The phone rang and they stared at each other for a millisecond before Cam grabbed it. "Roberts." She listened, then extended the phone to Blair. "Marcea."

"Hello," Blair said with affection, watching Cam as she crossed the room and disappeared from her view. "Yes, she told me she called you...No, of course I don't mind...No, not yet. Some time today, we hope." Thank you, Blair mouthed as Cam set a fresh cup of coffee beside her. "Oh, I'd love to see you, but it's not necessary for you to come East just for this." She lowered her voice, although Cam had already returned to the kitchen. "If I should need more surgery, it might be good. I wouldn't worry so much about Cam then." Listening to the warm, gentle voice, her eyes brimmed with sudden tears, and she struggled to keep her voice even. "I'm all right. Really...We'll call you when we know something more." She blinked and whispered, "Thank you."

"Everything all right?" Cam asked in concern when she returned carrying a tray with toasted English muffins and more coffee.

Blair nodded, brushing at her cheeks. "Your mother is wonderful." She smiled tremulously at Cam. "She said she loves me."

"If she did, then she means it," Cam replied quietly. "Is that okay?"

"Oh, yes," Blair murmured. "I—"

The phone rang again. This time when Cam held it out to Blair, her expression was solemn. "Dr. Saunders for you."

Quickly, Blair took the phone. "Yes, this is Blair Powell. All right. Yes. Thank you."

"Well?" Cam asked before Blair had even pushed the off button, her stomach tight to the point of pain.

Blair pushed aside the blanket that still covered her knees and stood, extending her hand to her lover. "She expects the pathology report within the hour and asked me if we can come in."

Heart thundering, Cam squeezed Blair's fingers gently. "Let's get ready, then."

Less than an hour later, Blair and Cam once again sat side by side in the chairs facing Dr. Leah Saunders's desk. The otherwise empty room seemed to echo with their unspoken thoughts. Cam edged her chair over so that she could rest her right forearm on the arm of Blair's chair and clasp her lover's left hand.

"Are you okay?"

Blair gave Cam's hand a squeeze. "Just a little nervous."

"No matter what—"

The door opened and the doctor strode in, a folder under her right arm. She nodded to Cam and Blair and said immediately, even before reaching her desk, "The biopsy is benign."

Cam felt light-headed, as if she'd suddenly taken a punch to the gut. She barely had enough strength to murmur, "Thank God."

Blair's breath whooshed out on a relieved sigh, but she remained rigid, her gaze fixed on the surgeon's face. "What else?"

"Nothing specific," Dr. Saunders said as she sat. "The histology mostly shows the expected cellular pattern for a woman your age." She paused, studying first Blair, then Cam. "There ore however, a few areas of atypical ductal hyperplasia, which some authorities consider precancerous or, at the very least, a potential marker for the later development of breast cancer."

"What does that mean for me in practical terms?" Blair's voice was steady but her grip on Cam's hand was fierce.

"Unfortunately, we don't really know." The surgeon shrugged in frustration. "If the entire specimen were involved, I'd be much more concerned. In your case, it was a very small percentage of the tissue examined. However, with your family history, we have to be cautious."

"Meaning what?" Cam asked sharply, unconsciously assuming her command tone. Her lover's well-being was at stake, she was tired and edgy, and she could no longer tolerate feeling so helpless.

Blair shifted her attention to Cam, smiling softly. "It's all right, darling. We'll sort it out."

"Sorry," Cam whispered, her eyes holding Blair's.

"You don't need to be," Blair murmured before turning back to the surgeon. "What do you recommend?"

Dr. Saunders, used to the anxieties of patients and family members, continued in a quiet voice. "Because your mother developed breast cancer at an early age—premenopausal breast cancer—we have to be concerned about genetic inheritance. I would recommend that you have genetic testing to determine if you have the BRCA1 or BRCA2 gene for breast cancer."

"And if I do?" Blair asked.

"Then you have a 20 percent chance of developing breast cancer by the age of forty, and a 50 percent chance by the age of fifty." Still regarding Blair intently, Dr. Saunders added, "And you would be a candidate for elective mastectomies prior to the onset of the disease if you desired."

The nightmare, it seemed, had not ended, but Blair had not expected it to. She was incredibly thankful that she was not facing a diagnosis of breast cancer at this point in her life. But hearing the numbers applied to her so matter-of-factly only reminded her that she would never be free of the threat. She realized for the first time that she was crushing Cam's fingers and willed herself to relax.

