is secretary greeted him with a pile of overnight telex cables, which Cap simply took without bothering to shuffle through them to see if there was anything hot enough to demand immediate attention. The girl at the desk was going over a number of requests and messages when she suddenly looked up at Cap curiously. Cap was paying no attention to her at all. He was gazing at the wide drawer near the top of her desk with a bemused expression on his face.

"Pardon me," she said. She was still very much aware of being the new girl, even after all these months, of having replaced someone Cap had been close to. And perhaps had been sleeping with, she had sometimes speculated.

"Hmmmm?" He looked around at her at last. But the blankness did not leave his eyes. It was somehow shocking... like looking at the shuttered windows of a house reputed to be haunted.

She hesitated, then plunged. "Cap, do you feel all right? You look... well, a little white."

"I feel fine," he said, and for a moment he was his old self, dispelling some of her doubts. His shoulders squared, his head came up, and the blankness left his eyes. "Anybody who's going to Hawaii ought to feel fine, right?"

"Hawaii?" Gloria said doubtfully. It was news to her.

"Never mind these now," Cap said, taking the message forms and interdepartmental memos and stuffing them all together with the telex cables. "I'll look at them later. Anything happening with either of the McGees?"

"One item," she said. "I was just getting to it. Mike Kellaher says she asked to go out to the stable this afternoon and see a horse-"

"Yes, that's fine," Cap said.

"-and she buzzed back a little later to say she'd like to go out at quarter of one."

"Fine, fine."

"Will Mr. Rainbird be taking her out?"

"Rainbird's on his way to San Diego," Cap said with unmistakable satisfaction. "I'll send a man to take her over."

"All right. Will you want to see the..." She trailed off. Cap's eyes had wandered away from her and he appeared to be staring at the wide drawer again. It was partway open. It always was, per regulations. There was a gun in there. Gloria was a crack shot, just as Rachel before her had been.

"Cap, are you sure there's nothing wrong?"

"Ought to keep that shut," Cap said. "They like dark places. They like to crawl in and hide."

"They?" she asked cautiously.

"Snakes," Cap said, and marched into his office.

5

He sat behind his desk, the cables and messages in an untidy litter before him. They were forgotten. Everything was forgotten now except snakes, golf clubs, and what he was going to do at quarter of one. He would go down and see Andy McGee. He felt strongly that Andy would tell him what to do next. He felt strongly that Andy would make everything all right.

Beyond quarter of one this afternoon, everything in his life was a great funneling darkness.

He didn't mind. It was sort of a relief.

6

At quarter of ten, John Rainbird slipped into the small monitoring room near Charlie's quarters. Louis Tranter, a hugely fat man whose buttocks nearly overflowed the chair he sat in, was watching the monitors. The digital thermometer read a steady sixty-eight degrees. He looked over his shoulder when the door opened and his face tightened at the sight of Rainbird.

"I heard you were leaving town," he said.

"Scrubbed," Rainbird said. "And you never saw me this morning at all, Louis." Louis looked at him doubtfully.

"You never saw me," Rainbird repeated. "After five this afternoon I don't give a shit. But until then, you never saw me. And if I hear you did, I'm going to come after you and cut me some blubber. Can you dig it?"

Louis Tranter paled noticeably. The Hostess Twinkie he had been eating dropped from his hand onto the slanted steel panel that housed the TV monitors and microphone pickup controls. It rolled down the slant and tumbled to the floor unheeded, leaving a trail of crumbs behind. Suddenly he wasn't a bit hungry. He had heard this guy was crazy, and now he was seeing that what he had heard was certainly true.

"I can dig it," he said, whispering in the face of that weird grin and glittering oneeyed stare.

"Good," Rainbird said, and advanced toward him. Louis shrank away from him, but Rainbird ignored him altogether for the moment and peered into one of the monitors. There was Charlie, looking pretty as a picture in her blue jumper. With a lover's eye, Rainbird noted that she had not braided her hair today; it lay loose and fine and lovely over her neck and shoulders. She wasn't doing anything but sitting on the sofa. No book. No TV. She looked like a woman waiting for a bus.

