Donovan glanced quickly at Reuben. "Network?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Let him in, Mickey."

"Goddamn fools," Mickey muttered. "There's still ice on the lake. Making us go out before the season." He leaned his head to one side and concentrated on keying the padlock and releasing a chain from the gate latch. He tugged the chain out of the eye with a conspicuous machine-gun snick-tink, pulled the gate inward, and bade Reuben enter by swinging a large, callused red hand.

Halfway down the pier, past an old, boarded-up seafood restaurant, a two-decked excursion boat named the Gerald FitzEdmund belched diesel from twin motors through stern pipes just above the waterline. The boat was easily capable of carrying two or three hundred passengers, but at this hour it was practically deserted. Donovan walked ahead of Reuben and gestured for him to cross the roped boarding ramp.

"We'll cruise the lake for an hour or two," Donovan said. "We've been told to leave the three of you out there. Wherever 'there' is. It's mighty damned cold to be sailing today, let me tell you."

"What are we going to do out there?" Reuben asked.

Donovan stared at him. "You don't know?" he said.

"No."

"Christ. I presume"—he used the word as if it had an official flavor, yet was not at all familiar to his lips—"I presume that you'll find something out there before we drop you off. Or maybe you'll just freeze to death."

"I hope to God we do," Reuben said, shaking his head dubiously. "Find something out there, I mean." They haven't done me wrong yet.

He walked toward the bow and joined a white boy some four or five years younger than he, and a well-dressed black woman about thirty. A stiff, icy breeze cut across the deck, blowing the woman's hair past her face. She glanced at him, then faced forward, but said nothing. The boy held out his hand and they shook firmly.

"My name's Ian," the boy said, teeth chattering.

"Reuben Bordes. Are both of you network?"

The boy nodded. The woman gave the ghost of a grin but did not turn away from her view of the lake.

"I'm possessed," Ian said. "You must be, too."

"Sure am," Reuben said.

"They make you do things?" Ian asked.

"They're making me do this."

"Me, too. I'm a little afraid. Nobody knows what we're doing."

"They'll take care of us," the woman said.

"What's your name, ma'am?" Reuben asked.

"None of your damned business. I don't have to like any of this; I just have to do it."

Ian gave Reuben a screw-faced glance and cocked an eyebrow at her. Reuben nodded.