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and my sudden guess was that it was the mystery man. Jordan Shandy.
    Lockridge saw it, too.
    “Goddamn,” he said. “That’s the guy, right? I think that’s the charter. Shandy.”
    “Yeah,” I said. “Me, too.”
    I put the print of Shandy holding up the Spanish mackerel next to the enlargement. There was no way to make a match but there was nothing that made me think the other way. There was no way to be sure but I was sure. I knew that the same man who had showed up unannounced for a private charter with Terry McCaleb had also stalked and photographed his family.
    What I didn’t know was where McCaleb had gotten these photos and whether he had made the same jump as I had just made.
    I started stacking all of the photos I had printed. All the time I was trying to put something together, some connection of logic. But it wasn’t there. I didn’t have enough of the picture. Only a few pieces. My instincts told me that McCaleb had been baited in some way. Photos of his family came to him in the form of an e-mail or a photo chip or a CD. And the last two photos were the key. The first thirty-four were the bait. The last two were the hook hidden inside that bait.
    I believed the message was obvious. The photographer wanted to draw McCaleb out to the desert. Out to Zzyzx Road.

9

    R ACHEL WALLING RODE THE ESCALATOR down into the cavernous baggage pickup area at McCarran International. She had carried her luggage during the journey from South Dakota but the airport was designed so that every passenger had to go this way. The escalator landing area was crowded with people waiting. Limo drivers held signs with the names of their clients, others just held up signs that announced the names of hotels or casinos or tour companies. The cacophony rising from the room assaulted her as she descended. It was nothing like the airport where she had started her travels that morning.
    Cherie Dei was going to meet her. Rachel had not seen the fellow FBI agent in four years and that was only a brief interaction in Amsterdam. It had been eight years since she had really spent any kind of time with her and she wasn’t sure she would recognize her or that she would be recognized herself.
    It didn’t matter. As she searched the sea of faces and signs it was a sign that caught her eye.

    BOB BACKUS

    The woman holding it was smiling at her. Her idea of a joke. Rachel approached, without returning the smile.
    Cherie Dei had reddish brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was attractive and trim with a good smile, her eyes still with a lot of light in them. Rachel thought she looked more like the mother of a couple of Catholic school kids than a serial killer hunter.
    Dei extended her hand. They shook and Dei proffered the sign.
    “I know, bad joke, but I knew it would get your attention.”
    “Yes, it did.”
    “Did you have a long layover in Chicago?”
    “A few hours. Not much choice flying out of Rapid City. Denver or Chicago. I like the food better at O’Hare.”
    “Do you have bags?”
    “No, just this. We can go.”
    Rachel was carrying one bag—a midsize duffel. She had packed only a few changes of clothing. Dei pointed toward one of the banks of glass doors and they headed that way.
    “We got you in at the Embassy Suites where the rest of us are staying. We almost didn’t but they had a cancellation. The town is crowded because of the fight.”
    “What fight?”
    “I don’t know. Some super heavyweight or junior middleweight boxing match at one of the casinos. I didn’t pay attention. I just know it’s the reason this place gets so crowded.”
    Rachel knew that Cherie was talking because she was nervous. She didn’t know the reason for this, whether anything had happened or it was simply because Rachel had to be handled carefully in this situation.
    “If you want we can go to the hotel, get you settled in there. You could even take some time to rest if you want. There’s a meeting later at the FO. You could