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Author's note: The dueSouth characters in this story are the property of Alliance Communications, and I will return them undamaged, with my thanks, when my tale has ended. The other characters, and the story itself, are my property. This story was written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone else who might read it. Comments are welcome and appreciated!

The pre-dawn sky was leaden, the March air chill and raw, as the two friends prepared to leave Chicago. They had met very early in order to prepare for their 6:40 a.m. flight to Washington. First of all, the wolf, Diefenbaker, had to be dropped off at the Vecchio home with his license and leash, his food and water bowls, and a supply of dry kibble.

"Thank you for looking after him, Mrs. Vecchio." The wolf's friend and nominal owner, Constable Benton Fraser, eyed him dubiously. "I believe the food I've brought along is sufficient. If you could just try to keep him away from any junk food."

"Don't worry about a thing, Benny. He's gonna be fine. The kids will love having him here." Mrs. Vecchio wiped her hands on her apron and proffered a slice of crisp bacon, which the wolf accepted delicately. Fraser sighed as he touched Dief's muzzle to attract his attention, then enunciated very clearly, "STAY."

The sergeant at the 27^th's evidence locker was waiting for them, the paperwork all in order. Detective Raymond Vecchio signed the receipt and picked up a small black nylon briefcase. He checked its contents carefully before the two men left the station house.

An hour later they were airborne. Two hours after that, their airliner made its final approach into Washington. Vecchio entertained his friend by pointing out the landmarks on their approachthe Potomac River, the Tidal Basin, the Pentagon.

They retrieved their luggage and negotiated the lines at the rental car counter, and a short time later stood in front of the airport. It was a beautiful morning; the sky was clean-washed, the air crisp but with a promise of spring about it.

"Okay, Benny. My appointment with Ms Marshall is at noon. From what I've heard, it's going to take me a couple of hours to drive out to her place and a couple of hours to drive back." He scrutinized a map. "It's west of here, near someplace called Winchester. I'll meet you at the hotel for dinner, then we can plan our weekend."

"Don't worry about me, Ray." Fraser tugged at his lanyard to ensure that it was perfectly straight. "I'll take a cab to the meeting at the Embassy. It should take up most of the day. Someone there can direct me to our hotel. Enjoy your drive."

Fraser stooped to pick up his luggage. Ray noted that the Mountie apparently did not possess a suitcase. His belongings for their five-day trip were carefully stowed in the familiar backpack, complete with its well-organized bedroll. The two friends parted, Fraser heading towards the cab stand while Ray flagged down the car rental shuttle.

A few minutes later Ray was headed west out of the airport in his Chevy Cavalier. "Man, I hope our hotel is better than this car," he shook his head. His suitcase was in the trunk, but the small, black briefcase lay on the passenger seat beside him.

His drive took him through 45 minutes of some of the worst traffic he had ever encountered. Having negotiated the infamous Capital Beltway, he turned west on Interstate 66. As he left the suburbs behind, he found he was driving through a pretty, rolling countryside whose trees were beginning to show green and whose springtime was obviously more advanced than the one he had left behind at home. He caught a glimpse of mountains, shimmering blue in the distance. The traffic picked up again as he headed north on Interstate 81. Within a few miles he had passed through the sprawl of shopping centers surrounding Winchester and arrived at his destination, a hamlet called Mountain View. His directions led him down a side road into an isolated, rural area on the other side of town. He arrived at his destination just a few minutes ahead of schedule.

Though he wasn't much for the rustic life, Ray had to admit to himself that the house was stylish. Though small, it was beautifully crafted in a modern style, of some sort of silvery-gray wood. Large windows gave a panoramic view of the mountains beyond. He grasped the small briefcase and strode up to the front door.

"I'm Detective Raymond Vecchio, Chicago P.D. I have an appointment with Ms Marshall." The door had been answered by a plump, gray-haired woman.

"Yes, Detective." She smiled up at him. "We've been expecting you. Come right this way." She led the way through a brightly-lit, spare hallway to a room on the back side of the house. "Please wait here in the office for just a moment."

Ray's first impression was of the view through the windows. It seemed to stretch out forever, encompassing the surrounding woods and the mountains beyond. The room was done in blond wood, furnished as sparely as the front hall had been. The polished wood floor gleamed. There was a stone fireplace, a plain Shaker table that served as a desk, and a countertop that ran the length of one of the inside walls. It was littered with what appeared to be computers and pieces of computersseveral open chassis, monitors, and assorted unidentifiable hardware. The fireplace was surrounded by bookcases, crammed to the brim with well-used books. Two comfortable rocking chairs were drawn up to it.

He turned around as the door opened, and a vibrant, dark-haired woman entered. Her eyes seemed to light her face as she smiled and held out her hand. "I'm Jane Marshall." He hadn't been certain what to expect. But this woman didn't look old enough to be the sort of computer expert she had represented herself to be. Yet he knew that she was regularly consulted by law enforcement departments all over the country. That pretty head held a formidable expertise in computer crime.

She was holding out her hand to him. "Detective Vecchio?" Giving himself a quick mental shake, he took it, noting the warm, firm grasp. "Yes. Ray Vecchio, Chicago P.D. Thanks for taking the time to see me. I believe you've already talked to my lieutenant, Harding Welsh? My department is very anxious to resolve this case."

"Is this the computer?"

"Yes," he replied, handing it to her.

She took it and walked toward the fireplace wall. Hidden behind the massive fieldstone was a safe. "Let's lock it in here while we talk. I'll need to hear what you have to say and take some notes. Then we'll have a look at the machine. Have you had lunch?"

She led the way to the deck outside, where lunch was set out on a table. Ray noted a carafe of red wine and a small platter containing slices of fresh mozzarella cheese, tomatoes, and what looked like fresh basil, artfully bathed in a little olive oil. This first course was succeeded by a delicate frittata, laden with spring vegetables. It rivaled anything he had tasted at his mother's table. Over the melon and prosciutto, he managed to ask, "Is your housekeeper Italian?"

Jane gestured behind him, where the lady in question was emerging with a tray bearing two cups and a carafe of steaming, fragrant coffee. "This is Mrs. Santoni. She's been looking after things here since I set up my business."

"Bellissima, Mrs. Santoni. I promise not to say a word to my mother in Chicago." The older woman's eyes twinkled as she cleared away the lunch and left them to their coffee.

"Now," said Jane, as they settled back. "What do you have to tell me?" From somewhere a brown-covered notebook had materialized.

"Well, the computer was seized as evidence in a gambling raid about a month ago. It was the property of a guy named Eddie Carp your basic small-time neighborhood entrepreneur. He ran his operation out of a small bar. We found his book on the computer in a spreadsheet. And there was the usual list of names and phone numbers. The expected low-level connections into organized crime, but nothing unusual, nothing we weren't already aware of. Eddie was less than cooperative during his questioning. He did say that the laptop had been a gift 'from a business associate.' His lawyer had him out on bail within a few hours, and that's when things started to get interesting.

"First, there was an explosion and fire at the bar.. Two people were killed. One of them was Eddie's girlfriend. The other was his second in command. There wasn't much left of either of them, or of the bar, or the two businesses on either side of it.

"Next day, Eddie contacted the detective in charge of the original investigation. He wanted to work out a deal his testimony in exchange for immunity and what he called 'protection.' Said he had certain information that we might find valuable, but that his life wouldn't be worth much if he stayed out on the street. Our guy arranged to meet him at a restaurant in the neighborhood.

"It was an ambush. We don't know what they discussed, but they were hit as they left the restaurant. Both Eddie and the detective were killed. We've picked up several people for questioning, but so far nobody knows anything or saw anything.

"Two days later, I was contacted by one of my informants, a guy who worked down near the docks. That's in a completely different part of town. He told me that there were people in his neighborhood who would part with large sums of money in exchange for Eddie's computer. I, uh, wasn't able to get any further clarification. Maybe I should have tried harder, because he was found shot dead the next morning.

"During the course of the investigation, we had our experts look through the laptop, but they didn't find anything that hadn't been located initially the gambling stuff and the list of names and numbers. The names and numbers all check out as belonging to people we know about. None of them would have wanted Eddie dead. We now have five dead people, including a police officer; an arson; and all of it leads to what amounts to a dead end. And I guess that's where you come in."

"What do you think I'll find?" she asked simply.

"Well, the only thing we have to go on is that my snitch worked a totally different neighborhood from Eddie's. They wouldn't normally have had the same ties, the same connections. The informant gave me information on shipments that arrived from time to time by boat. Smuggling operations, drugs, that type of thing. Eddie didn't have any connections to the docks that we've been able to uncover."

"Well, let's go have a look, shall we?" Vecchio glanced at his watch and noted that it was after 2:00. The skies had begun to cloud over with a promise of rain. More coffee and a plate of biscotti awaited them in the office..

Jane reached into the safe, brought out the briefcase, and carried it over to the worktable, where she snapped on a light. She extracted the laptop from its cover, located the power supply, and plugged it in.

"Very nice," she observed as the computer came up. "This has one of the newest processors. Plenty of memory, and an adequate-sized hard disk. Great! He's running 95 on here, so we don't have to worry too much about security." Her brown notebook lay open beside her, as she jotted down a page or two of notes, stopping occasionally to type in a command. "The usual office automation stuff. There's an Internet account with one of the big providers. This one does have a password. Nothing else obvious, but then we didn't expect that..."

They were interrupted by the sound of youthful voices in the hallway. From somewhere in the house, he heard the excited barking of a large dog. The owners of the voices two boys and a girl in their late teens burst into the room a moment later.

"Hi, Miss Jane," from the smaller of the two boys, was accompanied by a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"I did it! I got an A on the differential equations! Old Lardbutt didn't know what to do. You should have seen the look on his face!" This from the girl, a tall blonde whose blue eyes were sparkling with mischief at the moment.

"Hah! Don't bother to thank me for helping you, just throw money," shot the other boy, also blond and obviously her brother.

"Guys, guys! This is Detective Vecchio," Jane managed to interject. "Detective Vecchio, I'd like you to meet Laura, her brother Peter, and this is Jimmy. They're my three star students and assistants. I work with them in advanced math and computer science, and they help me with some of the computer work around here."

All three youngsters nodded.

"Now, go see what Mrs. Santoni has ready for you. Detective Vecchio and I need another few minutes. And let Daisy out, would you please?"

The room seemed very quiet as they departed.

"Nice looking kids," observed Ray.

"Yes, they are. All honor students. Jimmy is from one of the local families. Peter and Laura's father works in D.C. The high school can't keep up with them, and that's where I come in. It's very rewarding." The dark eyes softened as she spoke.

"Now, back to business. We have a couple of thousand files to go over, and I'll need your input for a lot of the work. In most cases of this nature, the files have either been deleted, wiped, or the data is hidden in other files. None of that is too difficult; it just takes a little time and patience. It's too late to get started on it this afternoon, and I have plans to be away for the weekend a hiking trip. You're staying in town for several days, right?"

"For as long as it takes to clear this up."

"Why don't we get together here, first thing Monday. Are you staying in Washington?"

"In Arlington at a place not too far from the airport." Vecchio scribbled the address and phone number of their hotel on the back of one of his cards.

"You should plan on leaving there before six-thirty. Otherwise, you'll waste a lot of time sitting in traffic. I'll be ready when you get here. We can have some breakfast and get to work. We should be able to get through it in a day, maybe two at the most."

"That sounds fine, Ms, ah, Jane. Do you feel comfortable having the computer here over the weekend?"

She was replacing the computer, together with her notebook, in the safe. "I intend to take the hard disk out before I leave and drop it off at the bank. It'll be fine there over the weekend. They'll be waiting for me when I get there, and I'll fetch it out before you get here Monday."

Vecchio nodded, and they shook hands again.

"Have a good time on your camping trip. And thanks for lunch."

"Have fun sightseeing in DC. Your first visit?"

"No, but I have a colleague along, and he's never been here. I'll be bringing him with me on Monday."

With similar small talk, they parted at the front door. Vecchio noticed that it had begun to rain in earnest as he got into his rental car. An older Camry, somewhat the worse for wear, had been parked next to the blue Taurus wagon he assumed was Jane's. He noted it was shortly after 3 as he backed out of the driveway.

As she entered her office, Jane noticed that the three kids had returned and had seated themselves at three computers scattered along the length of the workbench.

"OK, you guys are all working on dynamically allocated arrays, right?"

Three nods.

"You can stay as long as you like. I'm going up now to get ready for my hike, but I'll look in on you before I leave."

Upstairs, she dressed in light layers, ending with a woolen flannel shirt, fleece pullover and nylon windbreaker. The weather this time of year was treacherous. She double checked her pack to be sure she had packed her rain gear, then added her wallet, keys, and a credit card to it. Her purse and checkbook were left on her nightstand. Finally, she slipped her feet into her boots. She slipped the pack over one shoulder, grabbed Daisy's food pack and the windbreaker, and headed downstairs.

Her next stop was the office, where she extracted the laptop from its hiding place and locked the safe back up. She carried it to the workbench and picked up a small screwdriver. The youngsters barely noticed her. She made short work of opening the case and extracting the small hard disk from it. Moments later it was encased in an anti-static bag, a layer of protective foam, and another, sealed bagthen into the pocket of her flannel shirt. She left the chassis sitting among the litter on the workbench.

She made her way to the kitchen, where Mrs. Santoni was seated at the table. "Mrs. Santoni, I'm going to Cranberry this weekend, and I'll be on the Big Beachy for most of the time. It's going to take me at least four hours to drive over there, so I'll probably camp right at the trailhead tonight and get an early start in the morning.. I'll be back Sunday after dark. Here are the directions." She handed over an envelope containing a hand-written page that contained the itinerary she had just outlined. The outside was marked CRANBERRY.

Mrs. Santoni was used to this, but she didn't much like it. "You're sure you'll be OK all alone? That's a long way from here." It was the same question she always asked.

"Daisy will take good care of me," replied Jane, hugging the older woman.

A massive yellow head lifted, and Daisy, a large Golden Retriever, got up and ambled over.

"Ready, girl? Let's go!"

"Take care, Jane"

And with that, pack in hand, she was out of the house into the spring rain.

Jane drove a large Ford Taurus station wagon that she referred to as the Great Blue Whale. She backed the Whale down the driveway and headed for her last stop, the bank.

"Damn," she swore quietly as she pulled up in front. The bank was closed, locked up tight, and with the lights off. "Joe must have forgotten I was coming." She pulled the cellular phone out of her glove compartment and placed a call. Joe had been called out of town, his niece informed her. His mother in Luray had been taken unexpectedly ill.