Charlie, he thought admiringly, I love you. I really do.

"What's she got going for today?" Rainbird asked.

"Nothing much," Louis said eagerly. He was, in fact, nearly babbling. "Just going out at quarter of one to curry that horse she rides. We're getting another test out of her tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, huh?"

"Yep." Louis didn't give a tin shit about the tests one way or the other, but he thought it would please Rainbird, and maybe Rainbird would leave.

He seemed to be pleased. His grin reappeared.

"She's going out to the stables at quarter of one, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Who's taking her? Since I'm on my way to San Diego?"

Louis uttered a highpitched, almost female giggle to show that this piece of wit was appreciated.

"Your buddy there. Don Jules."

"He's no buddy of mine."

"No, course he isn't," Louis agreed quickly. "He... he thought the orders were a little funny, but since they came right from Cap-""Funny? What did he think was funny about them?" "Well, just to take her out and leave her there. Cap said the stable boys would keep an eye on her. But they don't know from nothing. Don seemed to think it would be taking a helluva-"

"Yeah, but he doesn't get paid to think. Does he, fatty?" He slapped Louis on the shoulder, hard. It made a sound like a minor thunderclap.

"No, course he doesn't," Louis came back smartly. He was sweating now.

"See you later," Rainbird said, and went to the door again.

"Leaving?" Louis was unable to disguise his relief.

Rainbird paused with his hand on the doorknob and looked back. "What do you mean?" he said. "I was never here." "No sir, never here," Louis agreed hastily.

Rainbird nodded and slipped out. He closed the door behind him. Louis stared at the closed door for several seconds and then uttered a great and gusty sigh of relief. His armpits were humid and his white shirt was stuck to his back. A few moments later he picked up his fallen Twinkie, brushed it off, and began to eat it again. The girl was still sitting quietly, not doing anything. How Rainbird-Rainbird of all people-had got her to like him was a mystery to Louis Tranter.

7

At quarter to one, an eternity after Charlie had awakened, there was a brief buzz at her door, and Don Jules came in, wearing a baseball warmup jacket and old cord pants. He looked at her coldly and without much interest.

"C'mon," he said.

Charlie went with him.

8

That day was cool and beautiful. At twelve-thirty Rainbird strolled slowly across the still-green lawn to the low, L-shaped stable with its dark-red paint-the color of drying blood-and its brisk white piping. Overhead, great fair-weather clouds marched slowly across the sky. A breeze tugged at his shirt. If dying was required, this was a fine day for it. Inside the stable, he located the head groom's office and went in. He showed his ID with its A-rating stamp.

"Yes, sir?" Drabble said.

"Clear this place," Rainbird said. "Everyone out. Five minutes."

The groom did not argue or bumble, and if he paled a bit, his tan covered it. "The horses too?"

"Just the people. Out the back."

Rainbird had changed into fatigues-what they had sometimes called gookshooters in Nam. The pants pockets were large, deep, and flapped. From one of these he now took a large handgun. The head groom looked at it with wise, unsurprised eyes. Rainbird held it loosely, pointed at the floor.

"Is there going to be trouble, sir?"

"There may be," Rainbird said quietly. "I don't really know. Go on, now, old man."

"I hope no harm will come to the horses," Drabble said.

Rainbird smiled then. He thought, So will she. He had seen her eyes when she was with the horses. And this p?ace, with its bays of loose hay and its lofts of baled hay, with its dry wood all about, was a tinderbox with NO SMOKING signs posted everywhere.

It was a thin edge. But, as the years had drawn on and he had become more and more careless of his life, he had walked thinner ones.

He walked back to the big double doors and looked out. No sign of anyone just yet. He turned away and began to walk between the stall doors, smelling the sweet, pungent, nostalgic aroma of horse.

He made sure all of the stalls were latched and locked.

He went back to the double doors again. Now someone was coming. Two figures. They were still on the far side of the duckpond, five minutes" walk away. Not Cap and Andy McGee. It was Don Jules and Charlie.

