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It was a phone call that evidently triggered it. A very short phone call, just one word.

"Escite."

Italian: "Exit." Spook traced it, but it was so brief that all he could tell me was that it was local and nearby, emanating from perhaps a ten- or twelve-block radius. The voice, he said, was Estrada's; for whatever reasons he was telling them to get out of where they were.

They weren't in a hurry; they took the time to pack up their equipment before they got into their car. I hated just letting them go. But this elaborate effort was to trap Estrada, not his foot soldiers, and besides they'd done nothing criminal here; the Feds had absolutely nothing on any of them. So I was stuck. No Estrada within view equaled no bust, and all I could do was watch them, through Spook's external video eyes, load up their sedan and pull away. Going to where, I had no idea.

I did, however, have a pretty good idea why. There was only one possible reason. I got on the phone.

"Richard, Estrada will not be where I told you," I said as soon as he picked up. "You have a mole."

It was the only explanation that made any sense. I was sure Estrada had originally planned to move on me out of his rental—why else rent it?—but somebody'd tipped him that it was a trap in the making. So he brazenly left Joe Smith and the others in place to check up on me while carefully staying clear himself, knowing the trap had to be for him.

There was a very long silence from Richard. "Shit," he said softly. "Jack, is he still in the area, do you know?" Did Spook know, he meant.

"Uncertain," I told him succinctly; Spook didn't, nor did I, but the local call told its own story. "I expect he is, though; I doubt his objective has changed." Me, Richard would know but any listeners wouldn't.

"I'm going there," he said in a decisive tone. I was vaguely pleased he'd said "going" instead of "coming"; he was keeping cover for me. "Me and a very small team; no moles, all trustworthy."

"Very well," I said. "I'll call again if and when I have word." I clicked off.

And now I had no sense at all what I should do. Stroll around Charleston and make myself a target? I still had more faith in Spook's and my plan if he should take me, but I'd promised Lee I wouldn't open myself up like that. Sit tight and wait for Estrada to re-surface? But then the ball would be in his court, he'd know where I was but I wouldn't about either him or his people. Go start a hunt of my own in my car? It would be a needle in a haystack, and I was sure he'd be under cover.

The whole thing had gone badly wrong, and we weren't even into the end game. Maybe Lee was right, maybe I was—maybe we were, Spook and I—outmatched. For all that Spook was a computer, Estrada was seasoned at this stuff and we weren't.

I debated calling Lee, asking for any ideas she might have, but decided to postpone for now. I always wondered if things might have worked out differently if I had. But in sober afterthought I doubted it. And in the end I decided against it; she and Johnnie were safe, as I thought, why fret them?

It probably didn't much matter what I did, I finally concluded. Estrada and his troops were mobile, location unknown; they could be coming at me from any point on the compass, and I had no way of pinpointing him unless he botched it by getting back on the phone and letting Spook draw a bead on him.

He'd be coming soon, too; it was hours now, not days. He wouldn't have shut down the rental if he weren't ready to move. They'd gone to join Estrada at what I supposed was a pre-arranged meeting place, and they'd finalize their plans and then act.

And I estimated the likelihood that I'd escape him this time as vanishingly small. I had good security, but there's a limit to how intruder-proof you can make any residence; alarms, first-floor window bars and the like are meant to discourage the casual thief, not a determined gang of terrorists.

Whatever I'd promised Lee didn't matter any more; it was going to be plan B, just Spook and me, whatever I did. So I could stay put and be a sitting duck or go out and be a moving one.

There might be damage to the house if I stayed in. So I decided to go walking. Brownie whined to go with me, but this wasn't anything for her; Spook would call the neighbors in my voice if I wasn't available to come back for her. I gave her a special petting and opened the door.

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The girls didn’t get back to their hotel room in Istanbul until 7 a.m. the next day. Linda walked in, turned her phone on and found seventeen messages and texts from Fred. He sounds mad to me, whispered Mouse. Ya think? asked Tink. I guess we better call him, whispered Linda. Go ahead. We’re sleepy, Ret said. Mouse yawned, Goodnight, Linda. See ya later. Have fun with Fred, whispered Tink. Great, the going gets tough and the girls go to sleep, complained Linda. Her complaint was...

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The next morning, as it happened, two new police guards were on duty outside Bob's door. Brian Spruell was a rookie, and thoroughly unhappy that he had been given this duty. Denny Smith was a Corporal and had a thing for nurses, so he wasn't quite so dour about it. It was quiet, and boring, but then police work seemed to be broken into two parts: 98% quiet and boring, and 2% "excitement", where somebody was likely to be killed. A lot of guys joined the force for the 2%, thinking it would...

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