That left her with three choices: Leave the hard disk at home, cancel her trip, or take it with her. It was well packed, she reasoned, and would stay safe and dry in her pack. Take it with her. She headed toward the Interstate.

Ray squinted at his key in the softly lit hallway of the hotel. Here it was. Room 1104. He opened the door to find Fraser, minus his scarlet tunic, sitting at his ease in a comfortable living room. A hockey game was playing on the wide screen television, and his friend was perusing a local guidebook. The windows commanded what had to be one of the best views in the city, now spangled with lights in the deepening twilight.

"Ah, Ray. How was your afternoon?"

"I have a lot to tell you, Benny. Where are we supposed to sleep?"

"Well, I've put my things in that room," gesturing to the left, "and I thought you could have that one," with a gesture to the right.

"This is a suite?" He peered into the right-hand room to discover a large bedroom with a private bath. "The department isn't going to pay for us to have a suite."

"Not a problem, Ray. The woman at the desk when I checked in was a Canadian. This is a free upgrade. She said something about our being on government business. Apparently the hotel doesn't get very full this time of year."

Vecchio grinned and shook his head. "Leave it to you, Bento. I have a plan. Let me get showered and into some comfortable clothes. We'll have a drink at the bar here, and then I know a restaurant in DC that serves the best Chinese food on earth. We'll eat there, then I'll show you a little bit of the city. I know a great blues bar."

The two friends rejoined each other a short time later. Though attired in jeans and a leather jacket, Fraser appeared as crisply pressed as ever. How did he get away with it? His clothes had been packed in a knapsack.

The bar was on the top floor of the hotel, and it commanded the same panoramic view of the city as that from their room.

Over their drinks, Ray related the details of his trip to Mountain View, including the Italian lunch, the three kids, and Jane Marshall herself.

"This woman knows what she's doing," he concluded. "We're going to head back there Monday morning and work with her as she goes over the files. She had a camping trip, or something, scheduled for the weekend."

As Ray's partner, Fraser was familiar with the case. "Did she believe that it was deleted files or that the data was hidden somehow?"

"She didn't have an opinion. The hard drive is locked up in the vault at the local bank this weekend. She'll get it out on Monday morning, and we'll get started on it."

They returned to the suite a little after one, replete with Chinese food and good jazz. Their plans for the next day included some typical tourist spots, including the Smithsonian. It had been a very long day, and each was soon asleep.

Ray was deeply asleep when the phone rang, but he came instantly awake and responded with his usual "Vecchio."

"Detective Ray Vecchio?" came the Southern-accented voice on the other end.

"Speaking."

"This is Sergeant Fred Thompson of the Mountain View Police Department. There's been some trouble out here at the Marshall place. Robbery, assault, and possibly an abduction. We found your card, and the name of this hotel. We'd like you to come on out, see if you can help us sort through this mess, answer a few questions."

"Who was assaulted?"

"The housekeeper, Mrs. Angela Santoni. She's at the hospital in surgery. She was too bad to be evacuated to the trauma center. Miss Marshall and the three youngsters are missing. The house has been worked over pretty good."

"I'm on my way, Sergeant Thompson. Where should we meet you?"

"Well, the police department's located in the town hall on Main Street. You can't miss it. I'll drive over there and meet you at, say, 3:30?"

"We'll be there. By the way, Jane Marshall had plans to go camping this weekend."

"Trouble, Ray?" Fraser, also awakened by the phone, was standing at the doorway.

"Yeah. Jane's place. The housekeeper's been assaulted. Jane and the three kids are missing, and the house has been tossed pretty good. We're gonna meet the local cops as soon as we can get over there."

Less than fifteen minutes later, the two officers were dressed and headed for their car. Ray noticed that Benny had brought along the backpack, and that he was wearing the Stetson hat from which he was seldom parted. "Just a few things we might need, Ray," explained Fraser as he tossed the pack into the back seat.

The drive to Mountain View took less time in the middle of the night. The steady drizzle continued. Sergeant Thompson was waiting for them as they pulled up in front of the town hall.

"Sergeant Thompson? Detective Raymond Vecchio, Chicago P.D. This is my partner, Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police."

"A Mountie?" Sergeant Thompson, an alert-looking man in his mid fifties, looked quizzically at both men as they shook hands. "I don't believe I've ever met one of you fellows before."

"I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father," explained Fraser. "And for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, I've remained, attached as Liaison to the Canadian Consulate. I work with Detective Vecchio as his unofficial partner, and I'm familiar with the details of this case."

"Well, sir, it's a pleasure to meet you. Let's get started. Can I offer you gentlemen a cup of coffee?"

Vecchio quickly filled the officer in on the case, finishing with a detailed account of his meeting with Jane Marshall that afternoon and her plans to go camping over the weekend and to store the hard disk in the vault at a local bank. Sergeant Thompson listened attentively, his fingers steepled in front of him.

"So your working hypothesis at this point rules out anything to do with conventional organized crime in Chicago. Some other forces are at work here, possibly related to smuggling in the Great Lakes." So ended any preconceived notions Ray might have had about small-town Southern cops.

"That's right."

"We need to call Ed first thing. Verify that he has the hard disk under lock and key, and find out when he last saw Miss Marshall. I'll take care of that. Let me tell you what we have so far. The three kids were last seen as they left school together Friday afternoon at 2:00. Miss Marshall tutors them in higher math and computer science, and they pretty much have the run of her place. They leave school early three days a week to go to her for lessons. Spend most of their free time there, and it isn't unusual at all for them to stay through supper and late into the evening. That's why nobody became alarmed earlier. The Hammond kidsthat's Laura and Peterhave a car, which we found parked at the house."

"Yeah. I saw it there this afternoon. A Toyota Camry."

"Right. It's still there. It's been broken into. We got a call from Mrs. Tindellthat's Jimmy's mothera little after midnight. Seems he hadn't turned up at home. The mother had called out to the Marshall place and hadn't gotten an answer. While I was talking to her, the Hammond's called in. Same thing the kids were overdue, and they hadn't been able to raise anybody at Miss Marshall's.

"I took a ride over there and found the place had been worked over pretty good. Mrs. Santoni was lying in the front hall, unconscious. She'd been beaten severely," the Sergeant shook his head, "including a blow to the back of her head that almost finished her off. She's an old lady, and there may be broken bones and some internal injuries. As I said, she's over at the hospital right now in surgery, and they're not sure if she's going to make it."

Vecchio shook his head.

"There's no sign of the three kids. The house is pretty well wrecked. We found Miss Marshall's papers scattered all over the office, and that's how we tracked you down. There's computer equipment turned over everywhere. The wall safe in the office has been blown. The rest of the house isn't much better. We found school books and notebooks belonging to the kids in the hallway, and Miss Marshall's purse is in her bedroom. Her keys and wallet are gone, as is her car. That's pretty consistent with her plans to go hiking. She does quite a bit of that."

"Any idea where she might have gone?" interjected Fraser?

"No. She's an amateur botanist. There are trails all over the place around here. We have Shenandoah National Park to the east, with the Appalachian Trail running through it. To the west there's a national forest with hundreds of miles of hiking trails. And we're within half a day's drive of millions of acres of national parks and forests. She always let Mrs. Santoni know where she was going. If she'd gone to the park, she'd most likely have gotten a backcountry permit, and we've verified that she didn't. If she's headed west, she could be just about anywhere. The ranger stations near here have a description of the car."

Sergeant Thompson stood up. "Let me wake up Ed, and then let's get on over there to the house."

Vecchio held up his hand. "I want to check in with my lieutenant." The officer picked up his desk telephone as Ray used his own cell phone to place a call to his lieutenant in Chicago, who would not be overjoyed to hear from him.

After a quiet conversation, Ray replaced his cell phone in his pocket and turned to the local officer. "I have authorization to cooperate fully and to give you whatever assistance we can with this investigation."

"Thank you kindly." Ray's eyebrows raised briefly at the familiar phrase. "My news isn't as good. Ed never met Miss Marshall yesterday. His mother was taken ill, and he left for Luray as soon as normal banking hours were over at 2:00. His niece talked to Miss Marshall about 4:15."

"Let's be on our way, then." He led the way out of the office to the waiting cars. "By the way, we're not equipped to handle crimes of this nature. We're a two-man police force. My partner will have contacted the state police by now. They'll help out in processing the scene, and the evidence will go to their labs."

As they left their cars in the pre-dawn darkness, the drizzle seemed to be tapering off. The scene was well-lighted, and had obviously been carefully preserved. A small group of people stood just outside the yellow tape, near the foot of the driveway. It consisted of two men, one obviously a uniformed cop, and two women, huddled under a small umbrella. The taller of the two men detached himself from the group and strode over to the three officers.

"This is Mr. Hammond, father of Peter and Laura" said Sergeant Thompson. "Pete, I'd like you to meet Detective Raymond Vecchio of Chicago, and this is Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police."

Hammond acknowledged the two men with a curt nod. "Now. I'd like a full accounting of what you've done on this case, Fred. It doesn't appear you two have made any progress at all. When are you going to call the FBI?"

"Pete, we're doing everything we can, and we're doing it by the book. The state police have been called, and we expect them any minute. Detective Vecchio and Miss Marshall were working together on a case, and he and Constable Fraser are here to assist in any way they can. We're not going to get much more done out here until daybreak. Why don't you and Judy head home. We'll keep you informed."

"But every minute you delay is another minute..."

"Pete, there are procedures, and you can be sure we're following them to the letter. I know this is frustrating."

"How can you KNOW that? It's not your kids!"

A woman detached herself from the knot of people. She laid her hand on the tall man's arm. "Come on, Pete. We can take Annie home. She has to get through this all alone."

The other woman joined them. Her face was careworn, her plain housedress a marked contrast to the elegant Judy Hammond. Still, the two women clasped hands firmly. Pete Hammond turned with an impatient gesture and began to walk towards his waiting car, leaving the two women to follow as best they could.

Vecchio turned to find Fraser deep in conversation with the other police officer.

"Ray, this is Officer Norris." The two men shook hands. "I'm just going to get a flashlight out of the car and take a look around. The driveway is mostly gravel, but it's been a while since it was re-surfaced." He returned to the rental car and extracted a small Maglite out of the pack in the rear seat, then began examining the driveway.

"Don't be alarmed if he starts tasting things," observed Vecchio to the two local officers. "He's really good at this tracking stuff."

"Ah. I've identified Ms Marshall's footprints. She was wearing heavy hiking boots, probably European. And there's a large dog..."

"That would be Daisy, her Golden Retriever," observed Norris. "Probably went along with her."

"Tell me, was she a smoker? Or the housekeeper, or any of the children?"

"Well, I know for certain Jane and Mrs. Santoni never smoked. As for the three kids, I doubt it. If they did, they'd have known better than to smoke around here."

Provided with gloves and a bag, Fraser picked up a sodden object, turned nearly the color of the surrounding mud.

"Watch out, he's gonna taste it," remarked his partner.

Which he did, applying it delicately to the end of his tongue. "Ray, this is a cigarette but, but it isn't an American cigarette. Notice the how long and hollow the filter is. That's characteristic only of Russian cigarettes. It's too badly damaged for me to make out a brand name." He placed it carefully in the bag and handed it to Norris.

Norris gestured toward a disturbed area near the garage. "I've had as good a look as I could at the tire tracks here, They came here in a light truck or SUV. No tread wear on the tires. Parked next to the kids' car and just walked up to the front door. The phone wire's been cutlooks like just a standard wire cutter, and there's a single set of men's footprints leading over to the box."

Norris and Fraser, flashlights in hand, continued their survey of the jumble of footprints surrounding the garage.

"Ah. Another set, just here..." pointed out Fraser. "It's difficult to make them out, but they appear larger than the others, which may belong to the children. We'll be able to tell more after daybreak."

Indeed, the western sky was beginning to show signs of light. The nocturnal chorus of spring frogs had wound down, to be replaced by occasional birdsong.

"Like to have a look inside?" asked Thompson, gesturing toward the house.

The four officers moved toward the house and inside with extreme care. The bright, spare hallway was littered with papers. A closer examination revealed that they consisted of notebook paper, compositions, and tests obviously the property of the three high school students. Three almost-identical school backpacks were turned inside-out. A pair of gym shoes and a baseball glove completed the picture.

"We found Mrs. Santoni here, by the door to the office," remarked Norris. "She was beaten here in the hallway. She didn't stand much of a chance against whoever did this. Haven't located anything that looks like the weapon yet, but she was bludgeoned."

Vecchio suppressed the memory of the woman's twinkling eyes. "So you haven't been able to pinpoint a time."

"No. You're the last person we know of who saw any of them."

They followed into the kitchen. Each drawer and cupboard had been thoroughly turned out. The floor was littered with broken glassware, china, pots and pans, and kitchen utensils. Even the refrigerator had not been neglected. A pile of paperhousehold bills, canceled checks, lists lay near a small, built-in desk. The laptop computer it had contained was thoroughly gutted.

"That's not the computer I brought here," observed Vecchio. "Different model."

"We believe the three of them had finished supper," said Norris. There are dirty dishes in the dishwasher, but Mrs. Santoni never got around running it."

The pantry had received similar treatment, as had a comfortable sitting room adjoining the kitchen. No drawer or cupboard was neglected, no cushion left intact.

"The office was hit worst," remarked Thompson, leading the way back through the hall.

As they entered the room, the devastation appeared to be complete. The electronics had been singled out for special treatment.

"There's not a hard drive left in any of these," observed Fraser from his place near the long bench. "If there were diskettes or CD's here, those are gone as well."

The officers turned to the fireplace wall, where the safe had been opened and its contents either removed or strewn about.

"Ms Marshall had a brown notebook, thin, slightly larger than eight and a half by eleven. It had a white label on the front that said 'Computation Book'" said Ray. "She took notes in it all during our conversation, and later she wrote down information about the computer."

"Gone," said Norris. "I didn't turn anything up that looked like that."

There were few papers on or near the desk. A printer and scanner had been left largely undisturbed, but the computer that had driven them was gone.

"It looked to me like any other PC," contributed Ray. "It had an extra-large monitor. It could be in the remains over by the workbench."

Fraser had been examining the contents of the bookshelves, now strewn about the floor. "Largely computer-science texts," he observed, "although there's a respectable collection of botanical texts here as well. And a few books of regional interesttrail guides, geology texts, history books. I noticed the shelves in the sitting room contained mostly novels and classics."

"Yeah. And what do you want to bet the state cops don't find any prints on any of it." Ray's face had grown gloomy. "I'm guessing this about wraps it up for this room," turning to Thompson.

"Right you are. Ready to go upstairs?"