Come to me, Charlie, he thought tenderly. Come to me now.

He glanced around at the shadowed upper lofts for a moment and then went to the ladder-simple wooden rungs nailed to a support beam-and began to climb with lithe ease.

Three minutes later, Charlie and Don Jules stepped into the shadowed, empty coolness of the stable. They stood just inside the doors for a moment as their eyes adjusted to the dimness. The.357 Mag in Rainbird's hand had been modified to hold a silencer of Rainbird's own construction; it crouched over the muzzle like a strange black spider. It was not, as a matter of fact, a very silent silencer: it is nearly impossible to completely quiet a big handgun. When-if-he pulled the trigger, it would utter a husky bark the first time, a low report the second time, and then it would be mostly useless. Rainbird hoped not to have to use the gun at all, but now he brought it down with both hands and leveled it so that the silencer covered a small circle on Don Jules's chest.

Jules was looking around carefully.

"You can go now," Charlie said.

"Hey!" Jules said, raising his voice and paying no attention to Charlie. Rainbird knew Jules. A book man. Follow each order to the letter and nobody could put you in hack. Keep your ass covered at all times. "Hey, groom! Somebody! I got the kid here!"

"You can go now," Charlie said again, and once more Jules ignored her.

"Come now," he said, clamping a hand over Charlie's wrist. "We got to find somebody."

A bit regretfully, Rainbird prepared to shoot Don Jules. It could be worse; at least Jules would die by the book, and with his ass covered. "I said you could go now," Charlie said, and suddenly Jules let go of her wrist. He didn't just let go; he pulled his hand away, the way you do when you've grabbed hold of something hot.

Rainbird watched this interesting development closely.

Jules had turned and was looking at Charlie. He was rubbing his wrist, but Rainbird was unable to see if there was a mark there or not.

"You get out of here," Charlie said softly.

Jules reached under his coat and Rainbird once more prepared to shoot him. He wouldn't do it until the gun was clear of Jules's jacket and his intention to march her back to the house was obvious.

But the gun was only partway out when he dropped it to the barnboard floor with a cry. He took two steps backward, away from the girl, his eyes wide.

Charlie made a half turn away, as if Jules no longer interested her. There was a faucet protruding from the wall halfway up the long side of the L, and beneath it was a bucket half full of water.

Steam began to rise lazily from the bucket.

Rainbird didn't think Jules noticed that; his eyes were riveted on Charlie.

"Get out of here, you bastard," she said, "or I'll burn you up. I'll fry you."

John Rainbird raised Charlie a silent cheer.

Jules stood looking at her, indecisive. At this moment, with his head down and slightly cocked, his eyes moving restlessly from side to side, he looked ratlike and dangerous. Rainbird was ready to back her play if she had to make one, but he hoped Jules would be sensible. The power had a way of getting out of control.

"Get out right now," Charlie said. "Go back where you came from. I'll be watching to see that you do. Move! Get out of here!"

The shrill anger in her voice decided him. "Take is easy," he said. "Okay. But you got nowhere to go, girl. You got nothing but a hard way to go."

As he spoke he was easing past her, then backing toward the door.

"I'll be watching," Charlie said grimly. "Don't you even turn around, you... you turd."

Jules went out. He said something else, but Rainbird didn't catch it.

"Just go!" Charlie cried.

She stood in the double doorway, back to Rainbird, in a shower of drowsy afternoon sunlight, a small silhouette. Again his love for her came over him. This was the place of their appointment, then.

"Charlie," he called down softly.

She stiffened and took a single step backward. She didn't turn around, but he could feel the sudden recognition and fury flooding through her, although it was visible only in the slow way that her shoulders came up.

"Charlie," he called again. "Hey, Charlie."

"You!" she whispered. He barely caught it. Somewhere below him, a horse nickered softly. "

It's me," he agreed. "Charlie, it's been me all along."

