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  Jake reached for her wrist and pulled her down on the bed beside him. “Tami, this is dynamite.”

  She bobbed her head up and down. “Isn’t it?”

  “If you’re right … if this is true, we’re on a collision course with Santino.”

  “I’d like to see the look on his face when you spring this on him.”

  “Yeah. And Jacobi’s.”

  California

  It took Jake another full day to decide on his next step. A full day of attending the ongoing energy committee hearings, then lunching with Senator Tomlinson and spending the afternoon going through the motions of working.

  He half-listened politely to a visitor from the National Institutes of Health briefing him on the consequences of cutting NIH’s budget for stem cell research. Then a pair of lobbyists in almost identical dark gray three-piece suits spent an hour extolling the benefits of opening several national parks to drilling for natural gas. Finally an earnest young woman in a tight sweater pleaded with him to get Senator Tomlinson to join the movement to outlaw all genetically modified crops.

  By the time Jake drove home, he had made up his mind.

  “We’re going to California,” he told Tami the instant she came through the apartment’s door.

  Surprised, she said, “We are?”

  Jake nodded vigorously. “I’ve got vacation time coming to me. I imagine you do, too.”

  “Kind of abrupt, though, isn’t it?”

  “I ought to see Vic Wakefield and break the news to him that his methanol project has been cut down to a study program.”

  “You’ve got to go all the way out to San Diego to give him the bad news?”

  As he headed for the kitchen and the bottle of Soave in the refrigerator, Jake explained, “It’s the decent thing to do. Tell him face-to-face. Winston Churchill said that when you’re going to kill a man, it doesn’t cost you anything to be polite about it.”

  She eyed him suspiciously as he began to pour two glasses of wine. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Jacobi, does it?”

  Jake came around the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room and handed Tami her glass. As casually as he could, he replied, “Well, I thought it might be nice for you to spend a few days visiting your family.”

  “They’re in Fresno, not San Diego.”

  “Yeah. I’d like to meet your folks. Then I could hop down to San Diego while you’re visiting in Fresno.”

  “You want me out of town.”

  “I want you safe.”

  * * *

  Tami’s parents were warm and friendly, not a trace of the traditional Japanese formality and stiffness that Jake had expected. Then he realized that the Umetzus had been in the States for four generations. They’re as American as I am, he told himself.

  The Umetzu family wasn’t small, despite the fact that Tami was an only child. Her parents each had several siblings living in the Bay area. They all got together—aunts, uncles, and five of Tami’s cousins—for a happy, laughter-filled dinner in an Italian restaurant in downtown Fresno.

  The next day Tami drove Jake to the Fresno Yosemite International airport in their rented Toyota Camry.

  “I’ll be back on the six o’clock flight,” Jake said for the eleventh time as they pulled up at the terminal curb.

  “I’ll be right here, waiting for you.”

  He gave her a peck on the lips and ducked out of the car, computer bag in hand.

  * * *

  Vic Wakefield looked more resigned than downcast.

  “I thought it was too good to be true,” he said, his round face serious, pensive.

  Jake was sitting beside him on a worn-out sofa in Vic’s office at Wakefield Laboratory, down at the San Diego waterfront. Through the room’s only window he could see a row of sleek gray Navy destroyers anchored in the harbor.

  “I’m sorry, Vic,” Jake apologized. “Politics got in the way.”

  With a humorless smile, Wakefield said, “Might turn out to be good, in the long run. It was a big jump to go from our lab work to a full-scale production plant. Maybe a study program will be better for us.”

  Jake heard the bitterness in his voice. Trying to put as good a face on the situation as possible, he said, “Look at it this way, Vic. Your methanol process is now a part of the overall energy plan. Once the plan is put into action, you’ll be part of the national energy policy.”

  Wakefield gave him an odd look. “Will the plan ever be put into action?”