The upstairs contained three spacious bedrooms, each with a bath. One was obviously set aside for guest use, the other just as obviously belonged to Mrs. Santoni. Although they had received the same treatment as the downstairs, there was not much of interest to be seen in either of them.

"This is Miss Marshall's room," said Norris, leading the way. We found her purse and checkbook, but her wallet and keys are missing."

Fraser stooped to examine the cover of a book lying near the contents of the overturned night table. "A Guide to the Monongahela National Forest," he read.

"That's mostly in West Virginia," replied Thompson. "It's about a four-hour drive from here. Lots of backcountry over there."

The four men carefully descended to the first floor and emerged into a gray, chill dawn, re-convening at the foot of the driveway.

"So now what?" asked Vecchio.

"Now we wait for the state police team. The evidence will be taken to their labs," said Thompson. "They should be turning up soon. As for the kids, the FBI will be taking an interest."

"Mind if I have a look at the garage?" asked Fraser, turning back up the driveway.

"Go right ahead."

He returned shortly, calling, "Nothing of interest there. Looks like it's been fitted out as an artist's studio."

As he approached the foot of the driveway, he noted that it was laid over a small culvert that accommodated the flow from a drainage ditch.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, looking down at the ditch. Extracting the gloves from his pocket, he put them on carefully, then stooped to pick up a scrap of paper.

"It looks like a torn envelope," he observed. "Maybe nothing. It's been hand-addressed." He brought it over to the other three men. "Cranberry. All it says is Cranberry."

Norris and Thompson exchanged glances.

"Cranberry Wilderness is in the Monongahela, over in West Virginia," said Thompson. "There's a lot over there to interest a woman like Miss Marshall. Microclimates and such. If I had to make a guess, I'd say that she might have been likely to head over there."

"And the envelope is consistent with her habit of always letting Mrs. Santoni know where she was going," said Vecchio. "I'd say her life isn't worth much if whoever did this knows that's where she went."

Just then his cell phone rang. "Yeah, Vecchio. Yes, Sir. And when was that, Sir?" Frowning, he extracted his pen and notebook from his pocket and moved away from the other three men so that he could lean on one of the cars to write. After a few moments, he shouted, "You guys got a fax number?" Thompson pulled a card from his pocket. "Yes, Sir. That number is 703-555-2119. Yeah. Sergeant Thompson, Mountain View, Virginia. We'll head back over there in a few minutes. I'll call you when we have the fax." As he returned to them, he closed the cell phone. "That was Lieutenant Welsh. There's been a communication by fax. The fax originated in Washington, D.C. He's sending it right now."

"Norris, you stay here and wait for the state fellows. I'll call you as soon as we know anything." Thompson, Fraser, and Vecchio got into their cars and headed back to the town hall.

The details of the fax were brutally simple. The children were safe, for now. The hard disk was to be delivered to an unspecified location within 48 hours. There would be further communications. The fax had originally been sent from Northeast Washington.

"Not a very good neighborhood," remarked Thompson.

"Lieutenant Welsh will be in touch when he's had that run down," said Vecchio.

"Meanwhile," said Fraser, "I suggest we devote some attention to locating Ms Marshall and the missing hard disk. It's possible she took it with her."

"Took it with her?"

"Well, it obviously wasn't in the house, and we know she didn't drop it off at the bank. Laptop hard disks are rugged as well as being smallthinner than a cigarette pack. With adequate protection from moisture and static, she would have considered it perfectly safe."

Sergeant Thompson had been busy at his computer. He pointed to the monitor. "Here's a map of the area. It's in the Monongahela National Forest, just over the line in West Virginia. It's a Federally-protected wilderness area. This time of year, with the spring flowers, it would have interested Miss Marshall quite a bit. My guess is that's where she headed. There's a parking lot here," he gestured to the map, "at the Big Beachy trailhead."

"Chances are the criminals are on their way there now, if they haven't already arrived," observed Fraser. "They would have needed to confine the children somewhere. We already know that they came and went in a single vehicle, and that there were at least two of them at the house. But the fax came from Washington. How long would it take to get to West Virginia from here and from Washington?"

"Well, it's about 200 miles from here. About four hours," replied Thompson. "From DC, at least six."

"Ray, I should go there. I can be of most use tracking Miss Marshall and getting her back here unharmed while you work here."

"Yeah, Benny. But how are we gonna get you over there? Shouldn't we leave it to the forest rangers, or whoever?"

"Well," observed Thompson. "I'd say we have a fair number of jurisdictions involved as it is. I'm not looking forward to making that call to the FBI. Detective Vecchio, what time did you say that fax came in?"

"It came in about a half-hour before Lieutenant Walsh called me," he consulted the paper, "That would put it about 4:30 local time."

"So we know the crime took place at some time between 4:30 p.m. yesterday, and midnight. If we assume the two criminals are working alone, then chances are they have the children in Washington, and that's where they started out from. Constable Fraser?" said Thomas, turning to him, "I believe you're the right man for this job. I watched you over at the house. I have a feeling you're going to find the Cranberry Wilderness like a walk through a mall in the suburbs."

"I appreciate your confidence, Sergeant," replied Fraser. "What do we have to do to get me over there?"

"You're going to need food, water, maps, and a vehicle," replied the other man. "I'm going to let you use my truck. Do you have a gun?"

Fraser spread his hands, "Not part of my standard equipment in Chicago. Too difficult to get a permit."

"There's a spare pistol locked in the glove box of the truck."

"He won't use it," interjected Ray.

"Pointless to give you a cell phone where you're going. When you find her, contact us from one of the ranger stations."

Ray's eyes sought the heavens. "Benny, try not to obey all the traffic laws. The speed limit on the Interstates around here is 65."

"I'll do my best, Ray."

"I'm gonna get back in touch with Welsh. See if we can come up with anything else."

"Don't forget about the Russian cigarette, Ray."

"I haven't forgotten about it, Benny. It does a good job of explaining why my snitch might have been involved. Somebody will be checking down at the docks. You just find the girl."

Thompson had printed out a number of pages from his computer. "Here's a road map with the route outlined for you. A rough map of the area. The DMV information on Ms Marshall's car. My wife is coming over with the truck. I'll walk out with you and wait for her, show you where you can get some food and water."

The two men emerged from the town hall into a gray morning. Drizzle was still falling. Fraser stopped by the Chevy and retrieved his pack.

"You believe in being prepared, I take it," remarked Thompson.

"You never know what you're going to run into," responded Fraser. "I'm only sorry I haven't been able to locate a good source of pemmican in Chicago."

"Where are you from in Canada?"

"I was born and raised in the Northwest Territories and lived and worked there most of my life before going to Chicago."

"And what was it you said brought you to Chicago? Something about your father?"

"My father was also a Mountie. I tracked his killer to Chicago. The trail led back to the Territories, and I found that another Mountie was involved in the murder. I brought him in. It was my sworn duty, but I needed to get out of the Territories for a while. Out of Canada. I found out what it means to betray one of your own, no matter how justly." Fraser wondered why he was opening up to the older man.

"Kill a cop and they'll hunt you to the ends of the earth," replied Thompson. "Sounds to me like you did what you had to do."

The two men were silent for a few moments, then Thompson spoke. "Like I said inside, you're going to feel like what's left of our wilderness is really only the suburbs. It can feel pretty isolated over there, but you'll be within a day's drive of everyone on the East Coast. This time of year, only the dedicated hikers will be out."

"I'd like to be seeing it under more pleasant circumstances," responded Fraser.

Fraser turned the pickup truck south onto Interstate 81. Ensuring that the speedometer read 65, he ventured a look at the passing scenery. The road followed the middle path of a broad valley, where farmers had already gotten their crops in. Verdant hills, tinted blue even in the early morning, crowded closely on his left. To his right, far across the valley, he could occasionally distinguish another range of taller, more rugged mountains. Unlike the mountains of his homeland, all of these were clad to their very tops in greenhardwood to his east, pine and fir to the west. He knew that the valley he was traversing had been settled by men much like himselfScotsmen and Irishmen who claimed no place in the aristocracy of the mother country. He also knew that the valley had a far more ancient history. It was the great Warrior's Path, a bloody highway of trade and war for the first people to call this area home. A look at his watch told him it was only a little past 7:30. He eased down on the accelerator a little.

To his west, Jane was ready for the trail. She had arrived at the trailhead after dark the night before. This was not too great an inconvenience, as there was a grassy area not far from the parking lot. She had made camp there.

Daisy had been up before her, elated at her freedom. The simple camp was soon broken and packed, and after a breakfast of oatmeal and tea, Jane and Daisy started down the Big Beachy. She had experienced a moment's dilemma over the hard disk: Leave it in the car or pack it along? In the end, it stayed in her pack, wrapped in its protective coverings and an extra pair of socks. A practiced look at the sky revealed the usual springtime uncertainty. The rain had continued intermittently all night, stopped near dawn, and it had begun drizzling again as she started down the trail. This did not matter much to Jane, as she was headed for her own version of the Enchanted Forest.

A few hundred yards down the trail she was completely enclosed by the young spruce trees that dominated this part of the trail. The forest litter was soft and damp underfoot, and the open woods were abundantly supplied with luxuriant ferns. The mist, with occasional flashes of sunlight, turned the surrounding air to silver and gave everything she saw and heard a magical, ethereal quality. The forest was silent except for an occasional flash of birdsong.

Jane took her time, relaxing into the peace and solitude. Her scientist's exterior hid an artist's loving eye and heart, and she was soon kneeling to sketch a small patch of early yellow dogtooth violets. The quick sketch would later be turned into one of the exquisite watercolors she painted when she had the time. She walked on, her eye drawn now to a patch of early flowers, again to a mushroom or a patch of new ferns, still tightly furled.

The expansive trail began to narrow gradually as the young trees gave way to more mature specimens. It also began to turn downhill. She rested briefly on a rocky outcropping, chewing a handful of raisins and peanuts and taking long swallows from her water bottle. A ground squirrel amused her with his antics, and the sketch pad emerged again. She glanced at her watch and was surprised to note that it was almost ten. Towards the end of her rest break, it began to rain again, large droplets pelting on the trees overhead. She fished her rain jacket out of her pack and covered the pack with its waterproof cover. Too easy to become chilled in this early spring rain, and you could do it without even being aware of how cold you were.

Refreshed and with her pile of sketches growing, she whistled for her friend and started down the trail again. After another hour of walking and sketching, she was confronted with a large fallen spruce tree across her path. It was undoubtedly the victim of the winter snows. She investigated briefly and decided that around was better than over. When she had regained the trail she turned around. The image of the old tree's roots grasping at the leaden sky was added to her pile of sketches. She knew that it would soon be gone, for the trail was normally well maintained.

Thus far, her trip was everything she had hoped for. The puzzles awaiting her at home were tucked safely in the back of her mind. Solutions, she knew, often emerged during one of these intervals of complete mental relaxation working in tandem with physical activity. She headed down the trail, watching her footing in the earth that was alternately soft and rocky.

Fraser had turned the truck west onto another Interstate. This one crossed the valley rapidly and approached the mountains to the west, climbing higher in a series of broad curves and steep grades. He had traveled a hundred miles and had a little more than a hundred to go. He noted that the forests on either side were spruce and other conifers and bore more than a passing resemblance to woodlands he knew, far to the north and west. There had been a glacier here, he reflected, and when it retreated, it had left faint traces of his own homeland in its wake. That some of them had survived the millennia would be a source of wonder, if he had the time to pause and think. He glanced at his rearview mirror and nudged again at the accelerator. The pickup, well-maintained and powerful, made quick work of the steep grades. He knew he was violating the law, traveling at more than the posted speed limit. But, he reasoned, there were lives at stake. The problem as he saw it was to continue to do this without awakening the interest of any of the local authorities. The pistol remained locked in the glove box.

Before dawn that same morning another truckthis one a large, black Ford Expedition, had left Washington, D.C. headed in the same general direction as the Mountie. The truck contained one man. Two others had been left behind in a room at a faceless hotel not far from the main railroad tracks leading into Washington. It was the kind of place where few questions were asked.

The three children carried images of terror that it would take a lifetime to erase. First supper with Mrs. Santoni in the warm, fragrant kitchen. Then back to their three computersonly this time it was for their latest networked, blood-and-guts maze game. They had played intently for a couple of hours before hearing the voices raised in the hall...seeing Mrs. Santoni lying there, so still...catching glimpses of the cold eyes of their captors, and of the terrifyingly real weapons they carried.

There had been many questions, but it soon became obvious to their tormentors that they really did not know anything. They had been closely confined with ropes, unable to move as they watched the beautiful home being shockingly and methodically vandalized. They weren't able to talk, not even in whispers, without eliciting harsh threats from one of the two men. Shortly afterward, they weremost terrifying of allblindfolded, led out into the rainy night, and bundled into the back of a large car of some sort. They had no idea how much time had elapsed, but they knew they had been driven a long distance.

Their captors herded them, still blindfolded, up some stairs and intowhat was it, a motel room? So it appeared when the blindfolds were finally removed. But where?

"This looks like a really cheap place," whispered Peter.

"NO TALKING!" interrupted a man, brandishing one of those weapons. "Now, here are the rules. You will not talk. You will do exactly as you are told. You will obey all instructions. Do this, and you will eventually see your parents again. Any infractions will be punished severely. Now, you may each use the bathroom. You first," he said, gesturing towards Laurie with the gun. Like the two others, this man spoke good English, but he was definitely a foreigner.

Someone untied Laurie, took her firmly by the shoulder, marched her to the bathroom, and waited outside. Peter was next, then Jimmy. As he splashed water on his face, Jimmy listened quietly. Wherever they were, it sounded like they were near trains. He said nothing as he emerged from the bathroom. His bonds were not replaced, but he was forcibly seated next to his two friends on a couch. Takeout food was set before them, and they were instructed to eat it. The television was turned on, but nobody watched. Sleep was out of the question, though all three were more exhausted than they could ever remember being. Jimmy's ears strained, catching an occasional faint rumble through the walls, and the even fainter moan of whistles.

The Ford skirted Winchester on State Highway 55, headed west. It crossed the Interstate without merging on. The driver was taking the scenic route. Had he troubled to read a guidebook, he might have noted that, while his drive was longer, the breathtaking scenery would make it well worthwhile. It is questionable whether he would have agreed with that statement. The two-lane road began to climb sharply by means of curves and switchbacks as he headed west.

Ray Vecchio sat at a table in Hammonds' spacious kitchen, drinking what must have been his fiftieth cup of coffee. Also seated at the table were an FBI agent and Pete and Judy Hammond. A technician waited in the other room, where the telephone had been attached to certain monitoring devices. Nobody spoke.

