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accept?”
    “Oh, yes, ma’am!” Holly said.
    “Good,” the director said. “I wasn’t sure there for a minute.”
    “I’m just a little bowled over.”
    “All right, you go down to your office and spend the rest of the day getting ready to hand off to your successor, who will be appointed shortly. And you start here tomorrow morning.” She stood up and offered her hand.
    Holly stood and took the hand.
    “Grace will issue you new credentials before the day is out. Your new title will be—well, I’m a little torn about that. Greg was assistant to the director, but that might make you sound like a secretary, and that’s Grace’s job. I think assistant director is better. You’ll be the only person in the Agency with that title. Oh, and you’ll get a better parking space, too, right next to mine.” She made a shooing motion with her hand.
    —
    H olly went back to her office in a daze. She stopped at Lance’s open door and looked in.
    “I heard everything,” Lance said. “This is the best possible thing that could have happened. We’re in a new ball game now.”
    Holly took that to mean that Lance felt his chances of succeeding Kate Lee had improved. “In that case, congratulations, Lance,” she said.
    “Yeah, yeah. Now get out of here. I’m reviewing candidates for your job.”
    Holly turned to go.
    Lance called after her, “And, Holly?”
    She looked back. “Yes?”
    “Congratulations to you, too.” Lance actually smiled.

 14 
    M ike Freeman picked up his phone at the L.A. offices of Strategic Services. “Yes?”
    “Mike, it’s Scott Hipp.”
    “Hello, Scott, how’s life?”
    “Interesting,” Hipp replied.
    “Uh-oh.”
    Hipp laughed. “You have a point: when it’s interesting here, it’s often hairy elsewhere.”
    “That has been my experience,” Mike replied. “What is it this time? Any more mentions of The Arrington in your traffic?”
    “No, but . . . You still have a scrambler on that phone?”
    The scrambler was one manufactured by the electronics division of Strategic Services, and Hipp had been given one. Mike pressed a button. “Go,” he said.
    “My people picked up an e-mail sent from a cell phone in California to a Middle Eastern website we keep a watch on. It read: ‘All is well. I am fine.’”
    “Did you run it through decoding?”
    “Yes, and it appears to have been sent in the clear.”
    “Sounds like someone has completed a task,” Mike said.
    “Right. It was signed ‘Nod.’”
    “As in land of Nod?”
    “Correct. We’re running references on that now.”
    “So the only connection to The Arrington is that it came from California?”
    “So far. That and the fact that it was transmitted via a cell tower at the top of Stone Canyon, in L.A.”
    “I know the one—it would cover The Arrington’s location.”
    “Yes, but because of the tower’s elevation, it would cover a big chunk of Beverly Hills and the San Fernando Valley, as well.”
    “You have a point.”
    “A rather blunt point, I’m afraid.”
    “Right now, that’s the way I like it,” Mike said. “If it were any sharper, I’d be worried.”
    “Are you worried enough for me to pass this on to the Secret Service?”
    “If it were my call, no,” Mike said. “But that’s your call.”
    “I think I’ll hold off until I have more, if we should actually get more, which I doubt.”
    “I think that’s wise.”
    There was a brief silence, then Hipp said, “You know Holly Barker, don’t you?”
    “Sure,” Mike said. “I sold our air transport company to the Agency a few years back, and Holly ran it for a few months, until they could hire somebody who could get through the vetting.”
    “Well, Holly got promoted to assistant director at the Agency.”
    “Assistant director? I didn’t know they had those. I thought it was deputy director.”
    “That’s the way it was, until Holly got the title. She’s replacing Greg Whatshisname, who was assistant to the Director. Greg