  “Yes,” Jake snapped, reflexively. “It may not be as big and as comprehensive as we wanted, but it’s going to get through the Senate energy committee and out onto the floor for a vote before this session is over.”

  Before Wakefield could comment, Jake added, “Santino’s the Majority Leader now. He controls the Senate’s agenda. He’ll push the plan through.”

  “With a study program for our methanol process.”

  “Damned right.”

  Wakefield’s smile brightened. “I want to thank you, Jake. I know you’ve gone to bat for us.”

  “I’m just sorry I couldn’t do better for you.”

  “It’s a start. We’ll take it a step at a time.” Waving one arm, Wakefield said, “We’re a lot better off now than we were a year ago, aren’t we?”

  * * *

  Wakefield drove Jake to the San Diego airport. As his car pulled away from the curb, Jake’s cell phone buzzed.

  It was his landlord. “You had a burglary,” he said, with no preamble, his voice gravely dark.

  “A burglary?” Jake gasped.

  “Last night. After midnight. We heard somebody thumping around downstairs and called the police.”

  “What did they take?”

  A pause. People rushed by, heading into the terminal building or coming out and searching for their ride while Jake stood transfixed at the curb, phone to his ear.

  Finally the landlord reported, “We looked through the apartment with the police officers. The place is a mess, but it doesn’t seem that anything was taken. Of course, you’ll have to go through the apartment yourself and see if anything is missing.”

  “Did they catch the guy?”

  Again the landlord’s voice hesitated. It’s as if he has to think twice before he opens his mouth, Jake thought, with growing irritation.

  “No, by the time the police got here the burglar was gone.”

  Jake realized he would have to cut his California visit short. “All right,” he said into the phone. “I’ll catch a plane first thing tomorrow. I’ll let you know when I’m arriving.”

  “Good.” The landlord clicked off.

  Jake stood there as the crowds swirled by, wondering, What were they after? Good thing I brought my notebook with me; all our files are in it. Then he thought, Tami’s laptop! Did they get her files?

  Jake hurried into the terminal and raced for his plane. He tried to call Tami as he dashed toward his gate but got only her voice mail. He didn’t leave a message. I’ll tell her about this when I see her at the airport.

  When Jake’s plane touched down on schedule at Fresno Jake called her again, but he got only her voice mail again. Feeling annoyed, he hustled out to the curb, trying to remember what their rented car looked like.

  But Tami was not there waiting for him.

  Fresno Yosemite International Airport

  Standing at curbside, Jake yanked out his phone again and called Tami’s parents.

  “She left early, said she wanted to do some shopping,” her mother said. “She said she’d pick you up.”

  “But she’s not here!”

  Mrs. Umetzu didn’t seem upset. “Maybe she got stalled in traffic. Or maybe she’s driving around the airport. They won’t let you wait at the curb, you know.”

  “Yes, I know. But she should be at the cell phone lot, at least.”

  “Have you tried calling her?”

  “Twice.”

  “Then she must be in the car. The rental car doesn’t have
Bluetooth, I imagine. And she wouldn’t pick up her cell phone while she’s driving. She’ll be along soon, you’ll see.”

  Jake didn’t think so. He stood there at curbside, a thousand possibilities racing through his head, all of them bad. Jacobi’s snatched her, he thought. He knows that she found out he was adopted and came out here to grab her before she could tell anybody. He knew we were going to California; Santino’s people have spies in Tomlinson’s office, of course.

  What should I do? What can I do?

  His phone buzzed.

  Jake fumbled it out of his pocket. “Hello.” He half expected to hear Jacobi’s low, menacing voice.

  Instead, it was Tami. “Jake! I’m sorry I’m not there yet. I’m on my way.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At a police station downtown. I’ll be at the airport in fifteen minutes or so.”

  “You’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. See you in a little bit.”

  It took Jake three tries to finally click off his cell phone, his hands were shaking so badly. He walked over to an empty bench near the baggage-check counter and sat to wait for Tami.