Across town in a much simpler home, Officer Hank Norris sat across another kitchen table from Annie Tindell. His wife, Jan, had just arrived with their pastor in tow. By now the whole town knew what had occurred. Their response was to cooperate with the police. The streets were quiet for a Saturday as most people waited in their homes. There had been no crowds ogling the yellow police tape, no calls to the station in the town hall. Another FBI agent was seated at Annie's table, and another technician waited in the other room.

In the police station, Sergeant Fred Thompson presided over a scene of controlled chaos, orchestrating contacts among himself and the various federal and state authorities. The phone rang constantly.

Seven hundred miles to the west, in Chicago, the 27th was similarly alive with activity. Saturdays off had been canceled, and teams of detectives were alternately at their desk phones or on the streets. Their civilian aide, Elaine, was glued to her desk, the phone to her ear, typing constant inquiries into her computer terminal.

Lieutenant Harding Welsh sat in his office, concluding another telephone conversation. A dark-haired woman sat on the couch opposite his desk speaking into her cell phone and scribbling into a small notebook. She was Inspector Margaret Thatcher, RCMP, and Fraser's superior officer. The lieutenant hung up and waited courteously while she finished her conversation.

"Leo Frank is on his way over here," he told her. "He's the technical guy attached to our task force on computer crime, and he's the one who evaluated the laptop initially. He's going to give us a briefing."

Meg Thatcher nodded. "I've taken the liberty of contacting our network manager from the Consulate. She's a civilian; she oversees the entire consulate, not just my offices. But I've found her to be very knowledgeable, and she has excellent credentials. I've updated her on the events so far, and she's on her way over now."

"Very good. Thank you, Inspector."

The Canadian was first to arrive, followed shortly by Leo Frank. Welsh began to summarize. "As you know, Mr. Frank, we brought Ms Jane Marshall into this case as a consultant at your recommendation."

Leo Frank nodded, as did his Canadian counterpart, Janine DuPre. "She's the best in the business."

"The hard disk from the computer is missing, and we assume it is with Ms Marshall at some location yet to be determined. We have received a demand for its return, originating in Washington, D.C. We have been given 48 hours to comply. I would like you to confer with Ms DuPre, and with your other colleagues if necessary, to determine if there is anything else we can or should do on our end with respect to the computer. You can use Interrogation Room One as your base of operations." He opened the door and called for Elaine. "Elaine will see to it that you have everything you need. I would like a preliminary report in, say, a half-hour."

Fraser had turned off the Interstate as it passed through a small town. The two-lane began to twist and turn, climbing higher through the evergreen forests. Signs informed him that he had entered the national forest.

It took almost another hour of careful driving to reach the Big Beachy. To his relief, the blue Taurus was parked there. A black Ford Expedition was also parked at the trailhead. He inspected it briefly, finding that its engine was still warm. He looked around the area with a practiced eye. Off to one side he noted that the grass was still slightly crushed and disturbed. She had slept here, but she had not made a fire. Quickly returning to the truck, he shrugged into his leather coat and shouldered his pack. Fraser headed for the stand of young spruce trees that marked the trailhead.

The tracks on the forest floor confirmed his fears. Jane Marshall's were easily made out, as were those of her dog. He knew that she was a slight woman, and it was apparent from the depth of the footprints that she was carrying her pack and wearing the same boots she had left home in. But the forest litter revealed another set of footprints belonging to a much larger and heavier individual. These he recognized as well, for he had last seen them leading to the telephone box on the outside of Jane Marshall's ruined home.

Fraser began to run down the trail, adopting a light, easy, silent stride that would carry him for miles. His senses were alive to the surrounding forest, which appeared very peaceful in the intermittent rain. From time to time, his eyes flickered downward, reassuring him that both of those he sought were still ahead of him.

A flash of yellow caught his eye, and he recognized a patch of yellow glacier lilies. She had stopped here, and knelt without removing her pack. The lilies had caught her eye as well. Had she stopped long enough to sketch them? The rain began again, heavily this time, and he knew that with each passing moment the signs of crushed grass, of bent twigs and slight indentations in the soil, would become more and more blurred.

He ran on, pausing again in a clearing. She had rested for a while, here on this rocky outcropping as her dog roamed about, and she had removed her pack and laid it...just there. A snack? Her pursuer had walked directly through the clearing without stopping.

As the trail narrowed and headed sharply downhill, he observed a fallen tree blocking the trail at a clearing just ahead. Both Jane and her pursuer would have needed to negotiate it. He approached warily, watching for the inevitable, telltale footprints and small, broken branches. The damp air carried a vague, acrid scent. He stopped, willing himself to absolute stillness. Not a campfire, or any sort of woodsmoke. It was cigarette smoke. His quarry sat at his ease on a pile of stones on the other side of the tree, his back to Fraser, smoking. The man had leaned his assault rifle upright against the rocks.

With the soundless ease of a panther, Fraser vaulted the tree and launched himself at the other man.

Welsh and Thatcher were surprised when the two computer experts tapped on his office door less than fifteen minutes after leaving.

"You have something for me, Mr. Frank?"

"Yes, sir. The notebook was imaged before we sent it out of here."

"Imaged?"

DuPre interrupted. "Leo made an exact image of the computer's hard disk, and he has that stored in his lab. All we need to do is acquire a computer identical to the one we are working with."

"It might come in handy in a pinch, Lieutenant. I doubt if a casual observer could tell the difference. It would take them some time to understand what had been done," observed Leo Frank.

"We are assuming that they keep their experts at home in the lab, just as we do," added Janine, "and that these people they have out in the field don't really know very much about the inner workings of the laptop itself."

"A logical observation," replied Welsh. "What do you need?"

"Well, I want to go back downtown to the lab and get ready," replied Frank. "We thought that Janine could acquire the laptop and meet me there. It's going to cost..."

Meg Thatcher extracted a gold credit card from her wallet and handed it to Janine, then looked at the lieutenant. "We can worry about the paperwork later."

"Somebody is faxing over the exact model number and configuration now," added Leo. "The longest part of this is going to be getting somewhere to buy the laptop, then getting it to me. The stores won't open 'til 10:30. Janine's probably going to have better luck at one of the big stores in the suburbs."

"Get back to me when you have everything ready," replied Welsh as the two colleagues left his office.

Thatcher had stood up and was pacing, deep in thought. Finally, she said, "I'm the best choice to take the hard disk to Washington when it's ready," she finally observed.

"Agreed. Thank you for volunteering, Inspector. I'll have Elaine make the arrangements."

"Let me go make a few arrangements of my own," she replied. "I'll be back here in less than an hour. And would you ask Elaine to call Mrs. Vecchio? I'm taking the wolf with me."

"Strange as it may seem," replied Welsh, "I can see where he might come in handy. We'll take care of it if you'll stop and pick him up."

The hamlet of Mountain View lay like a ghost town beneath the gray skies. Vecchio spoke from time to time with Lieutenant Welsh. At mid-morning, he stopped by the Tindell house, where it was just as quiet. He stopped by to speak to Annie Tindell, who was seated in a rocker in her bedroom, talking quietly with a man and woman he didn't recognize. A worn leather Bible lay in her lap. She thanked him for coming.

At a little after noon, he was approached in the small living room by a middle aged woman he didn't know. "Would you like some lunch, Mr. Vecchio?" She gestured toward the small dining alcove.

"Yeah, thanks. That'd be good," he replied, following her. He didn't know what he expectedtake-out pizza or deli sandwiches, maybe. But another woman handed him a real china plate, laden with fried chicken and ham, salad and hot biscuits. The FBI agent was already eating. Nobody spoke much.

Despite the trail's steep, sometimes slippery descent towards the river, Jane enjoyed the rest of her morning. Thickets of rhododendron higher than her head began to spring up on either side of the trail, giving her a sense of splendid isolation. She knew that in a couple of months, the enormous shrubs would be laden with blossoms, and that she would make a pilgrimage here to see them. But for now she was content with the more modest rewards of early spring. Her pile of sketches had been growing all morning. She covered two more miles and arrived at a favorite clearing where she planned to make an early camp so that she could explore the area all afternoon..

It was a little before noon. She was growing hungry, and she felt a little chilly despite her exertions. A hot lunch would take care of all of that. She laid down her pack and extracted from it a small aluminum stove, a bottle of white gas, and a pack of waterproof matches. Another stony outcropping would serve as kitchen table and dining room. She soon had water boiling for a packet of soup. When it was ready, she drank it from a metal cup, which she then rinsed and refilled with water for tea.. She drank the tea with dried milk and sugar. Some hard cheese and sausage, and a few crackers, completed the simple meal. Her second cup of the hot, sweet tea was accompanied by a chocolate bar and a handful of raisins. The meal left her feeling full and much warmer.

Daisy carried her own food in a dog pack that resembled two saddlebags. She was delighted to be rid of it for a few minutes, and she enjoyed her snack of cooked bits of liver and a large drink of water. She wouldn't require her main meal until evening.

Jane re-packed her simple kitchen and looked around her to select the best area for her campsite. She pulled on her fleece pullover, covering it quickly with the rain jacket. Her fingers rested briefly on the anti-static bag wrapped in a pair of socks at the center of the pack. Still there, still safe.

In another twenty minutes or so she would have been resting for an hour. She occupied the time by reading and jotting notes in her field guide. She found herself dozing off briefly, feeling full and contented. But in a few minutes, Daisythe perpetual alarm clockawakened her. Completely refreshed by her break, Jane began to plan her afternoon.

The children had dozed fitfully for a long time, huddled together on the couch. Their captors barely spoke. At some point, a fast-food breakfast had been provided, and after that there was another trip to the bathroom.

Jimmy found that his legs were stiff and cramped as he stood to take his turn in the bathroom. He found himself wishing he could take a warm shower. He said nothing, but took his time in there, listening carefully. There were trains around here. He knew there were trains. He wasn't sure what he could do with that knowledge.

As he returned to his seat next to Laura, she looked at him. She had cried a little, at first, but she had left that off pretty quickly. His friend Peter's eyes held anger and helplessness. This wasn't like the movies, reflected Jimmy. They couldn't engineer some daring escape. The eyes of their captors were flat and cold, and the weapons they carried somehow looked heavier than movie weaponsheavier and far more dangerous. Unlike many kids his age, Jimmy knew what "dead" meant. His daddy had passed away when he was twelve. He knew that "dead" meant you didn't get up again at the end of the show. These men knew that, too.

Jimmy settled back into his seat, managing to give Laura's hand a quick squeeze that he hoped was reassuring. The TV droned. He shut his eyes, trying to block out the sound. If he could hear the trains, what other noises could he hear?

He dozed off for a bit. When he awakened, another bag of fast-food burgers had been placed on the low table in front of them.

Leo Frank and Janine DuPre worked quickly and carefully in Leo's cluttered lab. They had lined out a brief checklist on a large white board. Each step was checked and cross-checked as they transferred the data to the new hard disk. It was a simple procedure, one that both had carried out many times. But there could be no mistakes. Finally the notebook was ready, down to the last detail. Even the small, black cloth briefcase looked the same. The serial numbers wouldn't match, of course, but there was not much to be done about that.

Leo put a couple of screwdrivers in his pocket and placed a call to Lt. Welsh. Then he and Janine rode the elevator downstairs and got into a cab.

When they arrived at the station, Welsh and Thatcher were waiting for them. Thatcher wore her dress uniform. Another red-clad Mountie stood nearby, holding the leash of an enormous dog that looked to Leo Frank like a wolf.

"Diefenbaker!" exclaimed Janine, smiling. She scratched between the animal's ears, courteously, and was accorded an equally courteous growl/whine. Leo had the uncanny feeling that the animal knew there was work to be done.

"And how are you today, Constable Turnbull?" Janine was saying.

The group re-convened in Room 1. Leo produced a small surge protector, plugged the laptop in, and powered it up. "The data contained on the hard drive, and its logical structure, are now identical to that of the missing hard drive," he explained. "From what you have told me, the criminals are looking for the hard disk only. The laptop may be elsewhere."

Welsh nodded.

"We suggest that you carry the hard disk and laptop together," Leo went on. "The disk will be protected that way, and you can remove it later if need be. But you may need both pieces."

"So how do I go about getting the hard disk out of there?" Meg Thatcher eyed the expensive machine.

"Not difficult at all, Inspector," replied Janine DuPre. "Watch me this first time, then you try it." Leo handed her the small screwdriver. She shut the machine down, closed it, and turned it over. "Be careful when you turn it over, that you don't press on it too hard."

Two small screws were removed to release a sliding cover made of the same plastic as the rest of the case. "The cover slides off here, and in here is the hard disk." They could see it. It was black, a little wider than a pack of cigarettes, but thinner. There was a label printed on it.

"Watch out for static. Just touch the table you are working on," she demonstrated. "The hard disk slides out to the front, just like this. Just pull it straight forward, gently." She pulled the unit out and turned her hand over to show them. "You can see where it connects, here," pointing to a set of gold pins on the back of the hard disk, "and in here," pointing to a set of holes in the small cavity of the machine. "Just be sure the label is facing upward when you replace it," her actions followed her words, "and then it's just a matter of putting the cover back on," and the laptop appeared whole once again. "See that? No more trouble than putting batteries in your flashlight," she smiled. "Ready, Meg?"

Thatcher had been observing closely. Touching the table before she started, she copied the movements of the other woman exactly. As she secured the little compartment, she turned the small computer back over, opened it, and looked over at DuPre. "Go ahead, Meg," smiled the other woman. "Turn it on." The machine began its familiar power-up sequence.

"Once more for good luck," said Meg, shutting it down. When it came up a second time she turned to the group. "I'm ready. Time to get to the airport."

"Inspector," said Leo, reaching into his jacket pocket. "If you need to take the hard disk out and carry it around, put it in this bag," handing her a gray plastic bag, "and wrap the bag in this," handing her a strip of bubble wrap. "Here's some tape. And here's the screwdriver"

Meg folded the material carefully and placed it in the front pocket of the briefcase. She turned to Welsh. "Turnbull will drop me off at the airport. My flight leaves in an hour. I'm flying into Dulles, which should put me considerably closer to the action. I'll call you from there as soon as we land." She shouldered the laptop case, settled her cap on her head, and picked up a small garment bag. "Come on, Turnbull."

"Here are my pager and cell phone numbers, Meg," Janine handed her a slip of paper. "I'll be available anytime you need me."

"Good luck, Inspector. We'll be waiting to hear from you," responded Welsh.