Now she did turn and swept the long side of the stable with her eyes. Rainbird saw her do this, but she didn't see him; he was behind a stack of bales, well out of sight in the shadowy second loft.

"Where are you?" she rasped. "You tricked me! It was you! My daddy says it was you that time at Granther's!" Her hand had gone unconsciously to her throat, where he had laid in the dart. "Where are you?"

Ah, Charlie, wouldn't you like to know?

A horse whinnied; no quiet sound of contentment this, but one of sudden sharp fear. The cry was taken up by another horse. There was a heavy double thud as one of the thoroughbreds kicked at the latched door of his stall.

"Where are you?" she screamed again, and Rainbird felt the temperature suddenly begin to rise. Directly below him, one of the horses-Necromancer, perhapswhinnied loudly, and it sounded like a woman screaming.

9

The door buzzer made its curt, rasping cry, and Cap Hollister stepped into Andy's apartment below the north plantation house. He was not the man he had been a year before. That man had been elderly but tough and hale and shrewd; that man had possessed a face you might expect to see crouching over the edge of a duck blind in November and holding a shotgun with easy authority. This man walked in a kind of distracted shamble. His hair, a strong iron gray a year ago, was now nearly white and babyfine. His mouth twitched infirmly. But the greatest change was in his eyes, which seemed puzzled and somehow childlike; this expression would occasionally be broken by a shooting sideways glance that was suspicious and fearful and almost cringing. His hands hung loosely by his sides and the fingers twitched aimlessly. The echo had become a ricochet that was now bouncing around his brain with crazy, whistling, deadly velocity.

Andy McGee stood to meet him. He was dressed exactly as he had been on that day when he and Charlie had fled up Third Avenue in New York with the Shop sedan trailing behind them. The cord jacket was torn at the seam of the left shoulder now, and the brown twill pants were faded and seatshiny,

The wait had been good for him. He felt that he had been able to make his peace with all of this. Not understanding, no. He felt he would never have that, even if he and Charlie somehow managed to beat the fantastic odds and get away and go on living. He could find no fatal flaw in his own character on which to blame this royal balls-up, no sin of the father that needed to be expiated upon his daughter. It wasn't wrong to need two hundred dollars or to participate in a controlled experiment, anymore than it was wrong to want to be free. If I could get clear, he thought, I'd tell them this: teach your children, teach your babies, teach them well, they say they know what they are doing, and sometimes they do, but mostly they lie.

But it was what it was, n'est-ce pas? One way or another they would at least have a run for their money. But that brought him no feeling of forgiveness or understanding for the people who had done this. In finding peace with himself, he had banked the fires of his hate for the faceless bureaucretins who had done this in the name of national security or whatever it was. Only they weren't faceless now: one of them stood before him, smiling and twitching and vacant. Andy felt no sympathy for Cap's state at all.

You brought it on yourself, chum.

"Hello, Andy," Cap said. "All ready?" "Yes," Andy said. "Carry one of my bags, would you?" Cap's vacuity was broken by one of those falsely shrewd glances. "Have you checked them?" he barked. "Checked them for snakes?" Andy pushed-not hard. He wanted to save as much as he could for an emergency.

"Pick it up," he said, gesturing at one of the two suitcases.

Cap walked over and picked it up. Andy grabbed the other one.

"Where's your car?"

"It's right outside," Cap said. "It's been brought around."

"Will anyone check on us?" What he meant was Will anyone try to stop us?

"Why would they?" Cap asked, honestly surprised. "I'm in charge."

Andy had to be satisfied with that. "We're going out," he said, "and we're going to put these bags in the trunk-"

"Trunk's okay," Cap broke in. "I checked it this morning."

"-and then we're going to drive around to the stable and get my daughter. Any questions?"

"No," Cap said.

"Fine. Let's go."

They left the apartment and walked to the elevator. A few people moved up and down the hall on their own errands. They glanced cautiously at Cap and then looked away. The elevator took them up to the ballroom and Cap led the way down a long front hall.