  She’s all right, he said to himself. She’s all right. Only then did he wonder, What the hell is she doing at a police station?

  * * *

  It was twilight by the time the rented black Camry pulled up at the curb. Jake ducked into it. Tami seemed perfectly okay, although her usual cheerful smile was replaced by a dead serious expression.

  “What happened?” Jake asked. “Why were you at a police station?”

  “I was being followed,” Tami said, her eyes on the airport traffic.

  “Followed?”

  “I noticed a gray Ford sedan following me when I left the house this afternoon. All the way downtown, right behind me.” Tami’s voice was flat, unemotional. “When I parked in a municipal garage, they came in right behind me and parked a few spaces away.”

  “They?”

  “Two men. Big guys. Hard faces. Wearing sports jackets. Big shoulders.”

  “You’re sure they were following you?”

  “Every store I went into, they waited outside.”

  “Did they say anything to you?”

  “No, they just followed me. It was spooky.”

  Tami pulled the car onto the freeway lane heading toward downtown Fresno.

  “When I got into the car again to come get you at the airport, they tailed me, in the same gray Ford.”

  “So what happened?”

  A hint of a smile curved her lips slightly. “When I went back to the parking building, I deliberately walked past their car—”

  “Jesus!”

  “They weren’t in it,” Tami said. “They were still walking along behind me. Anyway, I saw their license number. When I drove out of the garage and they came out behind me, I used the car’s GPS to find the nearest police station and drove straight to it.”

  Jake felt admiration for her cool levelheadedness. “Smart,” he muttered.

  “I told a police sergeant what was going on, and that I was frightened. He looked up the license number I gave him.”

  “And?”

  “The car was registered to the local FBI office.”

  “The FBI!”

  “That’s what the police sergeant told me.”

  Jake leaned back in the passenger’s seat. “Why would the FBI be following you?”

  “I’ll bet it was because a certain US senator asked them to keep an eye on us,” Tami replied.

  “Santino?”

  “One of his people, more likely. When a senator asks a federal agency for help, they respond.”

  Jake recalled how cooperative the various agencies he had called had been. “But the FBI.”

  “Santino wants to know where we are.”

  “And why.”

  They drove through the gathering darkness in silence for several minutes. At last Jake said, “Santino wants to show us that we can’t get away from him. He can find us, wherever we go.”

  Tami nodded. “He’s made his point.”

  With a bitter chuckle, Jake said, “He can use the FBI to track us, then get Jacobi or some other thugs to grab us.”

  “Whenever he wants to.”

  “He’s telling us we’d better not try to make any trouble for him.”

  “That’s why Santino got Reuters to ax me,” Tami said. “It wasn’t the environmental story. He thought I was getting too close to finding out that Jacobi is his son.”

  Jake remembered, “For what it’s worth, our apartment was burglarized last night.”

  For the first time, Tami looked startled. “Burglarized?”

  “My landlord says they didn’t seem to take anything, but I’m going to fly back to Washington tomorrow and check out the place.”

  “We’ve really got Santino worried,” Tami said.

  “He’s sure as hell’s got me worried,” Jake said, with some fervor.

  Tami nodded. Then, glancing at her rearview mirror, she said, “I may be a little paranoid, but the same pair of headlights have been following us ever since we left the airport.”

  The FBI Field Office in Fresno

  Jake slept uneasily that night in Tami’s parents’ home. In the morning, Tami told her parents what was going on.

  Her father got up from the breakfast table and went to the kitchen wall phone.

  “Dad,” Tami called after him, “what are you doing?”

  Mr. Umetzu’s face was calm, but his voice radiated cold fury. “Calling the local FBI office. They can’t harass law-abiding citizens! It’s racism. It’s fascism! My father fought in the US Army in World War II. He was decorated for valor. And now the FBI is harassing his granddaughter?”

  Jake pushed his chair from the table and went to Mr. Umetzu’s side. “Maybe I should talk to them,” he suggested gently.