Shortly after their arrival at the airport, Meg and Dief were airborne. The large wolf bore his caged confinement stoically. But Turnbull had slipped him a jelly doughnut as they took a pre-boarding walk. In the passenger cabin, Meg removed her cap, placed the briefcase under the seat in front of her, and settled into her seat. When the flight attendant came around to take the drink orders, she had an herbal tea with lemon. She answered the conversation of the man seated next to her in polite monosyllables. She had been awake most of the night, and she knew that she wasn't going to sleep any when she arrived. This airplane catnap would pay dividends.

The clock in Annie Tindell's kitchen seemed to be standing still. It would soon be time to leave for the airport. Ray Vecchio had been briefly surprised to learn that the Dragon Lady herself was transporting the duplicate computer, and that she was bringing the wolf along with her. But he had to admit that it made sense.

Norris' wife, Jan, was emerging from Annie Tindell's front bedroom as he left.

"She's finally fallen asleep," whispered Jan. "She's about worn out."

"Take good care of her, Jan," replied Vecchio.

His next stop was the town hall, where Thompson awaited him.

"Any results from the state police?" inquired Ray.

"Nothing yet," responded Thompson. "Nothing from the Feds, either."

"How about Mrs. Santoni?"

"Well, she's holding her own. She came through the surgery OK, but she's not awake yet. We can't even begin to think about interviewing her."

"I'm on my way to the airport now to pick up Inspector Thatcher. Could you give me directions?" Thompson and the other authorities had been briefed on the developments surrounding the duplicate computer. He directed Ray to Dulles Airport. In a few minutes the detective was headed east towards Leesburg and the airport.

At the gate, he saw the slender, red-suited form immediately. "Inspector Thatcher," he said, extending his hand.

"Detective," she responded as she shook it. She carried a black briefcase over one shoulder and a small garment bag in the other hand. "Anything new while I was on the plane?"

"Not a thing," replied Vecchio. "Lieutenant Welsh is working the docks angle. We haven't heard from Fraser yet, but we didn't expect to. The only good news is that Mrs. Santoni has made it through the surgery."

"Let's go get Diefenbaker, and I'll call in," she replied.

The wolf was reclaimed, and he demonstrated a profound interest in getting outside. Vecchio took him for a brief walk while Thatcher notified Welsh of her arrival. A glance at her watch revealed that it was a little before four, local time. She had adjusted it for the change in time zones. Welsh had nothing new to report.

Before long, they were in the car, headed for Mountain View.

The clearing by the dead tree was silent, save for the heavy breathing of the tall, blond man. He stood for a moment, looking down at his attacker. The man was lying face-down, unconscious and bleeding from a heavy blow to the head by a sharp rock. The blond man, who called himself Mike, had to admit that it had been a lucky punch, for his opponent had been a formidable fighter. He had some cuts and bruises of his own. Mike was sweating hard from his exertions. He wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve, then rolled both sleeves of his jacket up above the elbows. The cool rain felt good.

Mike bent down for a closer look at his unconscious adversary. Around middle height, strong, fit, and well-muscled. He was dressed much like any other hiker in jeans, well-worn boots, a flannel shirt, and a leather jacket. The campaign hat, now lying to one side, was an anomaly. Never mind. He pulled off the leather coat, investigating each of its pockets, and found nothing. Next he reached into the back pocket of the man's jeans and extracted the leather wallet he found there.

RCMP? Well, that would explain the hat. But what was this man doing attacking him in a forest clearing in West Virginia? Was it worth reviving him for some questioning? No, he decided. Finish him off now.

His rifle lay where it had fallen, behind the pile of rocks where he had been sitting. There had been no time to use it in the fierce fight he had just concluded. He approached the rocks.

The rattlesnake lay torpid, half-awake in the pile of rocks. Its markings concealed it well. As yet, it had not had the opportunity to bask in the sun so that its blood could warm to a temperature that allowed it to be more active. But it was not unconscious or sleeping.

Mike had been well-schooled in every aspect of combat, terror, and killing. But his schooling had taken place far from the hills of West Virginia. He was ignorant of one simple rule: Never put your hands or your feet where you can't see them. He reached behind the rocks to retrieve his rifle. The snake would have preferred to avoid the man. But, startled beyond its ability to compensate, it struck. By comparison with other snakes of the world, its venom was not especially toxic. But Mike's sleeves had been rolled up, his lower arms exposed. There were no venomous snakes in his homeland. The fangs hit their mark in the hollow of his inner arm, just above his wrist, where the skin was thin and the veins lay close to the surface. The offended snake left the shelter of the rocks to seek other cover.

Mike's first impression was of searing pain. If he had been with a companion, or if the bite had occurred anywhere else on his arm, his survival chances would have been excellent. But his heart and circulatory system, which would soon be irretrievably compromised, were at that moment hard at work moving the venom to every corner of his system. He sat on the rock, investigating the injury. His fingers and lips began to tingle. His last thought was one of disbelief as he slid into unconsciousness. Death would follow soon.

The other man in the clearing was very much alive. His heart beat strongly. His injuries did not threaten his life, and under ordinary circumstances, he would regain consciousness soon, touch his injured head gingerly, and continue down the trail despite his headache. His leather coat lay in a tangled heap beside him. The rain, seemingly with a mind of its own, began to fall hard on the clearing again.

Meg Thatcher kept a dubious eye on the weather during the return trip to Mountain View. "Has it been this way all day?"

"It started raining yesterday afternoon as I was leaving Jane Marshall's," responded Ray. "It's caused some problems with the investigation, but the mud around her driveway left a lot of tracks. So it wasn't too bad."

"I wonder what it's like where Fraser is."

"Probably just the same, Inspector, only maybe colder. It seems to rain a lot around here in the spring. The only good thing about it is that it's warmer here than it is in Chicago."

Before long, they were turning off the highway into town, pulling up in front of the town hall. Vecchio found it necessary to double park.

The noise level in the room dropped as they entered. It was a roomful of cops, men and women representing a number of different agencies. For the most part they were attired in plain clothes, or in the quiet browns, blues, and grays of their chosen profession. The slender, scarlet-clad woman raised more than a few eyebrows as she approached Sergeant Thompson.

"Inspector Thatcher, this is Sergeant Fred Thompson of Mountain View. Sergeant Thompson, Inspector Meg Thatcher, RCMP."

Thatcher extended her hand, and Thompson shook it. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am. We all think very highly of your Constable Fraser. He's a good man."

"Yes, he is," replied Meg, returning the handshake.

Other introductions were soon concluded. Thompson drew Vecchio aside and said, "Detective, I believe you'd better get in touch with your lieutenant. There's been some news."

Vecchio grabbed a phone and placed the call. Welsh picked up the phone immediately.

"We've uncovered some activity down at the docks," he said without preamble.

"Go ahead, sir."

"Your Russian cigarette has apparently paid off. The person who is interested in the computer is the head of a local shipping company, Mitchell Freight Lines. He acquired the company under distressed circumstances two years ago, for cash. His name is Pavel Borodin. We have not been able to uncover why Mr. Borodin is interested in this particular computer, or what his relationship was to Eddie Carp, but he's being brought in for questioning. At this point, we have nothing on him or any of his associates."

"Thank you, sir. Any idea how he found out we were bringing the computer to Ms Marshall"

"No again, but it's on our minds here. I'll talk to you later, Detective."

Ray hung up the phone and turned to the small group assembled around it. He quickly related the details of his conversation with Welsh.

"I'm on it," said the FBI agent. "I'll get back to you."

Jane Marshall's campsite was located at a point near where the Big Beachy joined another trail, not far from a small river. She had covered only about seven miles. When she had finished her lunch, her first act was to rig a tarp above her head on a small rise between two convenient trees. Having sheltered herself from the drizzle, her tent and the rest of her simple camp were soon set up.

Once her camp was set up, she picked up her sketchbook again. The little hollow had a wild, ancient look that she tried to capture in her drawings. She was also attracted to the stream with its rushing water and mossy banks. She sketched for several hours before returning to her campsite.

Though it was still afternoon, the little hollow appeared gloomy and mysterious in the rain. Jane decided to light her candle lantern while she had her tea. It cast a cheerful glow as she set water on to boil. Daisy, delighted to be released from her pack, was roaming somewhere out of sight. Jane spread her foam sleeping pad on the ground under the tarp and settled comfortably on it with her tea and a book. She sipped thoughtfully, looking around her with quiet pleasure. Then she ate a few handfuls of raisins and peanuts and stretched lazily. The peace made her think of a nap.

She was roused from this pleasant, half-waking state by Daisy's frantic barking. The dog approached her from up the trail, back where they had come from.

"What's the matter, Daisy? Found something?" She smiled and reached out to stroke the large head. "Sssh! Simmer down!"

But Daisy would not be put off. Her deep voice rang insistently through the hollow.

"OK, sweetheart! Let's see what you've found." In moments, she and Daisy were scrambling back up the trail.

Unencumbered by her pack, and caught up in the dog's frantic excitement, Jane covered the trail quickly, arriving at the fallen tree about two miles back. She was unprepared for what she saw. Two bodies lay in the clearing. A deadly-looking automatic rifle lay near one of the men, who was clad in military-style clothing. She approached him cautiously. He did not appear to be breathing. She laid a hand carefully on his neck and felt no pulse. Dead! But how?

Her heart pounded as she turned toward the other body. This man was breathing. He had obviously bled quite a bit from a wound to his scalp. A soaked wallet, a leather jacket, and an odd-looking hat lay in his vicinity. She examined him more closely. His breaths were shallow, and he shivered occasionally. His skin was chilled. Not surprising, since he was apparently soaked to the skin. She shook her head as she looked at the warm leather jacket. It hadn't done him much good lying there in a heap on the ground.

Jane was well and truly frightened. Who were these men, and why had one of them died in this peaceful clearing? The wallet might hold something of interest. Benton Fraser, she noted. Constable, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Well, that explained the hat if nothing else. The picture matched the face of the man before her. Did that mean that he was the good guy and the dead man was the bad guy? What had happened here? She knew only that she could not leave him in this clearing, for even in this spring rain, he was freezing to death. She would have to trust to luck.

Daisy began barking again, more softly this time, and Jane noted that the dog was standing over a backpack. Whoever it belonged to, it might contain items that would help save a life. Jane began to consider her options.

Constable Benton Fraser, if that is who he was, did not appear to be in any immediate danger from the head wound. It had probably kept him unconscious long enough for the chilly rain to do its work. She checked quickly for broken bones or anything else that would warn against trying to move him, and found nothing. Her task was to get him, one way or another, down the trail to the shelter of her campsite. She struggled to get the inert form back into the leather jacket, then shouldered the pack. As an afterthought, she picked up the heavy gun and shouldered that, too. There was no telling who else might have invaded her enchanted forest.

It would have been easiest to drag him down the trail by his feet, but the ground was rocky in places. Instead, she grabbed him by his shoulders, and, supporting his head as best she could, began the long trip down toward her camp.

The sun had set when she finally saw the flicker of her candle lantern. Every muscle she owned was screaming. Her visitor was still unconscious, but she noted that his pulse was strong and regular. She knew that the practice of climbing unclothed into sleeping bags with hypothermia victimsif anybody ever really did thatwas based largely on an old-wives' tale. Chances were excellent that, if she could get him warm and dry, his own body would soon be ready to take on the task of regulating its temperature.

She laid him out on her foam mattress pad under the shelter of the tarp, making a silent prayer of thanks that she had taken the time to put it up. She laid the rifle aside and slid her arms out of the pack hoping that it would contain warm, dry clothing. She quickly located a wool sweater, a dry flannel shirt, thermal undershirt, jeans, socks, andbest of alla pair of old-fashioned red long johns.

She set about the task of getting him into the dry clothes, working as quickly as she could. Her eyes widened as she found the small knife tucked into his boot. He hadn't had the opportunity to use it. Though she was working quickly, she noted the scarsone on his leg, near the knee, one in the small of the back, and a very strange mark on the shoulder. Her task was difficult, for he was a great deal taller than she, strong and (she could not help noticing) well formed. Finally she pulled on the sweater.

Her next task was to get him into the sleeping bag. Working around the unconscious man as best she could, she got him securely inside his sleeping bag, and wrapped her own, smaller bag around that. This arrangement would do for starters, but she knew that more warmth was required.

A fire was definitely in order. It took some time to locate enough dry wood to build it, and when she got it going it smoked a bit, but it soon blazed well enough to do some good. Jane reflected briefly that it had been a long time since she'd had a campfire. For years she had contented herself with her candle lantern rather than damage the campsites she chose.

There was still work to do. She warmed three stones in the fire and placed one in the sleeping bag at his feet, and one each at either side of his neck. She noted with satisfaction that his breathing had become more regular and that his skin was somewhat warmer. Time to set the water on to boil.

Jane made herself a cup of tea and sat down to watch and wait.

Shortly after another hot meal had appeared, and been eaten, at the town hall, Sergeant Thompson approached Ray and Meg. "Mrs. Santoni is awake. We can talk to her, but only for a very few minutes. I'd like it if you two would come with me."

They were silent during the long drive to the hospital. There had been no new information since Ray's conversation with Lieutenant Welsh, and the tedium of the afternoon was getting on everyone's nerves.

When they arrived, they were ushered into a room in the intensive-care ward by a jealous nurse. "She's been awake about an hour," said the nurse. "You can have ten minutes, no more."

Fred Thompson approached the old woman's bedside and managed, despite all of the tubes and equipment, to take her hand tenderly in his. "How're you doing, Mrs. Santoni?"

"I've been better" whispered the old woman. Vecchio was encouraged. She had not lost her sense of humor..

"You remember Detective Vecchio? He came to the house yesterday to see Miss Marshall."

"Yes, Detective. I remember you. You liked my cooking."

"I'm glad to see you, Mrs. Santoni."

"And this is Inspector Thatcher," continued Thompson.

"Bellissima," whispered the old woman, which caused Meg, uncharacteristically, to blush.

"Do you feel up to answering a few questions, Mrs. Santoni?" Thompson continued to hold the old woman's hand.

"I'll do my best."

"What happened last night?" asked Ray.

"I was in the kitchen, after supper, about eight o'clock. Two men. They looked tall, like soldiers. They came into the kitchen from the front."

Angela Santoni paused, her eyes grew wide, and she drew a deep breath. "The children! Where are the children?"

"The children are OK, Mrs. Santoni," said Ray, sending up a silent prayer that it was so.

"Can you tell us anything else about these men?" asked Thompson?

"They had guns. They shouted. When they talked to me, they had an accent. They talked to each other in some other language."

"Did they say what they wanted?"

"Something about one of Jane's computers."