Josie, the redhead who had been on the door the day Cap had ordered A1 Steinowitz to Hastings Glen, had gone on to bigger and better things. Now a young, prematurely balding man sat there, frowning over a computer-programming text. He had a yellow felt-tip pen in one hand. He glanced up as they approached.

"Hello, Richard," Cap said. "Hitting the books?" Richard laughed. "They're hitting me is more like it." He glanced at Andy curiously. Andy looked back noncommittally. Cap slipped his thumb into a slot and something thumped. A green light shone on Richard's console. "Destination?" Richard asked. He exchanged his felt-tip for a ball-point. It hovered over a small bound book. "Stable," Cap said briskly. "We're going to pick up Andy's daughter and they are. going to escape." "Andrews Air Force Base," Andy countered, and pushed. Pain settled immediately into his head like a dull meat cleaver. "Andrews AFB," Richard agreed, and jotted it into the book, along with the time. "Have a good day, gentlemen."

They went out into breezy October sunshine. Cap's Vega was drawn up on the clean white crushed stone of the circular driveway. "Give me your keys," Andy said. Cap handed them over, Andy opened the trunk, and they stowed the luggage. Andy slammed the trunk and handed the keys back. "Let's go."

Cap drove them on a loop around the duckpond to the stables. As they went, Andy noticed a man in a baseball warmup jacket running across to the house they had just left, and he felt a tickle of unease. Cap parked in front of the open stable doors.

He reached for the keys and Andy slapped his hand lightly. "No. Leave it running. Come on." He got out of the car. His head was thudding, sending rhythmic pulses of pain deep into his brain, but it wasn't too bad yet. Not yet.

Cap got out, then stood, irresolute. "I don't want to go in there," he said. His eyes shifted back and forth wildly in their sockets. "Too much dark. They like the dark. They hide. They bite."

"There are no snakes," Andy said, and pushed out lightly. It was enough to get Cap moving, but he didn't look very convinced. They walked into the stable.

For one wild, terrible moment Andy thought she wasn't there. The change from the light to shadow left his eyes momentarily helpless. It was hot and stuffy in here, and something had upset the horses; they were whinnying and kicking at their stalls. Andy could see nothing.

"Charlie?" he called, his voice cracked and urgent. "Charlie?"

"Daddy!" she called, and gladness shot through him-gladness that turned to dread when he heard the shrill fear in her voice. "Daddy, don't come in! Don't come-"

"I think it's a little late for that," a voice said from somewhere overhead.

10

"Charlie," the voice had called down softly. It was somewhere overhead, but where? It seemed to come from everywhere.

The anger had gusted through her-anger that was fanned by the hideous unfairness of it, the way that it never ended, the way they had of being there at every turn, blocking every lunge for escape. Almost at once she felt it start to come up from inside her. It was always so much closer to the surface now... so much more eager to come bursting out. Like with the man who had brought her over. When he drew his gun, she had simply made it hot so he would drop it. He was lucky the bullets hadn't exploded right inside it.

Already she could feel the heat gathering inside her and beginning to radiate out as the weird battery or whatever it was turned on. She scanned the dark lofts overhead but couldn't spot him. There were too many stacks of bales. Too many shadows.

"I wouldn't, Charlie.'." His voice was a little louder now, but still calm. It cut through the fog of rage and confusion. "You ought to come down here!" Charlie cried loudly. She was trembling. "You ought to come down before I decide to set everything on fire! I can do it!" "I know you can," the soft voice responded. It floated down from nowhere, everywhere. "But if you do, you're going to burn up a lot of horses, Charlie. Can't you hear them?"

She could. Once he had called it to her attention, she could. They were nearly mad with fear, whinnying and battering at their latched doors. Necromancer was in one of those stalls.

Her breath caught in her throat. Again she saw the trench of fire running across the Manders yard and the chickens exploding. She turned toward the bucket of water again and was now badly frightened. The power was trembling on the edge of her ability to control it, and in another moment

(back off!)

it was going to blow loose

(!BACK OFF)

and just go sky high.

