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not far from the entry to the Carson place, got it on video, thought maybe you could run it through your database, see what you find.”
    “I’m not officially on this case,” he said. “Not yet anyway.”
    “I don’t want you to do anything you shouldn’t, but . . . I’d like to see if this means anything.”
    “Why not go through channels? Take it to the cops?”
    Shannon hesitated, disappointed that Gerald wanted to probe. “Things at the house are pretty confusing,” she finally said. “This film points toward homicide, so I’ll look stupid if you run this, find nothing, and the cops accept the suicide option. A troublemaker, you know, meddling where I shouldn’t. The media is liable to pick it up too, the park ranger with a murder conspiracy. I don’t need that publicity; no one does.”
    “I see your point.”
    “So you’ll do it?”
    “Your wish is my command, Shannon. I was going to do it all along, just wanted to hear your reasoning for the offline requirement. Might take a couple of days, but I’ll dig up what I can.”
    “I’m sending you the video.”
    “I’m waiting on it.”
    “I owe you, Gerald.”
    “I’m counting on that.”
    “Call me if you find anything.”
    She sent the video, then hung up and tamped down her conscience. She wasn’t leading Gerald on, but still . . .
    Shaking her head, she wondered where Carson was, hoped against hope that he, indeed, was innocent. On impulse, she pulled the number Luisa had given her from her back pocket and punched in the number. Luisa’s voice mail picked up.
    Shannon hung up without leaving a message and listened to the rain falling on her windshield. “Be safe, Rick Carson,” she spoke quietly. “You’re more important than you could ever imagine.”

10
    A row of plasma screens on a wood-paneled wall flashed images from all over the world into the penthouse office where Walter Augustine sat in a high-backed leather chair smoking a hand-rolled Cuban cigar. Although interested in each situation depicted on the multiple screens, Augustine cared most about the scenes from Detroit, Atlanta, and Boston. Scores of ambulances idled in clumps, law enforcement officials ran out and back, media trucks fought for the best locations, and grieving citizens moaned and wailed. Priceless.
    Augustine wore a blue-tooth receiver in his left ear and talked over an encrypted line with his primary assassin, Nolan Charbeau, as he gnawed on his cigar. Three other people sat in the room with him in similar leather chairs—Mohammed Al Baroque, head of the Islamic Federation for Freedom; Susan Britt, chair of the International Atheist’s Society; and Hui Lee Chan, the second in command in the “new” China emerging on the world scene—each of them part of the executive council of Augustine’s most important endeavor. Only Augustine, however, could hear Charbeau’s voice.
    “You completed your assignment in Montana?” Augustine asked Charbeau.
    “Cops will clean this up faster than a frog eats a fly if all goes as planned. Drug overdose, accidental or otherwise. They’ll stew over the knife a little, but when they find no explanation, they’ll let it go as one of life’s big mysteries.”
    “No loose ends?”
    “Golden Boy took off, bit of a surprise there.”
    Augustine fiddled with the blue silk tie that adorned his hand-tailored, pinstriped gray suit. “Any idea where he went?”
    “Not yet but I’m poking around, asking questions.”
    “He no doubt felt threatened by a possible homicide charge. He’s had a few run-ins with the authorities.”
    “I’ll find him soon enough, left a couple of boys in Montana to keep an eyeball on things.”
    Augustine stood, laid the cigar in an ashtray, and moved to the round top window that overlooked New York. His compatriots nestled in their chairs, each of them listening by earphone to the Atlanta TV station as they waited on Augustine to assess the situation. They’d learned over the years to trust