What can I do? I take a dive, making a controlled sprawl forward on the dusty cycle path. Thinking: They wouldn't be doing this if they were going to kill—Mr. Faceless's companion plants one knee on the small of my back and thrusts a sickly sweet-smelling wad of cotton under my nose—me . . .

The lights go out.

FROM THE VOICE TRANSCRIPT CALL LOG, NEW ANNEXE:

(Click.) "Angleton."

"Angleton? O'Brien here." (Pause.) "What have you done with him?"

(Pause.) "What?"

"Have you checked your email?"

"I don't believe—excuse me."

(Pause.) "Well?"

(Dry chuckle.) "He's a clever boy."

"And that's an interesting distribution list on the second message, isn't it. What have you set him up for this time?"

(Pause.) "A task I would perform myself, were I allowed to, my dear."

"Bullshit."

"No, you misunderstand. I am no more permitted to read the Fuller Memorandum than you are permitted to read and revise your own articles of service."

"But you sent Bob out with a, a fake . . ."

"Yes. He's the hare to lure the greyhound—or more accurately the mole—after him. I expect their identity will become clear tomorrow morning, in the course of the BLOODY BARON brown bag session. Which I for one can heartily recommend to you as the cheapest entertainment you'll see all week—"

"Angleton. Shut up."

"What?"

"You've forgotten something."

"Hm, yes?"

"Bob's been suspended on pay."

(Impatiently.) "Yes?"

"I called Boris."

"And what has that to do with the price of cheese . . . ?"

"Boris says his firearm was recalled. And he doesn't have a ward. He left it with me this morning. He's on the outside and he's naked. Have you heard from him?"

"No . . ."

"I tried to phone him a couple of minutes ago. His number is ringing straight through to voice mail."

(Pause.) "Oh."

"I think you'd better make sure that your greyhound hasn't actually caught your hare. Otherwise the Auditors are going to be handling a couple more enquiries."

(Icily.) "Are you threatening me?"

"You know better than that. I merely note that if Bob doesn't make it home tonight we can assume that CLUB ZERO have him. Which would rather blow the wheels off your little game with the BLOODY BARON committee, wouldn't it? Not to mention the collateral damage."

(Pause.) "Yes."

"So." (Pause.) "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to tell Major Barnes to put his merry men on notice—those of them who aren't playing cowboys and indians in the hills above Kandahar. Then I'm going to locate Bob. Alan can take it from there."

"I want to come along."

"I wouldn't dream of telling you to stay away, my dear, not with your specialist expertise. The problem is—"

"What problem?"

"I was building a waterproof case to hand over to Internal Affairs for prosecution before the Black Assizes. Trying to map the mole's contacts. Cultists are fragile: if they commit suicide we may never find their accomplices."

"Angleton. Would you rather lose Bob?"