“Right.”

  “And run a trace on the intermediate banks they used for the transfer—see if any other large sums have gone through them in the last week or two.”

  “On it,” Eric grinned. “You know, this would have been impossible—or at least really difficult—without both the NSA and banking codes.”

  “And it would have taken forever to get a court order to do the trace in the first place.” Dana nodded. “We may be the only people who are able to track this.”

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  “Nothing until you finish your search. Afterwards, I’m going to follow the letter of the law and notify Homeland Security.” She watched the numbers ebb and flow across Eric’s screen. “Then, while they dither about what to do about it, you and I will find out exactly what’s going on out there.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Katelyn watched as, one by one, each of the girls in the long dormitory room were marched down the hallway to the larger room where, she assumed, each was photographed or videoed or whatever the men were doing with the digital camera.

  They’ve sent those pictures to all of our families now, she thought. And they’re waiting for the ransom to be paid.

  She wondered if her father would come up with the money. I know he’s got it. She frowned. And I also know how much he wants to keep it. She stared at the door. What will he do?

  She sighed. What will I do?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Got another hit, Dana.” Bivens was working his console to pinpoint the date. “Same figure—two hundred grand—this time from a stockbroker in Manhattan.” He leaned closer. “Looks like it went through the same routing.”

  “Okay, two means we’ve got to report this.” Dana picked up her phone, sent a terse text. “The only question is who should I talk to first…”

  “Not Homeland Security?” He frowned as he saw her shake her head. “Who then? CIA? NSA? Who are you going to tell about this?”

  “I can’t tell you that.” She looked at her friend. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “I understand.” He turned back to his consoles. “You really can’t trust me after what happened in the White House.”

  “That’s got nothing to do with it—I give you my word on that,” Dana’s phone buzzed and she checked out the displayed text, then stood and headed for the door. “I trust you completely.” She stopped and looked at him. “But I’m not the only one who has a stake in this.”

  “You’re talking about Flame.”

  “Flame trusts you because I trust you.” She shook her head. “But there are other parties involved here—parties I’m not at liberty to talk about.”

  “We have a sponsor?” His eyes widened. “Someone in black ops?”

  “Wrap this search up with a pretty ribbon—give me something that shows just how good you are.” She opened the door. “Then maybe I can tell you.”

  He turned back to his computer as the door closed behind her.

  ***

  It didn’t take Flame long to walk through the village of Scarsdale, which had a variety of older buildings interspaced with more modern ones. It might be considered quaint, he thought.

  The local public works people seemed obsessed with leaves—there were trucks everywhere he turned, picking up every leaf they could find.

  He ate lunch at the Parkway Tavern. Portions were small and, he thought, grossly overpriced. I guess that happens when you have a town full of rich people.

  After lunch he checked out the train station before scoping out three alternate routes from the school to the Forrests' house. It was just a few minutes before three when he returned to the long sloping school driveway and sat on one of the benches there to wait for Kimberly.

  While he waited, he looked over the small number of cars that had come to pick up students. Most of them seemed to belong but one, a dark-colored van, seemed out of place…

  Don’t get too suspicious, Flame told himself. Might just be a family that’s fallen on hard times or a kid picking up a friend… He casually stood, right hand brushing the butt of his 1911 to make sure it hadn’t shifted during his walk. Still, it won’t hurt to check it out…

  He had almost reached the vehicle when a bell rang loudly and teenagers began to pour out of the big front doors. As if on cue, the driver started the van’s motor and, before Flame could get a look, pulled away from the curb and headed away from the school grounds.

  Not here to make a pickup, then. Flame had tried to get a look at the van’s plates but they were spattered with mud and impossible to read. I’ll have to brief Gino on this—and make sure we keep a lookout for our driver to return. He nodded to himself. I don’t think we’ll tell Mr. and Mrs. Forrest or Kimberly about this. No use worrying them unnecessarily.

  He would brief Dana. She had to know in case he screwed the pooch.

  That would keep until later. For now, he saw his charge coming down the steps, her little entourage of moonstruck boys and admiring girls in her wake.

  Flame turned to meet her, forcing a smile onto his face.

  ***

  Dana arrived at the little trucker bar first—which meant that she, by what had become custom, purchased the first round. She had just set the two filled glasses on the table when the admiral walked in and settled into the seat across from her.

  “Something important, you said?”

  “Maybe.” She glanced around the room, made sure nobody was close. “Bivens has been looking over financial movements for Mr. Forrest.”

  “I know that.”

  “Forrest’s fears seem to be misplaced—but because of the unique combination of the bank’s programs and the NSA systems, we did come across some unusual financial movements.”

  “What kind?”

  “Large sums coming from legitimate sources that are transferred through at least four offshore cut-outs before making their way to a bank we know funds terrorist activities—including payments to the families of suicide bombers.”

  “How much has moved so far?”

  “We’ve found three payments of two hundred thousand each.”

