of his flesh, her hands could caress him for all eternity. Putting her flute on the granite counter, she grabbed him, pushed him playfully backward until he was against the window. "I can't believe we're both here together. I can't believe you're safe."
Karim al-Jamil kissed her forehead. "You had doubts about my plan."
"You know I did. Doubts and fears. It seemed to be so... reckless, so difficult to pull off."
"It's all a matter or perception. You must think of it as a clock. A clock performs a simple function, measuring off the seconds and minutes. And when the hour strikes, it lets forth a chime. Simple, yet reliable. That's because inside are a set of carefully conceived parts, honed and polished, so that when they are set in motion, they mesh perfectly."
It was at this moment that he saw her gaze shift beyond him. A terrible light came into her eyes.
He turned, stared out the window at the parking lot between the buildings. Two late-model American cars were side by side, headed in opposite directions. The north-facing car was idling. Both drivers' windows were rolled down. It was clear two men were talking.
"What is it?"
"The two cars," she whispered. "That's a cop formation."
"Or any two drivers who want to chat."
"No, there's something-"
Anne bit off her words. One of the men was leaning out of the window enough for her to recognize him.
"That's Matthew Lerner. Dammit!" She shivered. "I haven't had a chance to tell you, but he broke into my house, went through it, and left a noose in my closet strangling a pair of my underpants."
Karim al-Jamil choked off a bitter laugh. "He's got a sense of humor, I'll give him that. Does he suspect?"
"No. He would have gone to the DCI if he had even an inkling. What he wants is me out of the way. I strongly suspect it's so he can take an uncontested shot at the Old Man's job."
Down in the parking lot, whatever had needed to be said between the two men was finished. Lerner, in the north-facing car, drove away, leaving the other man sitting behind the wheel of his vehicle. He made no move to turn on his engine. Instead, he lit a cigarette.
Karim al-Jamil said, "In either case, he's having you followed. Our security has been compromised." He turned away from the window. "Get dressed. We have work to do."
The moment the sailboat pulled into the yacht club, police jumped aboard and, as was typical of them, began to swarm. The captain and mates, including Abbud ibn Aziz, looking suitably cowed, produced their identity documents for the officious lieutenant. Then he turned to Fadi.
Without a word, without looking in the least bit intimidated, Fadi handed over the documents Abbud ibn Aziz had given him. They identified him as Major General Viktor Leonidovich Romanchenko, counterintelligence SBU. His orders, attached, were signed by Colonel General Igor P. Smeshko, chief of SBU.
It amused Fadi to see this smug police lieutenant come so smartly to attention, all the blood draining from his face. It was an instant transformation: The overlord had become the servant.
"I'm here to track down a murderer, a high-priority fugitive from justice," Fadi said, repossessing his cunningly forged papers. "The four men on the sideline were murdered by him, so you see for yourself how dangerous, how highly skilled he is."
"I am Lieutenant Kove. We are at your full command, Major General."
Fadi led the lieutenant and his men off the sailboat at a fast trot. "A word of caution," he said over his shoulder. "I will personally execute anyone who kills the fugitive. Inform all your men. This criminal is mine."
Detective Bill Overton sat in his car, smoking. He was relaxed, happier than he'd been in a year. This off-the-books job he'd taken on for Lerner had been a godsend. When it was over, Lerner had guaranteed him he'd have that position in Homeland Security he so desperately wanted. Overton knew Lerner wasn't yanking his chain. This was a man of devious power. He said what he meant and he meant what he said. All that the detective had to do was whatever Lerner ordered without asking the whys and wherefores. Easy for him; he didn't give a rat's ass what Lerner was up to. He cared only that the man was his ticket to HS.
Overton chewed on his cigarette. HS meant everything to him. What else did he have? A wife he was indifferent to, a mother with Alzheimer's, an ex-wife