"How likely am I to have the gene?"

"I can't speculate, because we have no way to determine if your mother had the gene or not. If she did, you have a 50 percent chance of having it as well."

"How do I find out?" Blair asked with determination.

"DNA testing can be done on a blood specimen."

"Can we do that today? I'd really like to go back to New York as soon as possible."

Colonel Saunders nodded. "I can have one of the technicians take the sample. It will take several days for the results, but I can call you with that. Once I check your incision, if everything looks to be healing satisfactorily, I don't see why you can't go home."

Blair looked at Cam. "All right?"

"Yes," Cam replied instantly. Knowing the foe was infinitely preferable to being taken unawares by an enemy cloaked in shadow. "Absolutely."

Stark called Renee while she waited by the passenger side of the lead car in front of the commander's apartment building. Mac was driving on the way to the airport, and she would ride shotgun.

"Hi! You busy later?"

Renee drew a sharp breath. "Are we talking about an in-person or a phone date?"

"I don't know," Stark mused. "I'm getting kind of addicted to the sound of your voice."

"I promise," Renee murmured, lowering her voice seductively, "I'm better in the flesh."

Stark's stomach did a flip and things lower down started throbbing. "Jesus. I'm on duty here."

"You started it." Renee laughed.

"Yeah, but it feels really good."

"Stop, now. We both have to work. And in case you've forgotten, the sound of your voice does very nice things to me, too."

Grinning, Stark said, "We'll be back in the city this afternoon, and I'll be off at seven. Do you want to have dinner somewhere?"

"Uh-huh.In bed."

Stark blinked and felt herself get wet. "Oh, man. That did it."

"Did you say something, sweetie?"

"Yes." Stark heard her voice waver and repeated more firmly. "I said yes. Definitely, yes."

"Mmm," Renee chuckled, "Can't wait."

1510 25Aug01

Falls Church, Virginia

A rental car carrying four men pulled into a parking lot next to a twenty-four-hour convenience store. A middle-aged Salvadoran man emerged from a battered Mercury and walked to the driver's side window.

"You are the gentleman sent by our mutual friend?" he asked in concise, polite tones.

"The, general told us you would provide papers," the bearded driver said curtly.

"That is correct, for $50 apiece, U.S. currency. And I do not provide papers, only the assistance for^ow to obtain them."

Perturbed, the driver glanced at the other men in the car, then back to the Salvadoran. "We were told you would provide legal identity papers for all of us."

"In Virginia, all that is required to establish legal status is a sponsor to affirm that you have a permanent address in the state. I will do that for you, and the commonwealth of Virginia will provide your identity papers." He glanced at his watch. "If we go now, we will be done by sundown."

Once the men had obtained their American driver's licenses, the driver stopped at a Kinko's and paid cash for ten minutes of computer time. There, he sent the same e-mail to two different Yahoo addresses. The recipients were both in Las Vegas and had been there for weeks while the final plans and timing for the operation were determined.

Credentials obtained. We leave tomorrow. Rendezvous in three days.

The summit meeting for the six pilots was confirmed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

P aula Stark sat nude at the head of the bed with Renee Savard snugged sideways between her legs, Renee's head on her shoulder. The remains of their deli sandwiches rested on plates on the bedside table along with an empty bottle of wine. With an arm wrapped around Renee's waist, Stark rested her cheek against Renee's temple and lazily circled a palm over her abdomen. "Hungry? There's some food left."

"Uh-uh," Renee replied in a slow, somnolent drawl. "Right now, I can't think of anything except how damn good I feel."

"I really missed you."

Renee laughed quietly. "I noticed."

After the security team had reached Manhattan and Egret was settled in for the night, Stark had returned to her apartment to find Renee waiting. They'd kissed hello, carried the thick sandwiches that Renee had picked up on the way home from the FBI offices directly into the bedroom, and made small talk for ten minutes while they shared the wine and nibbled at the food. That was as long as Stark had lasted. She'd put her sandwich down, slipped her hand beneath the hem of the knee-length skirt that Renee had worn to work, and run her tongue slowly across Renee's lower lip. Halfway through the kiss, her hand had been most of the way up Renee's thigh. The rest had been a flurry of urgent motion and insistent caresses.