Thompson did not wait to be interrupted by the nurse. He laid the old woman's hand gently down on the cover and leaned to kiss her. "Now, you just rest here and get well, Mrs. Santoni. Everybody in town misses you. We'll let you know when we hear something."

"You're gonna cook me another one of those frittatas, right?" said Ray.

The old woman smiled and closed her eyes.

As they headed back to Mountain View, Meg Thatcher spoke first. "Tall men like soldiers, speaking a foreign language," she observed. "Detective Vecchio, what can you tell me about so-called Russian gangsters in Chicago?"

"Well, to date it hasn't been a major factor. But we can look into it."

"According to our intelligence, there are operations in a number of cities on both sides of the border," she went on. "Some of the major figures are former officers in the Soviet military, or even former KGB operatives. It's hard to find a legitimate source of income over there, so they've found other ways to put their skills to use. There's a lot of military material over there that's not really under anyone's full control."

"Well, it would certainly tie in with what we've found out to date," replied Vecchio. " Especially the tie-in to the docks. But I need to bring it all back to Eddie Carp"

"From what you've told me, he was a small fish in a large pond," interjected Thompson. "Maybe he was looking to expand his horizons a little."

"I'll see what we can dig up," replied Ray as they entered the town hall. He was shortly deeply involved in another conversation with Welsh, followed by one with the FBI agent.

It was very quiet in the Hammond kitchen. Norris had stopped by after a short nap. Neighbors drifted in and out, many of them bringing food. A Federal agent sat in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee. The technician stayed with her equipment. People spoke in hushed tones.

The phone startled everyone when it rang. Pete Hammond waited for a nod from the agent and picked it up with shaking hands. "Pete Hammond speaking,"His heart sank as he heard the voice on the other end.

"Daddy! Daddy!" cried his daughter, "Help us, please help us!"

Her cry was cut short, replaced by the click of a hang-up. The technician soundlessly shook her head. Norris and the agent exchanged a look of pure frustration.

At Judy Hammond's wordless cry of grief, her husband turned to comfort her.

"Mrs. Hammond," said Norris, "Don't let yourself get so upset. We know the children are alive. I know it's hard, but at this point, they're a valuable bargaining chip. Nothing is going to happen to them. Please try to remember that."

The scene at Annie Tindell's house was almost exactly similarfriends, agent, and technician. Ray and Meg had stopped by on their way out to visit the crime scene. Ray put his arm around the woman's shoulder as he presented her to Meg Thatcher.

"Mrs. Tindell," said Meg, "We have some good leads on the case, and everyone is doing all they can."

"Would you all like a cup of coffee?" asked Annie.

"That would be very nice," responded Meg as Annie led the way to the kitchen.

It took an instant for all of them to realize that the phone had rung. Annie looked at the agent, shut her eyes, and picked it up. "Hello, this is Annie Tindell."

It was her son. "Mama?" he said. "They want me to tell you that we're all OK. They want me to tell you that you have 36 hours. They'll be in touch with instructions. I'm coming home, Mama, and you're going to sing to me, just like you did when I was a little boy." Again, the receiver clicked. Annie Tindell turned away, weeping silently, to be comforted by one of her friends.

The technician nodded and began working in frantic haste over his equipment.

The three officers sat discussing the brief conversation. There would be a tape soon, and it would be analyzed by the most sophisticated devices available, but each of them could remember the conversation word for word.

"Funny thing for a teenaged boy to say to his mother," observed Ray. "Boys don't even want to remember that their mother ever sang to them."

Annie Tindell had returned to the kitchen. She sat down at the table.

"Mrs. Tindell," Meg turned to her, "What could Jimmy have meant by wanting to have you sing to him?"

"Well, I'm not certain. I sang to him when he was little, sure. But as he got older and began putting himself to bed, I didn't sing to him anymore. I wouldn't think he'd even remember it. It wasn't even a lullaby, not really." She closed her eyes and sang, softly.

"If you miss the train I'm on, you will know that I am gone.

The technician approached. "We have the exchange it came from, but not the number. It's in Northeast Washington, DC." The information was already being sent to the other authorities.

Thatcher turned to Annie again, "So you always sang the same song to him, but you haven't done it in years."

"That's right."

"And it's about a train," said Vecchio. He pulled out his cell phone and called Fred Thompson. "Are there trains in Northeast Washington?" he asked.

"Sure. The main tracks run right through there to Union Station," replied Thompson.

"We need to start checking hotels, motels, anything in that phone exchange that might be near the trains, where they could be holding the kids. We're on our way back over there."

As they headed back to the town hall, Meg said, "I thought we might have heard from Fraser by now."

As she had expected, Jane Marshall's vigil did not last long. But she was surprised when her patient sat up suddenly, opening a pair of startlingly blue eyes. Whether it was due to the restraints or the headache, he laid back quickly, but the eyes remained open.

Jane was at his side quickly, removing the stones and loosening the sleeping bags. "You've hurt your head," she said clearly, "but you're going to be fine."

He sat up again.

Wordlessly, she peered directly into his eyes, then extracted a flashlight from her pocket and looked at them again.

Do you feel nauseated at all?"

He shook his head.

"Good. Then you need to drink this." She held a cup of hot liquid to his lips. "It's hot lemonade. Please drink it all," she said.

The drink was nauseatingly sweet, but Fraser took the cup and drank it down. His eyes never left her face. When he had finished, she took the cup.

"Do you think you could drink some more?" He made a face, but nodded, and she mixed another cupful of dehydrated lemonade, lots of sugar, and boiling water. When he finished, that, she placed a small hand on his cheek, then on his brow.

"Do you feel cold at all?" she asked, "Are you shivering?"

"No," he responded. "I do have quite a headache," and he gingerly felt the knot on the back of his head.

"I think you're going to be fine," she replied. "I'd like it if you could drink some more of that lemonade, but you can have some tea if you'd ratheras long as you'll take it with sugar."

"Thank you kindly," responded Fraser.

As she prepared the tea, he began to look at his surroundings. It was dark. An enormous Golden Retriever stood vigil nearby. He noted that some of his clothing was hanging beneath the tarp that covered them and looked down quickly. Apparently, he was dressed in his spare jeans and sweater, though he could sense a number of other layers beneath them. There was a rock in the foot of his sleeping bag.

"Are you Jane Marshall?" he asked as she returned with the tea.

"You first," she replied evenly.

"Benton Fraser" he answered.

"Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP." she stated. "I took the liberty of having a quick look in your wallet. I found you unconscious in a clearing about two miles back," she went on. "There was that knot on your head, you'd been bleeding quite a bit, and you had also been lying there in the rain for quite some time. Your jacket and wallet were beside you. You were obviously soaked to the skin, and I concluded that you weren't able to get to shelter because you had been knocked out. There's another man in the clearing," she concluded. "He's dead. That was beside him," gesturing to the rifle. What was he trying to do?" she continued, "Rob you?"

"No. First of all, thank you for saving my life," he replied. "I have no idea what killed the man in the clearing. I can tell you this: I believe he was pursuing you. I tracked you and him from the parking area at the trailhead, and he was headed straight for you. When I saw his weapon, it confirmed my suspicions. Why would someone need an assault rifle in a protected wilderness area?"

"You might be surprised," murmured Jane.

"I had the advantage of surprise," Fraser went on. "He was relaxing, smoking a cigarette. I smelled the smoke from a distance and was able to get to him before he could pick up his rifle. He was a very skillful fighter, and obviously well-trained. He must have gotten me with a rock. But I know I didn't kill him."

"That would be very unlike a Mountie, wouldn't it, Constable Fraser?" smiled Jane. "Some sort of violation of your motto?"

The blue eyes smiled back. "Well, our motto is actually 'Maintain the Right.' But if nothing else, his death is inconvenient. If he's dead, we won't be able to interview him. Now," he said, "It's important for me to know if you're Jane Marshall."

"Yes," she replied. "Please call me 'Jane.' And what do people call you?"

"Well," he thought for a moment. "All sorts of things. There's 'Benton,' or 'Ben,' or even 'Fraser.' Most people just try them out until they find one that fits."

"Ben, then."

"Detective Ray Vecchio of the Chicago Police came to see you yesterday. He brought you a computer," began Fraser.

Jane was silent.

"You tried to secure the hard disk in your safe deposit box at the bank," he went on, "but you were unable to do so. The bank manager's mother had been taken ill, and he wasn't there."

Still, she said nothing.

"Jane, it's important for me to know where that hard disk is. Sergeant Thompson found Detective Vecchio's card, with our hotel phone number written on the back, among the papers in your office. I'm afraid there's been a break-in at your house. Mrs. Santoni has been injured. Jimmy, Peter, and Laura are missing. We are convinced that they're being held in exchange for the data on that hard disk. I was sent here to find you because we believed you were in danger. My fight with the man in the clearing goes a long way toward confirming that."

Jane's eyes widened, but she remained silent.

"The criminals found the note you left for Mrs. Santoni. We found the envelope in the driveway outside. It said 'Cranberry.' That's how I tracked you here. I came in Sergeant Thompson's pickup truck. Jane, the criminals contacted us at 4:30 this morning to tell us that they have the children. The note gave us 48 hours to deliver the hard disk. More than twelve of those hours have already passed."

Jane drew a deep breath. "I need another cup of tea," she said simply.

Once the tea had been poured, she relaxed a little. "Ben," she began, "You might not be able to tell by looking at me, but I see a lot of evil in my line of work, a lot of crimejust as you do. This is the first time it's ever come into my home. I suppose I've always wondered when this day would come, but I haven't prepared for it, not really. I don't know you. I don't know if I can trust you or if this is all something you've fabricated."

The blue eyes were guileless. "You can walk out of here right now," he replied, "and I won't make any attempt to stop you. Your car is still parked at the trailhead. But you're going to find out pretty quickly that you need to trust someone. I suggest we work together on this. You can keep the rifle. There was a knife in my boot, but I'm not wearing my boots now."

Jane reached out and took his hand. "All right, Constable Benton Fraser. You've convinced me. The hard disk is right here in my pack."

Fraser smiled. "Thank you kindly." He began to stand up briskly and realized an instant later that his body wasn't ready to obey.

"Just sit there for a few more minutes, will you? You've been through rather a lot this afternoon. More lemonade?"

He made a face that looked, for all the world, like a puffin's.

"Dinner, then."

The enormous yellow dog showed up at that moment, proudly carrying Fraser's hat in her teeth. It was in surprisingly good shape. She dropped it by his hand.

"Thank you, ah..."

"Her name's Daisy."

"Thank you kindly, Daisy," said Ben. His canine etiquette was perfect: First a hand held out, then a good scratch behind the ears. Daisy was delighted and immediately began leaning against him, hard.

"She likes you," observed Jane from the stove. "Better watch out, she'll crowd you right out into the rain." She tossed over Daisy's dog pack and added, "Would you mind getting the bowl out of there and filling it up with the kibbles and some of the liver?"

While Daisy enjoyed her meal, Jane set out food for the humans. "I only had single servings of everything, so this is kind of an improvisation."

"It's delicious," managed Ben between bites. "I have a few things in my packsome cheese and sausage, some crackers, a little dried fruit. What we really need is some pemmican. It's a shame that so few people will take the trouble to desiccate a little meat."

Jane made a face. "Pemmican. I'd have to be pretty hungry to try it. Do people actually eat that where you come from? Where exactly are you from?"

"From the Northwest Territories, a town you've probably never heard of. My mother died when I was six. My father was also a Mountie, and he was on patrol most of the time. I was raised by my grandparents. They were librarians, and we traveled around the Territories a great deal."

"And how did you come to be involved with a detective from Chicago, and with the very bad people who seem to be after this hard drive?"

"My father was murdered two years ago. The trail of his killers led me to Chicago. When it was all over with, for various reasons, it seemed more prudent for me to stay in Chicago. I'm a deputy liaison officer with the Canadian consulate there. Detective Vecchio and I have been friends and informal partners since the beginning." For the second time that day, Fraser wondered why he was volunteering so much information. "And what about you? How did you come to be so knowledgeable about computer crime?"

"Well, I was born in England. I'm also an orphan, and I was raised by an elderly great-auntwhat they used to call a 'maiden aunt.' I was away at school most of the time. When I showed an aptitude for computers, she insisted that I come here to the U.S. to complete my education. I left and came here to high school, and I never saw her again. She died when I was fourteen." Jane's eyes were sad. "I kept faith with her, finished my education, and worked in the field for several years. When I began to show an aptitude for data recovery and general snooping, it seemed a good idea to start my own consulting practice."

Fraser stood up, stretched, and tried out his legs. "I'm beginning to feel like myself again," he observed. "It might be best for us to pack up here and return to Mountain View."

"It's nearly ten," replied Jane. "It's still raining, and there's no moon. You've had a blow to the head and a bout with hypothermia. There's a dead man in a clearing a couple of miles back up the trail, and you'll probably want to do some sort of crime scene thing when we get there. There are also snakes and bears around here occasionally."

"Agreed," replied Fraser.

"Daisy will have us up at first light anyway," replied Jane.

The scene at the town hall had returned to its state of controlled chaos after the two phone calls. Various agents and officers were making phone calls, conversing together quietly, jotting down notes. Diefenbaker, who had remained quiet and patient for most of the day, gave a most emphatic signal for OUT. Meg Thatcher surprised Ray by volunteering to do the honors. "You look as though you could do with a nap," she said over her shoulder.

Thatcher was in a reflective mood when she returned with the wolf. She and Vecchio sat down together at a table in one corner of the room.

"I've been thinking, Detective," she began.

"Oh-oh," teased Vecchio, smiling with tired eyes.

"We should take the wolf with us when you show me the crime scene. Just let him nose around a bit. He might come in handy when they narrow the search for the children."

Thompson approached, and they outlined their suggestion. "He's not a bloodhound," concluded Meg, "But he is half-wolf and was reared mostly in the wild. Despite his disgusting junk-food habit, if he's told to track something he willuntil he finds it, is told to stop, or dies trying."

"He's been useful to us on a couple of cases, Fred," added Vecchio.

"No problem, then," said Thompson. "Let's go."

They settled into the car for another drive out to the Marshall house. Although it had received a thorough combing by the state police, it was still in disarray. The wolf remained on his leash, and, leading Vecchio, prowled silently through the home. He finally led them back to the front door and with his normal bark/whine, signaled that he had observed enough.

The three were silent on the way back to the town hall.

"Ray," I don't believe you've slept any more than I have," said Thompson. I'm going to suggest that we grab a few hours' worth of sleep. We'll want to be back on duty around 4 tomorrow morning. I suspect that's when we'll hear something more."

