sands.” “What about him?” “Well, this is a delicate matter. We—” “Mr. Hull, when you say delicate, I hear dirty.” Hull pauses, his rhythm disturbed. “Jonathan Sands has an important relationship to the federal government at this time.” I look at Kelly and shake my head in disbelief. “You mean he’s an informant.” “I didn’t say that.” “Well, what did you say? Is Sands employed by the federal government?” “Of course not.” “Is he a close personal friend of someone in the administration?” “Don’t be ridiculous.” “Then he’s an informant.” Hull sighs like a man unaccustomed to frustration. “Mr. Cage, there’s an investigation pending—a very large and complex investigation—that began almost three years ago. It involves both the Department of Homeland Security and the Justice Department, through the Special Task Force on Money Laundering. The target is a Chinese national named Edward Po.” “I know who Po is.” “Do you? In any case, Mr. Sands is important to the aforementioned investigation. That’s all I am authorized to tell you, and given my position, it should be enough.” “Well, it’s not. I’ve played this game before, Mr. Hull. I’ve dealt with some pretty unsavory characters in order to nail worse ones, so I know the rules. But I also know that at some point you have to draw a line. Being a confidential informant isn’t a free pass to commit murder.” Hull takes his time with this. At length he says, “You were an assistant district attorney in Houston, Texas. You were dealing with state crimes. I’m talking about the national security of the United States.” “That rubric has been stretched to cover a lot of sins lately. The last time I checked, Mississippi was part of the United States. And her citizens count just as much as those in Georgetown or Chevy Chase. What happens to Sands after your investigation of Po is concluded? Does he walk?” There’s another hitch in Hull’s rhythm. “That hasn’t been determined yet.” “Then tell me this: What chance do you really have of nailing a Chinese billionaire in U.S. federal court?” “There’s a first time for everything.” “You’re telling me somebody up in the Justice Department has finally grown some balls?” “It happens. Mr. Cage, I need your personal assurance that you won’t interfere any further, as of this moment.” “You’re not going to get that. Not tonight, anyway.” “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that you have no law enforcement authority. You’re no longer a prosecutor.” “The local DA reminds me of that all the time. I am, however, an American citizen.” “Meaning?” “Hull, if you’ve forgotten what that means, we might as well hang up now.” “I sense a certain naďveté in your attitude, Mr. Cage. Maybe you’ve been out of the city too long.” At last my outrage boils over. “Do you have any idea what kind of criminal acts Jonathan Sands is committing down here?” “Knowing the man’s résumé, I can guess.” “My sister was nearly killed in England two hours ago by a hit-and-run driver.” “You can prove that was linked to Jonathan Sands?” “It wasn’t coincidence. But even that pales next to kidnapping and murder.” “Are you referring to the death of Timothy Jessup?” “And possibly others.” “Mr. Cage, try to set aside your personal concerns and listen to me for one minute. A little over a month ago, more than two thousand people drowned in New Orleans. If the numbers I’m seeing are any indicator, we’re likely to find another thousand corpses or so, and many will remain unaccounted for. So, as for a few dogs being fought in some backwater Louisiana parish, we don’t have time for it. As for prostitution and gambling, the authorities in Babylon had the same problem. It’s not going away.” “I’m not talking about dogfighting and prostitution.” “I heard you. Murder is serious business—if murder is in fact what you have down there. But Edward Po is smuggling illegal aliens into this country by the hundred, some of whom will work in industrial jobs, others as prostitutes or drug couriers. More importantly, through massive and complex money-laundering schemes, Po is meddling with the currency of the United States. The number of people who’ve been injured because of his criminal enterprises probably can’t be overestimated. So while I’m sure Mr. Jessup was a close friend of yours, you need to take a step back and get some perspective. The target here is Po, not some Irish punk who likes to fight dogs and run whores in his spare time. I talked to your old boss Joe Cantor. He told me that you generally have a good sense of priorities, but that you’re an idealist. In these times, idealism is a luxury we can’t afford. Am I getting through to you?” “You’ve made your position clear.” “That’s not what I’m asking.” “That’s the only answer you’re going to get. I’ll consider what you’ve said, but you should be aware of this. My family has been threatened by your informant. I’ve had to send my mother and daughter into hiding. Because of that, I’ve taken certain steps. If I or my father die or disappear for any length of time, every detail of these matters will be made public in the most sensational way I could contrive.” This silences Hull for some seconds. “Mr. Cage, there’s no need for threats. We’re on the same side.” “That’s the one thing I’m not clear on after this conversation, Mr. Hull. Good night.” “Wait! Please don’t do anything rash. For your own sake. You have my phone number now, on your satellite phone.” “I don’t need your number. You can tell your masters this. Besides being a citizen, I’m also a lawyer. And I don’t cringe when I say that. I’m not a backroom, Washington Beltway, cuff-links-and-suspenders kind of lawyer—and by that I mean your kind of