  “Odd that they’re all going into the same amount.” He sipped his drink. “That’s suggestive, I think.”

  “Blackmail or ransom I figure.”

  “I would agree.” He looked at her. “What have you done about it?”

  “So far, nothing.” She shrugged. “I thought I’d talk to you before passing it on to CIA or Homeland Security.”

  “Give it to both of them.” He finished his glass and signaled for another. “Without mentioning that you spoke to me, of course. I’ll bird-dog it from my end and keep you in the loop.”

  “And I’ll let you know if we find anything else.”

  “Good.” He smiled. “How’s Flame doing?”

  “So far, he’s not doing much of anything.” She finished her own drink. “I’ll leave him where he is for now—at the very least, he could use the rest.”

  “Don’t leave him there too long.” The admiral drained his refilled glass in one gulp. “There’s something coming down I might want him to check out.”

  “Any idea of when that might be?”

  “Not right away.” He shrugged. “Maybe not at all. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Do that.” Dana stood. “I’m going to go back and see if Bivens found anything else.”

  “Let me know if he did.”

  Two drinks in ten minutes. Dana headed for the door. It must have been a bad day, she thought when she saw him order another. A very bad day.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Masayo watched the other girls bunch up near the door—it was almost time for them to get fed. She had been the last one to be taken in front of the digital camera—something that worried her.

  Do they consider me the least valuable of their hostages? she asked herself. Or was it merely chance that I was left for last?

  She didn’t know—she had no way of knowing. Still, considering the fact that she was the only one of the captives to have been badly treated, she had to wonder if she was thought to be “expendable.”

  She hoped that wasn’t the case. She was determined to make these men pay for what they had done to her. Dying without having the opportunity to do so would be a shameful thing.

  A very shameful thing.

  Masayo began to consider alternatives.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “How was your day, sweetheart?” Eric Forrest seemed in good spirits as he leaned over the dinner table to talk to his daughter. “Anything interesting in school?”

  “Did you know that Flame,” she said, and nodded at the big SEAL sitting to her right, “runs more than ten miles in the morning? Every morning?”

  “Not every morning, Kimberly.” Flame gave Forrest an apologetic look. “I can’t do it when I’m on the job in the field or…”

  “You did it this morning,” Kimberly’s eyes burned into his. “And I’ll bet you plan to do it tomorrow morning too—right?”

  “Well…”

  “Daddy,” she said, turning to Forrest. “I’d like to go running with him—Flame says it’s healthy and my teachers agree.” She smiled. “I might not be able to go all the way but I’ll bet I could run two or three miles.”

  The banker turned toward Flame, eyebrow raised. “Can she run with you, Flame?”

  “Really, Eric!” Mrs. Forrest glared at her husband. “Do you really want our girl to be doing that sort of thing?”

  “She’s right—it is healthy, dear.” He returned the glare, his voice forcefully telling her that he had already made his decision. “It’ll be good for her.”

  Flame saw the friction between the two—wondered what effect it would have on his mission. Do I really want to get into the middle of this husband and wife shit? He glanced at the girl who had put her head down and was pretending to eat her green beans. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to let the girl try a little run with me. The redhead paused to think about it. I’d be with her all the time—she’d be safe enough. He wondered what the mother’s problem with the idea was. She must exercise in some way. He glanced at her toned and tanned (probably with some kind of chemical) body. Otherwise she wouldn’t look like that. He gave a quick nod. Okay, we’ll give it a try. He studied the girl’s still-sulking face. I’m not sure she can manage ten miles. A grin crossed his face. I’m not even sure she can manageone.Still, it would give him the opportunity to get to know his charge better and just might smoke out the van driver he’d seen at the school. I’ll have to have a talk with Gino to make sure he covers me if I need him. The other man was having a nap, preparing for his night’s watch.

  “Ma’am, it really is a good way to stay in shape and if she wants to try it…”

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Kimberly dear?” Mrs. Forrest’s voice showed some real concern—which rather surprised Flame. “You might end up too exhausted to attend school and we all know…”

  “I’ll be okay, Mom.” Kimberly turned to Flame. “If we start at five or so, we can be back by, what time, Flame?”

  “Mrs. Forrest, I will have her back here by seven so she has time for a nice shower and breakfast. I give you my personal guarantee.”

  “Well…”

  “Let her do it.” Forrest glanced at his wife with a look that declared the discussion over. “I think it would be a good thing.”

  “All right,” Mrs. Forrest nodded in surrender. “Although,” she mentioned, and gave her daughter a challenging look, “I would be surprised if she manages to run even a single mile.”

  “I’ll do more than that, Mom.” Kimberly nodded solemnly. “A lot more than that.”

  ***

  Flame was surprised to find her waiting for him at five the next morning. He and Gino had arranged things in such a way that when Flame met the girl, Gino headed out, taking Flame’s car and, apparently, heading back toward the city.

  Flame looked the girl over and was pleased to see that she had actually dressed properly for the task she had set herself.