  Umetzu didn’t let go of his grip in the phone.

  “I’m a United States senator’s legislative aide,” Jake explained. “They might pay more attention to me.”

  Umetzu reluctantly handed the phone receiver to Jake, muttering, “Racism.”

  * * *

  The head of the Fresno office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation was a pleasant-looking Hispanic woman with graying hair and skin the color of lightly done toast. Slim and smartly dressed in a sky-blue skirted suit, she smiled politely as Jake told her about the car that had followed Tami.

  “And the local police said the car is registered to this office?” she asked, sounding incredulous.

  “That’s what they told me,” Tami said. Pulling a scrap of paper from her purse, she went on, “Here’s the license number.”

  The FBI chief glanced at the paper, then put it on her desk. “I’ll check this out,” she said.

  “We’ll wait,” said Jake.

  Her pleasant smile dimming a little, the woman picked up her phone and asked for the motor pool. She read off the license number that Tami had given her, then nodded once and hung up.

  “According to our records,” she said to Jake, “that car was in our garage all day yesterday and last night.”

  “That’s impossible,” Tami snapped. “I saw it. I wrote down the license number. They followed me all day and well into the night.”

  Cocking her head to one side, the woman said, “I don’t see how that could be, Miss Umetzu. Our records show—”

  Jake demanded, “How could Tami write down the license number? She didn’t think it up out of the blue. She isn’t clairvoyant.”

  Her brow wrinkling, the chief replied, “I’ll have to look into this. Where can I contact you?”

  Jake knew they were being dismissed. “I’ll be back in my office tomorrow,” he said, reaching for his wallet. “Here’s my card.”

  “Legislative aide to Senator B. Franklin Tomlinson,” the woman said. “Very impressive.”

  “Not as impressive as Senator Santino,” Tami quipped.

  “Senator Santino? Isn’t he the new Major
ity Leader?”

  Jake got to his feet and reached for Tami’s hand. To the FBI chief he said, “Thanks for your time. I’d appreciate it if you would look into this and let me know what you find. Tami’s father is very upset about this. He thinks it’s harassment.”

  “Hardly that!” said the chief, as she rose from her desk chair.

  “And racism,” Tami added.

  The chief frowned, but said nothing.

  Once they had left the FBI office, Tami said, “That was a whole lot of nothing.”

  “Stonewalling,” Jake said. “Santino’s got more clout than Tomlinson.”

  Home Again

  Tami went back to DC with Jake. Part of him wanted her to stay with her parents, but he realized that she wouldn’t be truly safe until they had reconciled their problem with Santino. So he relented and let her fly back home with him.

  As they waited for their flight in the Fresno airport, Jake phoned Kevin O’Donnell to tell Tomlinson’s chief of staff that he would be in the office the next afternoon.

  O’Donnell sounded mildly amused. “Cutting your vacation short, eh?”

  “It wasn’t much of a vacation, Kevin.”

  “Meeting the in-laws never is,” O’Donnell replied, laughing.

  Jake said, “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. In the afternoon, most likely.”

  “Sure. Take your time. Officially, you’re still on vacation.”

  * * *

  It was well past the dinner hour by the time the airport taxi pulled up at the 49th Street house. As he got out of the cab, Jake saw the front door open; his landlord came out onto the porch.

  “Everything is just the way it was when the police left,” he said, without preamble. “We haven’t touched a thing.”

  Jake pulled his roll-along down the flagstone path around the side of the house and hefted it down the four steps to his door, with Tami and the landlord behind him. The landlord took Tami’s bag down the steps.

  Jake unlocked the door and clicked on the lights.

  “Oh my,” Tami said, her voice hollow.

  The living room was a shambles. Coffee table overturned, futon pulled away from the wall, every drawer of Jake’s desk yanked open and its contents spilled on the floor. Kitchen cabinets opened, cans and bottles and jars littering the floor.