lawyer. I’m a trial lawyer. A former state prosecutor. And when somebody starts treating the laws of my state like their own personal toilet paper, I know how to tear them a new asshole. Am I getting through to you, sir?” “In graphic detail. Mr. Cage, you remind me of what I loved and hated about the South.” “I take that as a compliment.” “Take care of yourself. And please inform Daniel Kelly that he’s made himself subject to severe criminal penalties for misappropriating army property. He can be arrested at any time.” When I click END, I realize that my father has come outside as well. He and Caitlin are watching me with a mix of concern and awe. “I love you,” says Caitlin, hugging me tight. “You realize that, right?” “Jesus.” “That was…freaking awesome.” “No, it was stupid. This isn’t a Frank Capra movie.” “Who were you talking to?” Kelly asks. “Claimed he was special counsel to the Department of Homeland Security. Name of Hull. Ever hear of him? William Hull.” “No. But it sounds like we’d better forget what we were talking about back in the house.” “Yeah. Killing federal informants is a bad idea.” “Sands is a government informant?” Dad asks. “He’s their leverage against Po. And they want Po for all sorts of major crimes. Human smuggling, prostitution, money laundering. All the stuff Walt talked about the other night. If my experience is any guide, Sands is probably part of a sting designed to lure Po onto U.S. soil. Then they can grab him, and Sands can testify against him.” Kelly sighs in disgust. “And then Sands walks? Is that the deal?” “I honestly don’t know. But with a target that big, and in this paranoid security climate, it’s possible. They couldn’t care less what crimes Sands is committing down here. For all we know, Sands could be doing that stuff specifically to lure Po here.” “That’s just nuts,” Caitlin sputters. “It’s fascism!” My father lays a hand on her shoulder. “It burns me up to think they’d write off what we’ve been going through, but the government makes those kinds of decisions all the time. All governments do.” “But ours isn’t supposed to.” Kelly laughs cynically. “Caitlin, you sound like a schoolgirl, not a journalist.” “So, we’re just going to back off?” she says in disbelief. “That’s what you’re all saying?” “You think we want to back off?” I ask incredulously. “We’re the ones who wanted to shoot the son of a bitch!” “There’s got to be a middle path,” she says doggedly. “Don’t go Buddhist on us,” Kelly says wearily, probing his wounded arm. “We’ve got new information now. We’ve got to pull back a little to reassess. I’ve got four guys risking their careers to protect Annie and Peggy right now. That’s asking a lot of men who don’t even know them.” “Hull knows all about you,” I tell Kelly. “The Star Treks, everything. Blackhawk sold you out. Hull threatened you with arrest.” Kelly shrugs as if this were only to be expected. “You could still try to nail Sands on murder charges after the feds get custody of Po, right?” “Yes. They don’t have the power to grant Sands immunity on state charges. Not unless they’ve suspended the Constitution.” Caitlin stares at me with narrowed eyes, then steps forward. “Don’t do this, Penn. You can’t cave in to bastards like Hull.” “I hate to say it, but I’ve been in the same position he’s in. Not exactly the same, but similar ones. Justice is about compromise, Caitlin. Trade-offs.” “Justice? Don’t shit on that word by using it to describe what’s about to happen here.” I sigh heavily, then lift the satellite phone and call the lawyer back. Dad takes Caitlin’s arm. “Let’s just be thankful Jenny wasn’t killed, and that none of us was either. We’ve been lucky, considering what we’re mixed up in.” In her present mood, Caitlin would jerk her arm away from anyone else. But not my father. Instead, she leans into him and rests her head on his shoulder. “Hello, Mr. Cage,” Hull says in a smug voice. “Have you thought things over?” “Yes.” “I know emotions are probably running high down there. But with your legal background, I felt certain you’d see the logic of things.” “I have a precondition for backing off, Mr. Hull.” “What’s that?” “You call off the dogs, as of this moment. That means Sands, Quinn, and any goons who are watching us. Also any agency that’s eavesdropping, trying to find my kid, whatever. All that stops as of this moment. Is that understood?” There’s a brief silence. “I can’t speak to those specific concerns, but I feel sure you can stop worrying about your loved ones from this point forward. No one knows better than I that Sands can be difficult to deal with. Things probably got a little out of hand down there. I may be coming down myself soon, to help manage things.” “If you want your prosecution to succeed, please don’t make me call you again.” “More threats?” “That’s no threat. How would you like this story to go page one across the country? We can make that happen, if you push us.” This silences Hull longer than anything else. “Do we have an understanding?” I ask. “D’accord,” he says. “You go back to your lives, we’ll go back to making America safe. Good-bye.” I kill the connection. “God, what an arrogant bastard.” “Let’s go,” Caitlin says in a flat voice. “How are we getting back?” “You two ride in the helicopter with Danny and Carl,” Dad says. “Kelly and I will follow in the car. If that’s okay with you, Kelly. I’d like to keep an eye on that arm.” “Sure.” The subtext is clear: No one wants to be around Caitlin for the thirty minutes it will take to drive back to town. I’d just as soon ride in the car with Kelly and Dad, but that wouldn’t go over well with the offended lady. “Let me get that dog’s head and lock the house,” Dad says, “and we’ll run you over to the chopper.” “It’s only a couple of hundred yards,” Caitlin says. “We’ll walk it. There’s no danger anymore, right?’ Dad’s face darkens. “I’m not so sure—” “We’ll walk it,” I tell him, looking over at the running lights of the chopper on the far side of the lake road. Kelly squeezes my arm and says, “I’ll see you back at the house.” “You sticking around town awhile?” He somehow manages a grin as my father walks back to the door. “I can’t afford to lose this gig. You’re my only employer now.” “Good, because I need you to bring Annie back from Texas. You’re definitely still on the payroll.” “Sounds like a pretty cushy job.” Kelly stops smiling and points past me. “You better look after her.” Caitlin has already started walking toward the helicopter. I don’t hurry to catch up, but my longer stride brings us even soon enough. At first she says nothing. But when I don’t speak, she says, “You know what’s funny about the way that just went down?” “What?” “Two minutes before that lawyer called, you were ready to wipe Jonathan Sands off the planet without even a warning. But the second some Beltway lawyer told you that Sands should go scot-free for God and country, you bent over and said, ‘Thank you, sir, may I have another.’” “Caitlin…nothing I say is going to make you feel better.” “No, I want to hear your rationale. Is there something more than the ‘good German’ defense here?” “Yes, unpalatable though it may be. Edward Po represents a greater threat to a larger number of people than Sands. If the only way to nail Po is to let Sands walk, then that’s what the government will do. They’re choosing to stop the greater of two evils. If that sounds lame, let me tell you something. When I was an ADA, I once had to go down to the port and walk into a ship container that held twenty-seven bodies. They were Mexicans who’d died of dehydration. Five extended families, all dead. Men, women, children. Put Chinese faces on those bodies, and you get an idea of the kind of thing Edward Po is into for profit.” Caitlin is shaking her head in frustration. “But you’re just taking their word about Po. What do you really know about him?” “We got Po’s history from Blackhawk before they sold Kelly out. The bottom line is that however crazy Sands may be, he’s protected right now. That’s a fact of life. And if he feels threatened, he won’t hesitate to kill my father, my mother, my daughter, or even you. It would be insane to risk that.” “I told you not to use me to justify murder. Don’t use me to justify chickening out either. Aren’t you putting an awful lot of trust in a bureaucrat you’ve never met, to keep Sands in line?” She’s right about that much, I think, as we cross the black strip of asphalt in the night. Carl’s probably watching us through his night scope from the helicopter and wondering why we’re risking this walk across open ground without Kelly. As we draw close enough to hear the slowly turning rotors whoosh through the air, she says, “I really feel down. I can’t explain it. It’s more than just what happened tonight.” “No, it’s not. After I told off Hull, you were flying high. Now, facing reality, you’re depressed. I know I’ve disappointed you. But I have too much at stake to fight Hull and Sands. You want me to leave you out of my calculations? Okay. The bottom line is this. I have a child, you don’t. That was a big part of my reasoning about executing Sands, as well. Until you have a child of your own, you can’t understand the absolute imperative you feel to protect that innocent life.” Caitlin stops short of the helicopter and looks up at me, her eyes bright and wet. “I want a child. I wanted one with you. I always have. That’s why I’ve been treading water for a year and half, even though I’m almost thirty-five. You think I can’t deal with reality? What about you and your fantasy of saving Natchez?” I reach out to take her hand, but she slaps mine away. “You told me you ran for mayor to save your hometown. That’s what you told yourself, your parents, Annie, and everyone else. Well, I wasn’t sure it could be saved from the things you wanted to take on. Not by one person. But I know this: It damn sure needs saving now. And what are you doing? Folding your tent. Pissing on the fire and calling in the dogs, as they say down here.” She shakes her head and starts to turn away. “Honestly…I don’t think I’ve ever been more shocked in my life. Or more wrong about someone.” At this point, a wise man would offer an apology and get into the helicopter. But something’s been nagging at me ever since the argument about killing Sands. “As long as we’re being honest,” I say to her back, “let me ask you one question. When you argued so passionately against killing Sands, was that really because you believe it would be morally wrong to do it?” “Of course!” she snaps, whirling on me. “What did you think?” “I wondered whether you might be arguing that way because, if we’d gone that route, you’d never have been able to write the story. Not as it really happened, anyway.” Caitlin has pale skin, but what little color she has drains from her face. “You son of a bitch.” She looks as if she’d like to gouge my eyes out, but instead she simply turns and climbs into the cabin of the helicopter. I look back at the road, where my father’s nine-year-old BMW is swinging onto the asphalt to head back toward Mississippi. No matter what I told Caitlin, there’s no escaping one unalterable reality: Despite my deal with the devil, Tim Jessup’s blood still cries out from the ground. And I am not deaf. Only one thought brings me solace now. My daughter is coming home.