  Kimberly was wearing lightweight running shorts and a Scarsdale High letter shirt over a dark sports bra. She had expensive cross-trainers on her feet and a headband to keep her blonde mane from drooping down over her eyes.

  She had put on no makeup at all.

  “Okay,” Flame told her. “Let’s stretch out a little before we start.” He showed her how to use the steps to brace herself and how to stretch her hamstrings and Achilles tendon enough to prevent a cramp. When they had spent a few minutes doing that, he motioned for her to join him as, at a trot, he led them up the long driveway toward the golf course that was just up the road.

  Surprisingly, she kept up with him with no apparent trouble. The two of them were boasting a light sweat as Flame led her onto the running path that circled the carefully manicured first fairway and headed under the trees. The two of them ran side by side, their feet barely making a sound on the beaten dirt of the runner’s path.

  “You’ve done this before,” Flame said as they passed the first mile marker. “Did you run track at that all-girls school you told me about?”

  “Cross country.” Kimberly smiled. “I loved the way it made me feel but Mom was so afraid that I’d hurt myself or work up a sweat or mess up my hair…”

  “Your mother loves you, Kimberly.” Flame grinned. “Let her worry about you—but don’t let her run your life.”

  “I try, really I…”

  Before she could finish her thought, two ski-masked figures with knives appeared out of the woods, moving to block the runners’ path…

  Not the kind of thing I expected, Flame thought watching the two men in front of him. I mean—knives? A slow smile spread across his face. I think I’m insulted! He took a half-step, made sure Kimberly was safely behind him, and waited for the two to make their move.

  When it came, it was incredibly clumsy.

  What the hell? Flame was almost frozen in shock as one of the two charged straight at him, yelling at the top of his lungs and holding the knife out in front of him as if it was a spear.

  Flame held his position for an instant to make sure it wasn’t just a ploy to allow the second man to get past him. When he was sure that wasn’t the case, he took a half step forward and flowed into an attack with all the grace and power of years of experience.

  He knocked the questing knife blade out of line with a wrist block, then, with the immediate danger nullified, Flame took a grip on the man’s wrist and twisted him to one side, kicking his legs out from under him. As the man fell, Flame moved in and smashed a heel into the masked attacker’s groin…

  The man screamed as that heel connected.

  Sure that the first attacker was no longer a problem, Flame whirled, ready for the second man’s attack.

  It didn’t come.

  “My God!” The remaining masked man was staring at the writhing form of the first attacker. “What did you do?”

  “What I’m paid to do.” Flame gestured for the man to make his move. “It’s your turn.”

  Instead of making any sort of menacing move, the man threw his knife down and yanked his ski mask off.

  “James Keaton!” Kimberly stepped up beside Flame, eyes wide. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

  “You’ve been talking this guy up so much.” Keaton gestured toward Flame. “We thought we’d see just how tough he really was.” He looked at the crumpled body near Flame’s feet. “Is Richard dead?”

  “No.” Flame bent over the supine body. “I wanted to be able to talk to him.” He pulled the mask off, revealing another teenaged boy. “He might be a soprano for a couple of days…”

  Kimberly giggled at that.

  “But I could easily have killed him, with my hands or…” Flame drew his 1911 from its holster. “This. I could have killed both of you if I had wanted!” He stood, the weapon glinting in the early-morning sun. “Do you understand that?”

  “Yes sir,” Keaton nodded quickly. “We won’t bother you again, sir—I promise.”

  “Take your friend home—tell him that hot compresses usually work.” He smiled. “Eventually.” Flame holstered his pistol and turned to Kimberly, checking his watch. “We’d better start back—it’s getting late.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  The two walked around Richard’s still whimpering body and headed back up the path in the direction they had come from, picking up the pace as they went.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Dana stalked out of the Homeland Security Office with a barely-concealed snarl on her face.

  Bastards don’t even want to talk to me—after all, I’m an outsider—not a high-and-mighty instrument of the even mightier government! She shook her head. Stupid! Even after I assured them that I had hard data—information that clearly shows a flow of money going from US banks to a terrorist sponsor. Another shake of the head. They didn’t even ask to see it.

  She slammed though the rotating door and out onto the street. They as much as told me they didn’t need to look—after all, they know everything that’s going on…

  As she turned up the street, having decided that walking back to her office would help her calm down, the beltway telegraph system was already in action. The agent she had spoken with called his boyfriend at State to tell him about the ex-NSA bitch who had tried to teach him his job. That boyfriend told one of his buddies about the so-called movement of funds, emphasizing just how impossible such a movement was without Homeland Security spotting it. The buddy repeated the story (with embellishment) to a banker friend who told a money manager…

  And so on, and so on, and so on…

  Sometime that afternoon it reached a pair of ears who had a quite different reaction. Their owner knew that the story was true—and that the people he worked for did not want any part of the US government taking notice, especially now, when money was actually changing hands.