3rd Degree

I could kill all of them, he was thinking. And why not? They came to carve up the world, to put their economic thumbprint on those who could not compete, or even fight back. Bloodsuckers, he thought. Ugly, despicable human beings. Everyone here deserves to die. Just like Lightower and Bengosian.

The line made its way past a cast of Rodin’s The Thinker. Another flutter of nerves rippled through his limbs. Finally, Danko presented his special VIP invitation to an attractive woman dressed in a black evening dress. Probably FBI. No doubt a Glock was strapped underneath her gown. Chicks with dicks, Danko thought.

“Good evening, sir,” she said and checked his name against a list. “We apologize for any inconvenience, Professor Stanzer, but can I ask you to place your case through security?”

“Of course. It’s just my speech, though,” Danko said, handing her his briefcase like any nervous academic. He extended his arms while a security guard waved a metal-detector wand up and down his body.

The security man felt around his jacket. “What’s this?” he asked. Danko removed a small plastic canister. There was a pharmaceutical label on it and a prescription made out to him. The canister was another of Stephen Hardaway’s masterpieces. Poor dead Stephen. Poor Julia, Robert, and Michelle. Soldiers. Just like him.

“For my asthma,” Danko said. He coughed a little and pointed to his chest. “Proventil. Always need it before a speech. I even have a backup.”

The guard regarded it for a moment. This was good fun, actually. He and Stephen had perfected the canister. Who needed guns and bombs when all the terror in the world was right in the palm of his hand.

William would be proud!

“You can go inside, sir.” The guard finally waved Charles Danko ahead. “Have a good night.”

“Oh, I plan to.”

Chapter 103

I gu

I punched in Molinari’s number. His cell phone wasn’t accepting.

I tried to get patched through to the Chief. One of his assistants answered and said he was out in the crowd. “The vice president is coming in the room at this very moment,” he said. “There he is.”

“Listen to me!” I shouted as I swerved, siren blaring, through parting traffic. “I want you to find Tracchio or Molinari, whomever you see first. Put this phone in their ear. This is a matter of national emergency. I don’t care who the hell they’re talking with! Go! Now!”

My eyes flashed to the clock on my dash. A bomb could go off at any time. All we had was a thirty-year-old likeness to identify Charles Danko. I wasn’t sure if I could pick him out myself.

A minute passed very slowly. Then a voice crackled back over my cell phone. Molinari. Finally.

“Joe,” I said into the phone, “just listen, please. Charles Danko’s there! Right now! He’s going by the name Jeffrey Stanzer. He’s a speaker at the conference. I’ll be there in about three minutes. Take him down, Joe!”

Quickly, we argued the pros and cons of emptying the Palace or making some kind of warning a

Finally I spun onto Thirty-fourth, into the park, then up the hill to the Legion of Honor. The park was banded by demonstrators. Barricades blocked the way.

Patrolmen were checking IDs. I lowered the driver’s window and held out my shield—pounding the horn as hard as I could.

I was finally able to maneuver through the narrow lane of stretch limos and police cars that led up to the main circle of the Palace. I ditched the Explorer in front of the arced, columned gate. Started to run. I kept bumping into Feds transmitting on radios—flashing my badge. “Let me through!”

At last I pushed my way inside the main building. The halls were packed—statesmen, dignitaries.

I spotted Molinari, giving orders into a handheld radio. I rushed up to him. “He’s here,” he said. “His name’s checked off on the guest list. He’s already inside.”

Chapter 104

There were ambassadors, cabinet members, business leaders everywhere, chatting in crowds, sipping champagne. Any second a bomb could go off. The vice president was being moved to safety. But Charles Danko could be anywhere. What he had in mind, God only knew. We didn’t even know what the bastard looked like now!

Molinari handed me a walkie-talkie dialed to his frequency. “I’ve got the wanted sheet. I’ll go left. Keep in touch with me, Lindsay. No heroes tonight.” I started to weave through the crowd. In my mind I drew an image of Charles Danko thirty years ago and transposed it onto every face I saw. I wished I’d asked the dean at Reed for some kind of current description. Everything had happened too fast. It still was going too fast.

Where are you, Danko, you son of a bitch?

“I’m searching the main room,” I spoke into the walkie-talkie. “I don’t see him.”

“I’m here in the a

I was staring intently at every face. Our only advantage was that he didn’t know we knew. A few Feds were quietly escorting people toward the exits. We couldn’t cause a panic and give ourselves away.

But I didn’t see him anywhere. Where was Danko? What was he pla

“I’m heading in to the Rodins,” I told Molinari. There were large, recognizable bronzes on marble pedestals all around me, and people sipping champagne. I came upon a crowd gathered near one of the statues.

“What’s going on here?” I asked a woman in a black gown.

“The vice president,” she said. “He’s scheduled here any moment.” The vice president had been whisked away, but no one had been told. These people were milling around for an introduction. Would Danko be here, too?

I sca

I saw a tall, thin man, balding on top. He had a high brow. Close, narrow eyes. A hand in his jacket pocket. I felt a cold spot near the center of my chest.

I could see the resemblance to the picture from thirty years ago. There were people milling about, blocking my view. But there was no mistaking it—Charles Danko was the image of his father.

I turned my head away and spoke into my walkie-talkie. “I found him! Joe, he’s here.”

Danko was in line to meet the vice president. My heart was beating furiously. His left hand was still in his jacket pocket. Was he holding some kind of detonator? How could he get it in here?

“I’m in the room with the Rodins. Joe, I’m looking right at him.”

Molinari said, “Stay there. I’m coming. Don’t take any chances.”

Suddenly Danko’s gaze drifted to me. I didn’t know if he’d seen me on TV as part of the investigation, or if I had “cop” written on my face. Somehow he seemed to know. Our eyes locked.

I saw him get out of the line he was standing in. He kept his eyes on me.

I took a step toward him. Opened my jacket for my gun. At least a dozen people were blocking my way. I had to get through. I lost sight of Danko for just a second. No more than that.

When the opening cleared again, Danko was no longer there.

The white rabbit was gone again.