(!!BACK OFF, BACK OFF, DO YOU HEAR ME, BACK OFF!!)

This time the half-full bucket did not just steam; it came to an instant, furious boil. A moment later the chrome faucet just over the bucket twisted twice, spun like a propeller, and then blew off the pipe jutting from the wall. The fixture flew the length of the stable like a rocket payload and caromed off the far wall. Water gushed from the pipe. Cold water; she could feel its coldness. But moments after the water spurted out it turned to steam and a hazy mist filled the corridor between the stalls. A coiled green hose that hung on a peg next to the pipe had fused its plastic loops.

(BACK OFF!)

She began to get control of it again and pulled it down. A year ago she would have been incapable of that; the thing would have had to run its own destructive course. She was able to hold on better now... ah, but there was so much more to control!

She stood there, shivering.

"What more do you want?" she asked in a low voice. "Why can't you just let us go?"

A horse whinnied, high and frightened. Charlie understood exactly how it felt.

"No one thinks you can just be let go," Rainbird's quiet voice answered. "I don't think even your father thinks so. You're dangerous, Charlie. And you know it. We could let you go and the next men that grabbed you might be Russians, or North Koreans, maybe even the Heathen Chinese. You may think I'm kidding, but I'm not."

"That's not my fault!" she cried. "No," Rainbird said meditatively. "Of course it isn't. But it's all bullshit anyway. I don't care about the Z factor, Charlie. I never did. I only care about you." "Oh, you liar!" Charlie screamed shrilly. "You tricked me, pretended to be something you weren't-"

She stopped. Rainbird climbed easily over a low pile of bales, then sat down on the edge of the loft with his feet dangling down. The pistol was in his lap. His face was like a ruined moon above her.

"Lied to you? No. I mixed up the truth, Charlie, that's all I ever did. And I did it to keep you alive."

"Dirty liar," she whispered, but was dismayed to find that she wanted to believe him; the sting of tears began behind her eyes. She was so tired and she wanted to believe him, wanted to believe he had liked her.

"You weren't testing," Rainbird said. "Your old man wasn't testing, either. What were they going to do? Say 'Oh, sorry, we made a mistake" and put you back on the street? You've seen these guys at work, Charlie. You saw them shoot that guy Manders in Hastings Glen. They pulled out your own mother's fingernails and then k-"

"Stop it!" she screamed in agony, and the power stirred again, restlessly close to the surface.

"No, I won't," he said. "Time you had the truth, Charlie. I got you going. I made you important to them. You think I did it because it's my job? The fuck I did. They're assholes. Cap, Hockstetter, Pynchot, that guy Jules who brought you over here-they're all assholes."

She stared up at him, as if hypnotized by his hovering face. He was not wearing his eyepatch, and the place where his eye had been was a twisted, slitted hollow, like a memory of horror.

"I didn't lie to you about this," he said, and touched his face. His fingers moved lightly, almost lovingly, up the scars gored in the side of his chin to his flayed cheek to the burned-out socket itself. "I mixed up the truth, yeah. There was no Hanoi Rathole, no Cong. My own guys did it. Because they were assholes, like these guys."

Charlie didn't understand, didn't know what he meant. Her mind was reeling. Didn't he know she could burn him to a crisp where he sat? "None of this matters," he said. "Nothing except you and me. We've got to get straight with each other, Charlie. That's all I want. To be straight with you." And she sensed he was telling the truth-but that some darker truth lay just below his words. There was something he wasn't telling. "Come on up," he said, "and let's talk this out."

Yes, it was like hypnosis. And, in a way, it was like telepathy. Because even though she understood the shape of that dark truth, her feet began to move toward the loft ladder. It wasn't talking that he was talking about. It was ending. Ending the doubt, the misery, the fear... ending the temptation to make ever bigger fires until some awful end came of it. In his own twisted, mad way, he was talking about being her friend in a way no one else could be. And... yes, part of her wanted that. Part of her wanted an ending and a release.

So she began to move toward the ladder, and her hands were on the rungs when her father burst in.