"Our hotel room is two hours from here," Ray said tiredly. "And we haven't made any arrangements for the Inspector."

"Peggy Collins has a bed and breakfast right down from the town hall," replied Fred Thompson. "She's already expecting you. And she won't mind the wolf, either."

Shortly after they had collected their belongings from the town hall, Ray and Meg found themselves at their ease in two comfortable chairs on either side of a fireplace in a charming Victorian parlor. Meg was saying, "I wonder if she'd mind if I took off my boots" as their hostess appeared with a tray containing two steaming mugs.

"Hot mulled wine," said the woman. "It will help you sleep."

Vecchio eyed the drink dubiously, being primarily a scotch drinker. But he swallowed it down. And indeed, before too much longer, she had shown them to their rooms, where covers were turned down and feather pillows were plumped, inviting repose. "I'll wake you at 3:30," she told each of them.

In the darkened hotel room, the three teenagers also slept fitfully, still huddled together on the couch. Laura's outburst had netted her a stinging slap on the cheek, and she had wept on her brother's shoulder until sleep finally came. Jimmy's punishment had been a little more severe. His nose had been bloodied, and one eye was black. Still, he thought as he dozed off, it was worth it if he had been able to get his message across.

The childrens' two captors were involved in a quiet conversation. Their third operative was long overdue checking in. That meant that their alternative plan would need to be put in place.

Preparations for the night at the campsite were a little more elaborate. As Fraser began to move around, Jane set him to washing their few dishes. Every scrap of food was burnt in the fire.

"Bears," explained Jane. That necessitated rigging a bag with their food, trash, and dishes high in a nearby tree, a job that Fraser accomplished easily.

Next they considered their sleeping arrangements. "The tent will sleep two people comfortably," said Jane.

"I'll be perfectly comfortable out here, under the tarp," observed Fraser uneasily.

"Really, Constable Fraser," Jane laughed up at him. "If I'd been inclined to transgress against the proprieties, I had plenty of opportunity earlier this evening. Besides, I won't tell if you won't."

"Good point," he replied. "Besides, we have an early wake-up call."

As they settled for the night, she observed, "It just seems funny to me that you could come all the way from the Arctic and nearly freeze to death in the Alleghenies."

"If word ever gets out, I'll never live it down," he replied.

The pack, with its dangerous and valuable burden intact, also rested securely in the tent, as did the rifle.

When Ray awoke, he noticed that his clothes had been laundered and pressed and were neatly laid out for him. When he came downstairs a little after 3 a.m., Meg Thatcher was already dressed and in the kitchen, where an enormous breakfast had been set out for them. Helping himself to a plate of bacon and eggs, he sat down. Thatcher handed him a cup of coffee.

"Mrs. Collins is actually out walking Diefenbaker," she said.

"She's a nice lady," he replied, "just like everybody else in this town."

The two ate in silence for a few minutes. Then, over more coffee, they began discussing the day ahead.

"I expect we'll hear from them somewhere around 4:30," observed Ray. "I also expect the Lieutenant will have more information this morning."

"We may be of most use checking hotels," replied Meg.

Ray was quiet for a few moments, looking at the woman across the table. He was accustomed to viewing her as the Dragon Lady, an elegantly-clad bureaucrat. It surprised him to find that she was intelligent, resourceful, and capable of delivering good, solid police work. "You're right," he replied.

A short time later they were thanking their hostess and taking the short walk to the town hall in the pre-dawn darkness.

"At least it's finally stopped raining," observed Meg.

Thompson was waiting for them, and a few other officers and agents were also assembled. When the call came, it was from Welsh in Chicago.

"Another fax," said Welsh without preamble. "It's coming to you now. I think you'll find they've upped the ante.

"We had to let Borodin go," he went on, "but here's what we have on him: He emigrated legally to the U.S. three years ago. No arrests or convictions, no known criminal associates. He purchased the Mitchell Freight Lines two years ago, for cash. It's run by a group of Russians who appear to be as clean as he is. We've also been able to determine by checking with the manufacturer, that the computer was purchased by Borodin, via mail order, about four months ago. The warranty is registered to him. We found similar equipment in his offices.

"We also have a dead Russian. A man in Borodin's employ was found beaten to death near the shipping offices a month ago. It appeared to be a simple robbery gone bad. The dead man appears to have run up substantial gambling debts at establishments all over town. That's about it for now, but I'll get back to you."

Thompson was examining the fax. "Same location as yesterday's."

Vecchio recognized the agent who replied as the man who had been at the Tindell house the night before. Jackson was his name. "It's a mini-mart and gas station on New York Avenue," he contributed. "Nobody there noticed anything, as expected. It's run by a family of Pakistani immigrants, all legal."

They examined the fax. It was clear that Welsh's prediction had been accurate.

"We need to be ready to deliver the hard drive at six this evening," read Thompson, stopping to glance at his watch. "It's to be delivered by Jane Marshall in person. We should plan to have her in the Washington area no later than 4:30 today. Lieutenant Welsh will receive his instructions by fax at 3:30 central time, 4:30 our time. If we don't comply, they'll shoot one of the children every four hours."

"We have no idea of the status of Jane or if Fraser has located her, or what his status is," observed Thatcher. "We do have a duplicate of the hard disk."

Thompson was eyeing her speculatively. "You know, Inspector, you look like Jane Marshall. You both have similar build and coloring. You're taller than she is, and you wear your hair differently."

Norris broke in. "Jan cuts her hair," he turned to Meg, "My wife."

"Can you bring her here?" asked Meg.

"I'm on my way."

"Hank," added Thompson, "Stop by Jane's place on your way back and see if you can pick out some clothes. Meet us at Peggy's."

Hank and Jan Norris were at the bed and breakfast less than an hour later. Jan Norris carried a suitcase and an armload of clothing. Meg had discarded her uniform in favor of a pair of jeans, hiking boots, and a gray sweatshirt. Peggy Collins led the two women upstairs.

Jan Norris seated Meg in a straight chair and busied herself with scissors, comb, and curling iron.

When Meg descended the stairs and entered the parlor, her long, rather straight hair had been trimmed, curled and caught back in a simple brown clip. She wore a sweater and skirt, low-heeled pumps, and carried a canvas duffel bag. Her fair complexion was slightly darker, slightly rosier. "It's got the jeans outfit in it," she explained, holding up the bag. I thought it might be better for me to look like a tourist this morning.

"I think you'll do, Inspector," said Fred Thompson. "We'll be making arrangements for the drop-off. Agent Jackson is going with you two."

The three officers, plus Diefenbaker, left for Washington.

Fraser's internal alarm clock had not let him down, despite the dull ache at the back of his head. When Jane awoke in the darkness, it was to the smell of coffee brewing on the small stove.

"Good morning," said Fraser, handing her a steaming cup as she emerged from the tent. "We have some work to do before we can get going. I've already started."

She noted with great satisfaction that all trace of their campfire was gone. Even its ring of stones had been replaced in the stream, where they would be washed clean of any traces of soot. The bag of food had been brought down from the tree.

Their breakfast of fruit, oatmeal, and more coffee was soon ready. As they ate, Fraser began to speak.

"We'll return to the clearing," he said, "so that I can try to determine a cause of death and gather any evidence that might remain there. Then we should contact the authorities."

"There's a ranger station," replied Jane.

"Good. We can contact Sergeant Thompson from there, also. I believe it will be safest for us to return together in the truck and make some arrangements for picking up your car later," he went on. "Someone may be looking for it."

"Exactly," replied Jane.

They finished breaking camp as dawn was breaking. Fraser, she noted, had added the tent, tarp, food, and stove to his pack, leaving her with very little to carry. As they headed back up the trail, she observed that little or no trace of the camp had been left behind, only a few crushed blades of grass that would soon straighten out in the sun. She was also pleased to see that the morning was clear and fresh, without a sign of rain.

They covered the distance to the clearing rapidly. Jane steeled herself for what she knew they would find there. Fortunately, the body had rested through the night undisturbed by animals.

Fraser shed his pack quickly, motioning her to stay on the trail and out of the clearing. He observed the area carefully, then bent to pick up an object on the ground. "Cigarette butt," he called. "It's the same Russian brand as the one we found in your driveway." Jane shuddered.

He next turned his attention to the body, first walking around it carefully, finally turning it over. "Look at this," he called.

Jane approached. He was bent over, examining the man's wrist. She looked more closely. Though the body appeared bruised all over, she could make out a set of puncture marks in the thin skin at the hollow just above the wrist.

She looked away. "Snakebite," she pronounced quickly. Fraser took her arm and led her away from the body. "There are poisonous snakes around here," she went on, "Copperheads and some rattlesnakes. But they don't usually kill you. Their venom is not especially toxic, and it's rare for them to strike at all. He must have startled it somehow. And the snake must have hit a vein or an artery. Otherwise, as big as he is, he'd have had time to take care of it."

"Where did you find the rifle?"

"There," she pointed to the pile of rocks at one side of the clearing.

"That's where he was sitting when I surprised him," said Fraser.

"Well, the snake was probably there, too," she replied. "They stay pretty sleepy when they can't lie in the sun. He probably scared it."

Fraser finished his inspection of the body.

"We can go now," he said as he returned to her. "There's no identification."

They made quick work of the rest of the trail. Jane paused, briefly, by the patch of dogtooth violets that had attracted her attention the day before.

"Glacier lilies," observed Ben. "I was surprised to find them growing here.

"Here we call them 'dogtooth violets,'" she replied. "One of my favorites."

They continued through the thinning spruce trees and finally made their way to the parking lot.

"I don't recognize that car," said Jane pointing to the Ford.

"I believe it's his," said Fraser.

Jane cast a glance at the Blue Whale. "Somebody will get it back for me," she sighed.

They had soon loaded Thompson's truck. Daisy was made comfortable in the covered rear with the packs. The hard disk reposed in the pocket of Jane's shirt. The rifle was secured out of sight, behind the seat.

"Turn right up ahead," she directed. "There's a visitors' center and ranger station a few miles from here.

The ranger listened carefully to their story. He picked up the phone and called Mountain View, waiting patiently as Thompson was called to the phone. Once he had identified himself, he spoke very little, mostly nodding and jotting a few notes on his desk pad.

"Constable Fraser? Sergeant Thompson would like a word with you," he finally said.

Fraser updated the sergeant in a few words, then listened carefully. "We'll be there as soon as we can," he said before hanging up.

"You folks can leave," said the ranger. "Miss Marshall, if you'd like us to take care of your car, you might want to leave the keys. We'll bring it here where we can keep an eye on it."

As they turned to leave, he was making another phone call.

Ben and Jane spoke very little during the drive back east. The advancing morning showed no promise of rain.

Vecchio and Thatcher noticed that their drive had taken them past some of the most imposing sights the city of Washington had to offer. First there had been Arlington Cemetery with its rows of simple, white headstones. A drive through a parklike setting had led them past views, across the river, of the Lincoln and Jefferson Memorials and the Washington Monument. They crossed the river, turned right on an expressway and were soon buried in a dark tunnel beneath the streets. When they emerged, it was as though they had been transported to a different world.

Though still within sight of the Capitol, the marble monuments had given way to block after block of dilapidated houses, many boarded up. Small businesses stood on most cornersliquor stores, drug stores, corner groceries. Vecchio's instincts had him looking for open-air drug markets, but at this hour of a Sunday morning, business was slow.

"New York Avenue," observed Jackson from the driver's seat as he pulled into a fast-food restaurant. "Wait here for a minute."

Jackson approached the counter and ordered a coffee. As he turned, he approached a young woman, hunched over a cup of coffee at another table. She was clad in tight shorts and a tighter sweater, feet encased in impossibly high heels. Though she was carefully made-up, her hair was unkempt. The two exchanged a few words. She did not look at him, but shook her head, then turned back to her coffee. He squeezed her arm. She shook him off, uttered an obscenity, and turned to her coffee once again.

Jackson returned to the car. "She's a narcotics agent," he said shortly. "Doesn't miss much that goes on around here. We've worked together before." He extracted a wadded-up napkin from the pocket of his windbreaker. "She says here that there's a black Ford Expedition, a rental car, parked at the Liberty Bell Motor Inn. Yesterday there were two of them parked there, but one of them has been gone for several hours. It's a couple of miles from here." He eased the car into the traffic. They noticed as they cleared the traffic light at the corner that the road took them over a viaduct. Below it were railroad tracks. "Union Station is a few blocks that way," commented Jackson.

The Liberty Bell Motor Inn was about what they expected. One building, two floors. The rooms of the upper floor were reached by means of a balcony that ran the length of the building. The office was located at one end. There were few cars parked in front, but one of them was the black Expedition.

Jackson parked at some distance. Vecchio and Thatcher slipped from the car, the wolf in tow. The three strolled leisurely down the street. They noted that the motel backed up to a thinly wooded, weedy area with a steep embankment directly behind that obviously led to railroad tracks. Unobtrusively, Thatcher slipped the wolf's leash. Touching his muzzle as she had so often seen Fraser do, she pointed to the motel and uttered the word, "GO."

The wolf left their side in a flash of white. His coat gleamed in the sun. Silent as a ghost, he approached the cement slab that held the entrances to the lower rooms. Without pausing, he disappeared around the far corner, only to re-appear a moment later on the upper balcony. He stopped in front of a door near the center of the building, looked expectantly over at Thatcher and Vecchio, and became a statue. Thatcher waved her arm with the leash, and the wolf returned to her side with another expectant look. Both observed that Dief had taken a few moments to avail himself of the strip of grass and weeds that fronted the parking lot. The perfect cover, thought Thatcher. Room 207, noted Vecchio. The whole thing had taken less than five minutes. The three continued their stroll, with Dief stopping several more times. Then they crossed the street and caught up with Jackson in the next block.

Jackson drove a block or two further and pulled into a combination mini-mart and gas station. "Why don't you put some gas in the car while I go inside," he said to Vecchio.

As Vecchio filled the tank, Jackson strolled inside, where he paid for the gas and selected a large assortment of food, topping off his purchases with three large coffees.

"There's a fax machine in there, all right," he observed as he returned to the car. "We should plan to re-supply about 4 this afternoon."

"What about the motel across the street from the Liberty Bell?" asked Vecchio.

"Just what I was thinking."

The three of them were shortly set up in a room at the equally seedy Roman Inn, across the street and just up the block from the Liberty Bell. Jackson's duffel bag opened to reveal an arsenal of sophisticated communications and surveillance equipment. He also dealt out the coffee and sandwiches and reached into the bag for a jelly doughnut, which he offered to Diefenbaker. "Hey, he deserves it," he laughed at Meg's disapproving glance.

