The windowless white van had B&D DRYWALL painted on the side along with a D.C. number that, had anyone dialed it, would have routed their call to an answering machine that had never been checked. Inside, Carl Porter adjusted his headphones and continued to listen to a conversation between Dr. Gabe Singleton and another doctor named Blackthorn.

Despite less than three hours of sleep in the last twenty-four, Porter was completely alert. He had always responded to anger and frustration that way and at the moment he was consumed by both. For the second time, he had come within just a minute or two of completing his mission, but somehow Dr. James Ferendelli had managed to elude him.

When he took the contract, Porter had expected to have his mark in a few days—a week at the most. Crackowski had hired a small army of PIs and had sent word out of a fifty-grand reward for anyone who fingered the man. But after Porter had just missed him at his Georgetown place, Ferendelli had proven wily and resourceful, and as one lead after another had dried up, Porter's frustration had begun to mount. Now there had been another near miss.

Singleton's conversation ended, and Porter set the headphones aside. He knew very little of the man who was paying him, but what was clear was that Crackowski had unlimited resources and access to professionals who knew how to use them. The surveillance equipment he had gotten installed in Singleton's apartment was sophisticated and top-of-the-line. In addition, a Starcraft GPS tracking system had been clamped onto the chassis of Singleton's car and wired for power into the electrical system.

Porter was stretching away some of the stiffness from his neck and back when there were knocks on the rear door—three, then two. Crack-owski.

With his silenced pistol drawn and the interior lights cut, Porter undid the lock.

Steve Crackowski pulled open the doors and quickly climbed inside. He was at least as tall as Porter, with broader shoulders, a narrower waist, and a large, perfectly shaved head. Wire-rimmed glasses helped make his overall appearance something of a cross between a college professor and a stevedore.

"Anything?" he asked, with no more greeting than that.

"The president's daddy invited Singleton to lunch. Then there 'uz just a guy named Blackthorn, Kyle or Lyle I think he said. Singleton made the call. They just finished talkin'. Singleton asked him to fly out here as soon as possible and to bring his testing stuff."

"That's what he said? Testing stuff?"

"I think so. I think he's a doctor, too."

"All these doctors," Crackowski muttered. "I'll check it. You tired? Want me to take over?"

"I want Ferendelli."

"I've got the word out. Sooner or later he's going to surface. You tried using the remote in the tunnel?"

"Several times, just in case the animals living there were pulling my chain about Ferendelli taking off."