11

"Charlie?" he called, and the spell broke.

Her hands left the rungs and terrible understanding spilled through her. She turned toward the door and saw him standing there. Her first thought

(daddy you got fat!)

passed through her mind and was gone so quickly she barely had a chance to recognize it. And fat or not, it was he; she would have known him anywhere, and her love for him spilled through her and swept away Rainbird's spell like mist. And the understanding was that whatever John Rainbird might mean to her, he meant only death for her father.

"Daddy!" she cried. "Don't come in!" A sudden wrinkle of irritation passed over Rainbird's face. The gun was no longer in his lap; it was pointed straight at the silhouette in the doorway. "I think it's a little late for that," he said. There was a man standing beside her daddy. She thought it was that man they all called Cap. He was just standing there, his shoulders slumped as if they had been broken. "Come in," Rainbird said, and Andy came. "Now stop." Andy stopped. Cap had followed him, a pace or two behind, as if the two of them were tied together. Cap's eyes shifted nervously back and forth in the stable's dimness. "I know you can do it," Rainbird said, and his voice became lighter, almost humorous.

"In fact, you can both do it. But, Mr. McGee... Andy? May I call you Andy?"

"Anything you like," her father said. His voice was calm.

"Andy, if you try using what you've got on me, I'm going to try to resist it just long enough to shoot your daughter. And, of course, Charlie, if you try using what you've got on me, who knows what will happen?"

Charlie ran to her father. She pressed her face against the rough wale of his corduroy jacket.

"Daddy, Daddy," she whispered hoarsely.

"Hi, cookie," he said, and stroked her hair. He held her, then looked up at Rainbird. Sitting there on the edge of the loft like a sailor on a mast, he was the one-eyed pirate of Andy's dream to the life. "So what now?" he asked Rainbird. He was aware that Rainbird could probably hold them here until the fellow he had seen running across the lawn brought back help, but somehow he didn't think that was what this man wanted.

Rainbird ignored his question. "Charlie?" he said.

Charlie shuddered beneath Andy's hands but did not turn around.

"Charlie," he said again, softly, insistently. "Look at me, Charlie."

Slowly, reluctantly, she turned around and looked up at him.

"Come on up here," he said, "like you were going to do. Nothing has changed. We'll finish our business and all of this will end." "No, I can't allow that," Andy said, almost pleasantly. "We're leaving." "Come up, Charlie," Rainbird said, "or I'm going to put a bullet into your father's head right now. You can burn me, but I'm betting I can pull this trigger before it happens."

Charlie moaned deep in her throat like a hurt animal.

"Don't move, Charlie," Andy said.

"He'll be fine," Rainbird said. His voice was low, rational, persuasive. "They'll send him to Hawaii and he'll be fine. You choose, Charlie. A bullet in the head for him or the golden sands there on Kalami Beach. Which is it going to be? You choose."

Her blue eyes never leaving Rainbird's one, Charlie took a trembling step away from her father.

"Charlie!" he said sharply. "No!"

"It'll be over," Rainbird said. The barrel of the pistol was unwavering; it never left Andy's head. "And that's what you want, isn't it? I'll make it gentle and I'll make it clean. Trust me, Charlie. Do it for your father and do it for yourself. Trust me."

She took another step. And another.

"No," Andy said. "Don't listen to him, Charlie."

But it was as if he had given her a reason to go. She walked to the ladder again. She put her hands on the rung just above her head and then paused. She looked up at Rainbird, and locked her gaze with his.

"Do you promise he'll be all right?"

"Yes," Rainbird said, but Andy felt it suddenly and completely: the force of the lie... all his lies.

I'll have to push her, he thought with dumb amazement. Not him, but her.

He gathered himself to do it. She was already standing on the first rung, her hands grasping the next one over her head.

And that was when Cap-they had all forgotten him-began to scream.

12

When Don Jules got back to the building Cap and Andy had left only minutes before, he was so wild-looking that Richard, on door duty, grasped the gun inside his drawer.

"What-"he began.