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“We were all looking for Cobb, but Jill—she apparently got a line on him in Georgia or someplace like that down in cracker land. And she went off to do him but didn’t tell nobody. Then she shows up dead in Chicago.” Nickie shook his head, his limited thinking abilities already strained by what he was relating. “It didn’t make no sense—the feds wouldn’t have done that. Now Mike wants to know who done Jill. And he still wants Cobb. More than ever.”

“Philip Cobb? Or his wife?”

Nickie shrugged. “Both. But mainly the guy.” He paused. “But there’s also a rumor that maybe Jill got to Philip Cobb and killed him.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Just heard it,” Nickie said evasively.

“Fastone went down there to kill the Cobbs?” Giannini asked, trying to figure out all the angles to this maze.

“Yeah. At least that’s what we all think,” Nickie amended.

Giannini sat back in her seat. “What about Tom Volpe?”

A mask slid over Nickie’s face. “I don’t know nothing about that.”

She wanted to know more, but she was too confused by what she already did have. “How much is the contract on Cobb up to?”

“Five hundred thousand.”

She whistled lightly. “Shit, they are pissed, aren’t they? That’s a little high, ain’t it?”

“Cobb put Michael away for a long time.” Nickie looked at her, then leaned forward. “But there’s more than just Mikey being pissed. Word I hear is that Cobb got some money that belongs to the Torrentinos squirreled away somewhere. A lot of money.”

“What’s a lot of money, Nickie?”

He licked his lips. “I’m hearing rumors of a couple of mill. That’s what really burned Mikey’s ass—he didn’t know about it until after they went to trial. Not only does Cobb put Mikey away and walk free, but he walks away a rich man with our money. Now you know why Mikey wants Cobb so bad.”

Giannini frowned. Something wasn’t making sense here. “Any word of a freelance professional trying to horn in on it?”

“Uh-uh. Charlie’s keeping this in the family.” Nickie looked around. “Listen, I really got to go.”

“All right.” Giannini didn’t watch him leave. She sat at the small table for almost ten minutes, lost in thought.

CAMP MACKALL

31 OCTOBER, 1:12 p.m.

Lisa watched the vividly painted Camaro bump its way along the east side of the airstrip from the perch Hammer had chosen for them in a tree on the west side. “The lights are on,” she noted.

“Yeah, but that ain’t his truck,” he muttered in return.

“What do we do?” she asked.

“Right time. Right place. Right signal,” Hammer recited. “Let’s hope it’s the right person. We let it go by once—see if anyone’s following.”

The Camaro passed by and then disappeared out of sight at the far end of the airstrip. Five minutes later it reappeared on the same road, heading in the opposite direction.

“All right,” Hammer said. He pulled out a survival mirror from his pocket and angled it, reflecting sunlight at the car’s windshield. Ten seconds later the car came to a stop, then turned and headed across the dirt strip directly for their position. Hammer tapped Lisa on the shoulder. “You stay here.”

He slipped down to the ground and took up position behind some deadfall, thirty yards away. He pulled his revolver out of its shoulder holster and cocked it. The car passed between several trees and came to a halt near the tree in which Lisa was hidden. Hammer steadied his aim on the windshield.

The driver’s door opened and Riley stepped out, MP-5 at the ready, looking about. Hammer put his thumb on the hammer, and slowly let it ride forward before standing. “Yo!”

Riley turned. “Where’s Lisa?”

“I’m here,” she called out as she clambered down to the ground. “What do we do now?” she asked as she came over.

“First, we get this car undercover,” Riley said.

“My truck’s about forty yards that way,” Hammer said, pointing. “In a depression that you couldn’t find unless you practically walked on top of it. That car should fit. Think you could have picked something a little more conspicuous?”

“I didn’t have the opportunity to be choosy,” Riley replied, his sense of humor gone.

Once the vehicles were in place, the three gathered at one end of the pit. It was about forty yards long by twenty wide and could be entered only on one end by car. The dirt walls were about eight feet high and ranged in slope from vertical to sixty degrees. The marks of backhoes and bulldozers were evident throughout the area.

“Looks like some engineer unit dug this thing for a training exercise a while back,” Riley commented.

“I found it when I was working for F Company six months ago,” Hammer said. “One of the points for the land nav course is about a quarter mile to the west.”

Lisa reached out and grabbed Riley’s sleeve. “What happened to my brother?” Riley’s brief pause struck home. “He’s in trouble, isn’t he?” Lisa continued, her heart pounding. “You said he was the link to Giannini, and if they got to Giannini—that means they got to him.”

“Giannini’s all right,” Riley said. He looked at Lisa, trying to think of a gentle way to say what he knew. Then he simply said it. “Your brother is dead.”

Lisa leaned back against the hood of the car for support. “How?”

“Someone got to him—Giannini got there too late. He was dead when she arrived at his house, and whoever killed him knocked her out and got my number off her portable. I think that’s how they tracked us to Fayetteville and the drop.”

Hammer stepped forward. “What’s the plan now?”

“We wait,” Riley said, opening his rucksack and pulling out his small stove. “Anyone for some coffee?” He glanced up at Lisa and saw the look on her face. He was not used to dealing with civilians, and realized he was being too matter-of-fact. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

She seemed dazed. “It’s all come apart, hasn’t it? From the very beginning my life was doomed to failure. I should have known my place and kept to it.”

Riley wasn’t sure what she meant. He stood. “Why don’t you lie down in the car and get some rest. You’ve been through a lot.”

He escorted Lisa to the back of the Camaro, and she numbly climbed into the cramped backseat. Riley put his poncho liner over her, then stood awkwardly, looking down at her for a while before returning to his stove.