"What did we do before cell phones?" asked Vecchio, as each cop in the room extracted one.

Vecchio's first call was to Thompson in Mountain View. He quickly sketched out the events of the morning and learned that Fraser and Jane were on their way back, and about the dead man they had left behind in the clearing.

Thatcher's call was to the consulate in Chicago. She stood in the corner of the room occasionally hissing into the phone in hushed, but obviously angry tones. Finally she slammed her phone shut and turned to the other two. "Well, we now know how these guys knew the hard drive came here," she snapped.

"Turnbull?" asked Vecchio.

She nodded. "Said it had been on his conscience. Somebody called for Fraser about noon on Friday. He told them he was attending meetings at the embassy here. With Turnbull, you just never know."

"Too late to worry about it now," observed Ray. "At least we know we weren't followed. Somebody just made a lucky guess."

Jackson, too, had concluded his conversation. "Now we wait," he remarked. "Our boys are working across the street. We can expect a visitor at about 2:30." It was noon. He approached the drawn curtain carefully, looked through, then extracted a deck of cards from his pocket. The three sat down. They could hear the occasional rumble of a train from the tracks across the street.

Fraser and Jane drove on. At one point they stopped at the urgent insistence of Daisy, and Fraser took advantage of the stop to make a phone call.

"Nothing new," he said as he returned to the car. "Ray and Inspector Thatcher have gone to Washington with an FBI agent. They have Diefenbaker with them."

"Diefenbaker?"

"Yes. He's my wolf. Or rather, he's half Arctic wolf and half dog. He's been with me since he was a pup, when he saved my life." And Fraser related the story of his rescue from the mineshaft by the young Diefenbaker. "He's been my best friend ever since," he concluded. "But he does rub it in sometimes. Let a wolf save your life, and he'll make you pay, and pay, and pay."

Jane laughed. "You sound a lot like me. I have trouble thinking of Daisy as a dog that I own. Maybe it's because she's so big. But she's really more like a friend or a partner."

"Exactly," added Fraser. And with such talk they covered the distance back to Mountain View.

Thompson was watching for them when they arrived. He swept Jane into a bear hug, then shook hands with Fraser. "Glad to see you, Constable."

He led them inside. "Jane," he said over his shoulder, "There's been a demand. It came in at 4:30 this morning."

"Through Lieutenant Welsh again?" asked Fraser. Thompson nodded, noticing that Fraser pronounced the word in the British fashion.

"We need you to get to work on the hard drive," went on Thompson.

"I don't have a computer to put it in, Fred, unless they left the original at my place."

"No, but we can do almost as well." Thompson produced the small black briefcase. "Inspector Thatcher brought a duplicate of the hard drive in this," he pulled out the laptop.

"Ghosted?" asked Jane.

"If that's what you call making an exact image, then yes," responded Thompson. "Inspector Thatcher and Detective Vecchio have it in Washington. They're with Agent Jackson of the FBI."

Jane had located the screwdriver Thatcher had slipped into the briefcase. In moments she had flipped over the laptop, removed two screws, and slipped her copy of the hard disk into its hiding place. Replacing the screws, she opened the machine and touched a switch.

"If they did their job, I'll be able to work with this," she murmured.

"Peggy Collins is waiting for you," said Thompson. "I thought you could work more quietly over there. Hank is going with you."

"Mind if I come along, too?" asked Fraser.

A few minutes later, Ben and Jane were seated in an upstairs parlor at the bed and breakfast. Peggy, who seemed to have a desire to feed the entire world, had insisted that they take time to eat. Norris stood watchfully outside the closed door.

"I wish I had my stuff," Jane muttered as the computer's operating system loaded and a familiar, insipid tune played through the speakers.

"Jane, your house is in pretty bad shape," replied Fraser. "I didn't see a single storage device left thereno hard disks, no diskettes, no CD-ROM's. And I looked pretty carefully. Your brown notebook is also gone. I can go back out there and take a look if you'd like me to."

Jane shook her head. "I need to hook up to a phone line.".

Fraser went to a nearby table and unplugged the phone, handing her one end of a modular cord. "How about this."

Jane was silent for nearly an hour. An old-fashioned clock ticked on the mantel.

Not wishing to disturb her, Fraser was looking out of the front window. An occasional glance toward the screen indicated that Jane was looking through a very long list of files. He heard the sound of a modem connecting, followed by a small cry of triumph from Jane.

"People can be so stupid!" she exclaimed. "Take a look at this."

He returned to the table and leaned over the dark head to peer at the small screen.

Vecchio's pile of coins was growing, as those belonging to Jackson and Thatcher shrank. One of the three would occasionally lay down the hand of cards and squint through the curtain. The last of the stale coffee was consumed, together with the last of the sandwiches.

Just before 1:00, Vecchio noted some activity at Room 207. A tall, camouflage-clad man emerged and re-appeared shortly downstairs. He entered the Ford and drove away. The three officers watched and waited. About twenty minutes later, he returned, carrying a white bag. He re-entered the room. Thompson spoke quietly into his cell phone, and they settled down to wait some more.

Shortly before 2:30, there was a soft knock at the door. Jackson answered it cautiously and admitted the same young woman he had spoken with earlier in the restaurant. She was introduced to the others as Agent Marie Gaines. Her sullen expression had been replaced by one of alertness and intelligence. The four sat at the table by the drawn curtains.

Marie brought them up-to-date quickly. The plan, with its backups and failsafes, was fairly straightforward. Vecchio, Jackson, and Thatcher would wait another half-hour, then head downtown. A room across the street, next door to 207, was being set up for surveillance and communications and would be ready shortly. Marie left the motel room almost exactly twenty minutes after she had entered. She would saunter the few blocks up to the mini-mart in her ridiculous high heels, taking her time.

After the agent's departure, Meg slipped into the bathroom and emerged a short while later clad in jeans, hiking boots, and a simple tee shirt. A soft, long-sleeved flannel shirt completed the outfit.

"Inspector, don't you carry a weapon?" asked Jackson.

"None of us does," she replied. "The permit situation is a nightmare."

Vecchio shook his head. "Why do I have a feeling that not a court in the world would convict you this time?"

"He's right, Inspector," agreed Jackson. "You're not wearing a wire."

Thatcher sighed. "I'll consider it," she finally answered. "Let's wait and see what the final arrangements look like."

The three officers and the wolf gathered their few belongings and, after checking carefully outside, left the hotel room. Their places would be taken by others. Jackson turned the car back downtown to an office building, and they went inside to be greeted by another scene of controlled chaos. They would wait here until the call came.

"They weren't even very smart about it," said Jane as she gestured at the screen. They used one of those commercial e-mail services. I guess it didn't occur to them that their messages would be stored on the server."

She turned quickly. "Printer," she said, "I could really use a printer."

"Isn't there one at the police station?"

"Yes. And some diskettes, too, please."

Fraser left the room quickly to have a word with Norris, who returned a few minutes later carrying the police station's small printer and supplies of paper and disks. Fraser met him at the door, took the necessary articles, and closed the door before bringing them to her.

"Let me just get this stuff first," she said, "because I'm going to have to set up the printer." She began feeding diskettes into the machine, then handing them to Fraser. "Please label them starting with 1," she murmured. When she had finished, she disconnected and shut down the laptop. She attached the printer, touched the switch, and shortly thereafter the modem connected once more. Soon the printer began to spit out pages."

Jane finally relaxed and turned to Fraser. "Pull up a chair."

When he had complied, she drew a breath and began. "It doesn't look good. Weaponsnuclear warheads and biological weapons"

"What do you mean by 'biological weapons?'" Fraser interrupted. "Nerve gas, perhaps?"

"No. Disease agents like anthrax," she went on. "They're being smuggled in on the West Coast and brought by truck to a manufacturer in Chicago. It's a plant that makes parts for farm equipmenttractors and such. They're mixed in with other, legitimate materials. From there, they're loaded on to ships run by this Mitchell Freight Company. They're shipped across the Great Lakes and finally wind up on the East Coast, where they're shipped out to ports all over this side of the worldEurope, South America, Canada, the U.S. It should be possible to figure out where they're ultimately winding up, but I didn't take the time. The Feds will want to do that. We'll know more when this finishes printing out, but that's the gist of it. And the stuff is all coming from Russia."

Fraser was silent for a moment. "We know that things are running out of control over there," he mused finally. "It stands to reason somebody would want to turn a profit."

The printer had finished. Fraser and Jane carefully gathered up the pages and placed them, with the laptop, in the small briefcase. The numbered diskettes went in also. Fraser shouldered the bag and they walked towards the door. Jane found herself grasping his hand tightly. "I've seen all sorts of things," she said, "But never anything as bad as this. These people were in my house. And they've got the kids."

Fraser said nothing but continued to hold her hand as they collected Norris and headed back for the town hall.

"Who is the Federal agent in charge?" asked Fraser without preamble. A man detached himself and came over.

"Michaels," he identified himself.

"Agent Michaels," said Fraser carefully. "This case contains preliminary information on the contents of the hard disk. I suggest you evaluate it immediately." He handed over the briefcase. Michaels took it without saying anything. Two of his agents followed him into a back room.

Thompson came over. "We'll look after Jane," he said. "You need to leave with these gentlemen to go to Washington, Constable."

At 5:15 p.m., Meg Thatcher emerged from an office building in the downtown business district and hailed a cab. The traffic was light on this Sunday evening, and she noticed there were few people on the street in this part of town. She carried a black hard-sided briefcase.

The ride across town took about twenty minutes. She paid the cab driver and turned left, bypassing the main entrance in favor of one at the far end. A revolving door led into a shopping area with stores on two levels. Directly in front of her, just as she had been briefed, was an escalator leading to a third, lower level. She glanced at a clock. 5:38. It was just a little too early to go downstairs. She loitered for a few minutes, looking in the windows of a large bookstore before finally descending on the escalator.

A quick glance revealed a cavernous room, where people had gathered at this hour to have a quick supper. Around the edges and in the middle were various food concessions. Meg knew that she had friends in this room, but she did not know where. As she got off the escalator, she caught sight of a well-dressed man carrying a tray. Vecchio! She could feel his backup gun strapped to her ankle above the boot, well concealed by her jeans and bulky socks.

She began looking for a specific stand called the Magic Wok. She ordered a light meal and seated herself at one of the tables nearby. She placed the briefcase carefully on the floor between her chair and the one next to it. Lacking specific instructions on this point, she had automatically chosen a seat that would give her the best advantage. Not many people knew that Meg was left-handed.

She began to eat, not tasting the food at all.

Meg didn't have long to wait. A casually dressed man, also carrying a briefcase, strolled past her table, then sat down

Meg continued to eat. At a word from her companion, she pushed aside her tray, reached down for the briefcase, laid it carefully on the table in front of her, and opened it. All it contained was a small package wrapped in bubble wrap.

The man reached for his own briefcase, laid it on the table, and unzipped it. A notebook computer emerged, along with a small screwdriver. He handed her the screwdriver. Working carefully, touching the table beside her, Meg turned the computer over, loosened two screws, and slid back the small cover. She pulled the hard disk straight out and laid it beside her. Next she opened the small, wrapped package to reveal an identical unit, which she slid into place, label upward. Finally, she replaced the two screws and turned the machine back over.

Her companion reached over and opened the lid, then pushed the switch that would apply power to the small system. It began a familiar power-up sequence. He typed in a password at a prompt and was admitted immediately. Meg sat very still, watching closely.

Satisfied, he shut down the laptop, closed the lid, and replaced it in his briefcase. He leaned over to whisper something to Meg.

In a single, fluid motion she was out of her chair, the heel of her hand moving forward with her to impact his face just below his nose. The blow did not appear to have much force, and few people even noticed. But the impact knocked him flat.

Vecchio had covered the distance to her side in an instant, and they proceeded to secure their unconscious captive.

"I thought you were gonna use the gun," muttered Vecchio.

"Don't have a permit," she replied.

Jackson, who had been keeping vigil nearby, was speaking rapidly into his cell phone.

Not far away, a casually dressed man had checked into a room at the Roman Inn. Clinging to his arm was one of the girls seen frequently in this neighborhood. She had waited for him outside as he checked in. She stayed exactly twenty minutes, then left, sauntering away on impossibly high heels. The clerk noted this, but looked the other way, having received a liberal tip.

Before long, the man emerged from his room holding the leash of an enormous white dog. The leash was slack. They strolled aimlessly along the sidewalk, the dog pausing occasionally to select a spot on the grass. The clerk took no further notice of them. The dog waited outside as the man entered a corner grocery store. He emerged a few moments later carrying a white styrofoam cup and a two doughnuts, one which he handed to the dog.

Unlike the downtown business district, this part of town had a lively night life, even on a Sunday. The street was full of people, strolling, standing in small groups talking, laughing, going in and out of small storefronts.

The man stopped. Anyone who was looking would have noticed that he took a call on his cell phone. He and the dog finished their doughnuts. The man placed his empty cup in a nearby trash bin, and they strolled across the street to the Liberty Bell, disappearing around the side and emerging a moment later on the second-story balcony.

Diefenbaker paused expectantly, silently, in front of Room 207. They were joined an instant later by two other casually dressed, but well armed men who emerged from the room next door. They stayed well out of the way of the dirty, curtained window beside the door.

A knock was answered by muttered words from the other side. Fraser muttered something back in Russian, hoping that he was not too out of practice. Another challenge brought another response from Fraser.

After a split second, he splintered the door with a jarring kick. The wolf made it through first. Long, sharp teeth made impact with a right arm knocking away a gun before it could be fired.

Fraser was next through the door, followed closely by his two armed colleagues. He motioned to the wolf, who let go immediately but maintained a watchful air as the man's wrists were cuffed behind his back.

Fraser turned to the three terrified youngsters on the couch.

Some hours later, Peggy Collins had just cleared away the supper dishes. Six peoplefour men and two dark-haired womenwere seated at the round table. A large fire was crackling in the fireplace, and two massive canines reclined on the hearth rug.

"She's going to be out in about a week," Jane Marshall was saying. "That will give me enough time to get the mess cleaned up. I'm not going to even look at it until tomorrow."

"Ray and I were scheduled to be here for five days," added Fraser.

"Take as long as you need, Constable. You have plenty of vacation saved up." Meg was surprised to find herself saying.

"We can probably find room for you here if you want move out of your hotel in Arlington," said Thompson.

"What I still don't understand," interjected Jackson, sitting back at his ease, "is how you guys did everything you did without guns."

"Don't have a permit," came the rejoinder, in chorus, from the two Canadians.