Clear and Present Danger

She hesitated, staring at the rug for a moment before looking up. 'We fell in love. He comes up to the States on business every few weeks, and with the Director away, we wanted to spend a weekend - at The Hideaway, in the mountains near Luray Caverns?'

'I know it,' Shaw said. 'Nice place to get away from it all.'

'Well, when I knew that Mr. Jacobs was going to be away and we had a chance for a long weekend, I called him. He has a factory. He makes auto parts - two factories, actually, one in Venezuela and one in Costa Rica. Carburetors and things like that.'

'Did you call him at his home?' Murray asked.

'No. He works such long hours that I called him at his factory. I have the number here.' She handed over the scrap of Sheraton note paper that he'd written it down on. 'Anyway, I got his secretary - her name's Consuela - because he was out on the shop floor, and he called me back, and I told him that we could get together, so he came up - we met at the airport Friday afternoon. I left early after Mr. Jacobs did.'

'Which airport?'

'Dulles.'

'What's his name?' Shaw asked.

'D az. Juan D az. You can call him there at the factory and -'

'That phone number goes to an apartment, not a factory, Moira,' Murray said. And it was that clear, that fast.

'But - but he -' She stopped. 'No. No. He isn't -'

'Moira, we need a complete physical description.'

'Oh, no.' Her mouth fell open and wouldn't close. She looked from Shaw to Murray and back again as the horror of it all closed in on her. She was dressed in black, of course, probably the same outfit she'd worn to bury her own husband. For a few weeks she'd been a bright, beautiful, happy woman again. No more. Both FBI executives felt her pain, hating themselves for having brought it to her. She was a victim, too. But she was also a lead, and they needed a lead.

Moira Wolfe summoned what little dignity she had left and gave them as complete a description as they had ever had of any man in a voice as brittle as crystal before she lost control entirely. Shaw had his personal assistant drive her home.

'Cortez,' Murray said as soon as the door closed behind her.

'That's a pretty solid bet,' the Executive Assistant Director(Investigations) agreed. 'The book on him says that he's a real ace at compromising people. Jesus, did he ever prove that right.' Shaw's head went from side to side as he reached for some coffee. 'But he couldn't have known what they were doing, could he?'

'Doesn't make much sense to have come here if he did,' Murray said. 'But since when are criminals logical? Well, we start checking immigration control points, hotels, airlines. See if we can track this cocksucker. I'll get on it. What are we going to do about Moira?'

'She didn't break any laws, did she?' That was the really odd part. 'Find a place where she doesn't have to see classified material, maybe in another agency. Dan, we can't destroy her, too.'

'No.'

Moira Wolfe got home just before eleven. Her kids were all still up waiting for her. They assumed that her tears were a delayed reaction from the funeral. They'd all met Emil Jacobs, too, and mourned his passing as much as anyone else who worked for the Bureau. She didn't say very much, heading upstairs for bed while they continued to sit before the television. Alone in the bathroom she stared in the mirror at the woman who'd allowed herself to be seduced and used like... like a fool, something worse than a fool, a stupid, vain, lonely old woman looking for her youth. So desperate to be loved again that... That she had condemned - how many? Seven people? She couldn't remember, staring at her empty face in the glass. The young agents on Emil's security detail had families. She'd knitted a sweater for Leo's firstborn son. He was still too young - he'd never remember what a nice, handsome young man his father had been.

It's all my fault .

I helped kill them .

She opened the mirrored door to the medicine cabinet. Like most people, the Wolfes never threw out old medicine, and there it was, a plastic container of Placidyls. There were still - she counted six of them. Surely that would be enough.

'What brings you out this time?' Timmy Jackson asked his big brother.

'I gotta go out on Ranger to observe a Fleet-Ex. We're trying out some new intercept tactics I helped work up. And a friend of mine just got command of Enterprise , so I came out a day early to watch the ceremony. I go down to D'ego tomorrow and catch the COD out to Ranger.'

'COD?'

'The carrier's delivery truck,' Robby explained. 'Twin-engine prop bird. So how's life in the light infantry?'

'We're still humpin' hills. Got our clock cleaned on the last exercise. My new squad leader really fucked up. It isn't fair,' Tim observed.

'What do you mean?'

Lieutenant Jackson tossed off the last of his drink. ' 'A green lieutenant and a green squad leader is too much burden for any platoon to bear' - that's what the new S-3 said. He was out with us. Of course, the captain didn't exactly see it that way. Lost a little weight yesterday - he chewed off a piece of my ass for me. God, I wish I had Chavez back.'

'Huh?'

'Squad leader I lost. He - that's the odd part. He was supposed to go to a basic-training center as an instructor, but seems he got lost. The S-3 says he was in Panama a few weeks ago. Had my platoon sergeant try to track him down, see what the hell was going on - he's still my man, you know?' Robby nodded. He understood. 'Anyway, his paperwork is missing, and the clerks are runnin' in circles trying to find it. Fort Banning called to ask where the hell he was, 'cause they were still waiting for him. Nobody knows where the hell Ding got to. That sort of thing happen in the Navy?'

'When a guy goes missing, it generally means that he wants to be missing.'

Tim shook his head. 'Nah, not Ding. He's a lifer, I don't even think he'll stop at twenty. He'll retire as a command sergeant major. No, he's no bugout.'

'Then maybe somebody dropped his file in the wrong drawer,' Robby suggested.

'I suppose. I'm still new at this,' Tim reminded himself. 'Still, it is kind of funny, turning up down there in the jungle. Enough of that. How's Sis?'

About the only good thing to say was that it wasn't hot. In fact, it was pretty cool. Maybe there wasn't enough air to be hot, Ding told himself. The altitude was marginally less than they'd trained at in Colorado, but that was weeks behind them, and it would be a few days before the soldiers were reacclimated. That would slow them down some, but on the whole Chavez thought that heat was more debilitating than thin air, and harder to get used to.

The mountains - nobody called these mothers hills - were about as rugged as anything he'd ever seen, and though they were well forested, he was paying particularly close attention to his footing. The thick trees made for limited visibility, which was good news. His night scope, hanging on his head like a poorly designed cap, allowed him to see no more than a hundred meters, and usually less than that, but he could see something, while the overhead cover eliminated the light needed for the unaided eye to see. It was scary, and it was lonely, but it was home for Sergeant Chavez.

He did not move in a straight line to the night's objective, following instead the Army's approved procedure of constantly veering left and right of the direction in which he was actually traveling. Every half hour he'd stop, double back, and wait until the rest of the squad was in view. Then it was their turn to rest for a few minutes, checking their own back for people who might take an interest in the new visitors to the jungle highlands.

The sling on his MP-5 was double-looped so that he could carry it slung over his head, always in firing position.