“What are we waiting for?” Hammer asked Riley as he walked up.

“We wait to talk to Giannini and hopefully find out what’s going on.”

“What’s she doing?”

“I’m not sure,” Riley replied as he lit the stove. “I got attacked last night at my apartment, so the meeting must have been blown. Like I said, they must have traced me from my phone number off Giannini’s portable phone.”

“You were attacked?” Hammer repeated. “What happened?”

Riley related the events of the early morning. When he was done, Hammer was shaking his head. “It doesn’t make any sense. How come there were two sets of people outside your apartment? And why did one group kill the other?”

“I don’t know,” Riley said. “But whoever the second group was, they’re extremely well organized. They didn’t hesitate to fire at me once they busted through my front door. And a few hours later there was no sign of the cops at my place, and nothing in the paper or on the radio this morning about two bodies being found.”

“The same as when she was attacked on the freeway,” Hammer noted, nodding toward the car.

“Yeah,” Riley said. “We need to go deep under until Giannini comes up with something to get us out of this mess.”

“Any idea where we should go?” Hammer asked. “I’m not too sure hanging around here is the best idea.”

“I’ve got us a way out of here that can’t be traced, and we’ll be going to a place where someone could hide out for years without getting spotted.”

Hammer was intrigued. “Where?”

Riley smiled grimly. “You’ll see.”

Chapter Thirteen

CHICAGO

31 OCTOBER, 1:10 p.m.

The young flunky in the three-piece suit was not impressed with Giannini’s police ID or her rumpled appearance. “Captain Donnelly normally requires people to have appointments to see her. She’s a very busy person,” the young man added, snapping open a file folder.

Giannini glanced past him at the door with Donnelly’s name on it, then back at him. “This isn’t a normal situation.”

“I suppose it might not be, but since you won’t tell me what it is, I really can’t—”

Giannini didn’t let him complete the sentence. “You go to your boss and you whisper in her ear the name Philip Cobb.”

The young man looked startled for the first time. He got up and disappeared. In thirty seconds he was back with the district supervisor for the Federal Witness Protection Program. Donnelly towered over both of them in her high heels. She extended a hand to Giannini. “Chris Donnelly.”

“Donna Giannini, Metro Homicide.”

Donnelly gestured toward her office. “Why don’t we go inside and talk?” She led the way, shutting the door behind Giannini. The office was on the eighteenth floor and had a superb view of downtown Chicago. An L-shaped desk dominated one side, the front portion empty except for a neat stack of file folders. A computer, screen glowing, sat on the short side of the L along with three phones.

“I think I work for the wrong people,” Giannini commented, taking in the office.

“Working for the federal government does have its advantages,” Donnelly admitted. She took her seat and steepled her fingers. “What about Philip Cobb?”

Giannini was tired of sparring with people. “He’s dead.”

Donnelly didn’t blink. “How do you know that?”

“I got a phone call from his wife, who saw his body.”

Without a word Donnelly turned to her computer and her fingers flew over the keys. After thirty seconds of tapping, she paused and waited. Finally she shook her head. “I’m afraid your information is wrong. I’m showing a green status on the Cobbs—both Philip and Lisa.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means both are alive and healthy and under no threat.” Donnelly turned from her computer. “So what kind of game are you playing, detective? I don’t appreciate people coming in here with stories.”

Giannini was taken aback. She didn’t know for sure that Philip Cobb was dead; she only knew what Lisa had told Riley. She did know that Tom Volpe was dead, but that wasn’t information she felt like spreading to the feds right now. It was confusing enough; she needed to keep others out of the loop as much as possible. Could Lisa have been mistaken about Philip? And what did Lisa know about Philip’s hidden money that Nickie referred to? She wished she knew Lisa Cobb better. What was real here?

Giannini tried a different approach. “What about Jill Fastone?”

“Who?”

“The woman who set up Philip Cobb with the Torrentinos. Her body was found here yesterday.”

Donnelly shrugged. “I didn’t know that, and quite frankly I don’t care. Is that what you’re here for? To try and get a line on Philip Cobb for your investigation into Fastone’s murder? Is that why you’re giving me this story about Cobb being dead?” Donnelly stood. “You can leave now, and you can be sure I will be in contact with your superiors. The Witness Protection Program is a highly classified operation, and we don’t appreciate people trying to interfere. There are proper procedures to be followed if you desire information, and coming to my door and trying to trick me into releasing information is not one of them.”

“Wait a second,” Giannini protested. “I’m not sure exactly what’s going on, but I was called by Lisa Cobb, and she said that her husband was dead and people were trying to kill her. She called me from North Carolina two nights ago.”

For the first time Donnelly’s professional composure cracked slightly. “North Carolina? What did she say?”

“She said someone had killed her husband and that they were trying to kill her,” Giannini repeated.

“Who is ‘they’?”

“She assumed it was the mob. Jill Fastone showed up at the motel where Lisa and her husband were.”

“Where’s Mrs. Cobb now?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Donnelly glanced over her shoulder at the computer screen for reassurance. “If something happened to the Cobbs, we’d know about it. They most certainly would not have a green status. And since you don’t know where Lisa Cobb is—that’s if your story has any truth to it—then I think you’re fishing for her location. I can save us both a whole lot of time by telling you that I don’t know where she is now and I can’t find out.”

“I don’t need you to find out where she is,” Giannini said. “She’s with a friend of mine right now. As a matter of fact, what I want is to get her back in your program. My friend’s had some people take shots at him, and we’d all feel a lot better if you people had her in your protection.”