"Nothing except they all had similar tattoos on their right upper arm," Felicia stated. She passed a computer image across the table. It showed a pale patch of skin with a tattoo of two crossed assault rifles above a small American flag.

Cam studied and frowned. "An Armed Forces division?"

"Apparently Savard checked that right away," Valerie said, referring to a sheaf of papers in front of her. "It's not an insignia from any division in the Army or the Marines."

"Well," Cam said, "I guess the American flag rules out any other nationality." She placed a fingertip on the lower corner of the paper and slid it back and forth in front of her staring at the blurry shapes. "Some kind of patriot group?"

"It's possible," Valerie said. "Savard also started a search through the FBI and CIA files on known paramilitary groups here and abroad. Unfortunately, there's no central database tabulating this kind of thing, and thus far we have nothing. It's going to take a lot of digging to assemble the available intelligence."

"These guys had some kind of military training, and if they don't show up in the Armed Forces databases, then it had to be well-organized, unofficial training." Cam regarded Valerie. "Your people must have some record of mercenary groups that employ a high percentage of Americans. There have been any number of actions in South and Central America as well as Africa where these guys might have been involved."

"It's on the list to check."

"Okay. Top of the list—mercenary and paramilitary groups." Cam pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ignore the headache that was beginning to throb between her eyes. "And we need to look for a connection between these same groups and Al Qaeda." She swept her gaze from Felicia to Valerie, recalling the conversation she'd had with the president's security advisor that morning. "Because it looks more and more like Osama's claim to being behind the attack on the World Trade Center is true."

"God," Felicia exclaimed. "How did we all miss that?"

"That's probably what everyone in DC is trying to figure out right now," Cam said as she stood. "And that's why we have to be the ones to spearhead this portion of the investigation. Let's switch our emphasis from identifying the dead men to collecting everything we can about the organizations we mentioned and finding out all there is to know about Foster. He's our only solid link at this point."

"So far," Felicia said, rising to her feet as well, "he's squeaky clean. An all-American boy. Prep schools, Ivy League colleges, and straight into government service. He came to Treasury by way of graduate school in economics at UVA."

"Find out where he's traveled, especially abroad—and with whom."

"Working it."

"Good. There has to be something there, we just have to find it. Let's compile a list of his family members, girlfriends, boyfriends, roommates, every person he's ever known. These guys"—she pointed to the autopsy photos—"or the guys who trained them, are going to be in there somewhere."

"We're on it, Commander," Felicia said. "But that kind of record search takes time."

"I was told we'd have free access to anything we needed. If you run into a roadblock, tell me about it. I'll make a phone call."

"Thanks."

"Davis, I need you to make some transportation arrangements for the morning."

Felicia joined Cam on her way to the door. "Going somewhere, Commander?"

"No, it's for a new arrival."

Chapter Twenty-three

Thursday, September 20

A t just after five a.m., Valerie awakened from a restless sleep. After Cam had left the previous evening, she and Felicia had continued working for several more hours, setting up graphic charts and data grids to organize the plethora of information they had already accumulated, with more to come. They'd finally both admitted their efficiency had zeroed out and it was time to quit for the night. She'd gone to bed, but sleep wouldn't come. She tossed and turned, her mind and body seeking something she couldn't define, until she exhausted herself and drifted into uneasy slumber.

She lay for a moment, staring at her cell phone on the bedside table. She reached out and held it in front of her face, her thumb hovering over the keypad. It would take so very little to banish the loneliness. Thirty seconds of hearing that low, sultry voice welcoming her. It would be so easy to give in, just once. She pressed the first three numbers, then pushed off and dropped the phone back onto the table.

Even though she'd had barely three hours sleep, she got up and showered, then pulled on a soft red cotton V-neck sweater and jeans. She slipped her feet into deck shoes and made her way through the quiet house to the dining room. Working only by the light from the monitors, she continued with the data entry, stopping intermittently to open a Web browser to cross-check facts with additional databases. She registered the sound of the shower running, followed by the rattle of utensils coming from the kitchen, but she kept on.

"How long have you been at that?" Felicia asked as she set a mug of coffee next to Valerie's right arm.

"Thanks," Valerie said with a sigh of appreciation. She checked her watch. "A few hours. Couldn't sleep. Too many things running around in my head."

"I know what you mean." Felicia dropped a hand onto Valerie's shoulder and squeezed. "You should take a break. Too many hours in a row and you'll start missing things."

'I will. Soon."

"Finding anything?"

"It's what I'm not finding that's the problem."

"How so?" Felicia sipped her coffee and watched the marsh grass blow outside the window. The sky was an even pewter gray, broken only by darker thunderclouds that threatened rain.

"There's no national registry for identifying marks—scars, tattoos, that kind of thing. Even trying to go state by state is hit or miss. If the various criminal divisions don't input the data, it just never shows up. And even when they do..." She brushed her hair away from her face with an impatient gesture. "It's damn hard to find it."

"We can't even share intelligence between security divisions at the federal level," Felicia noted, settling into a chair at the other computer. "It's too much to hope that the states would be able to."

"I'm willing to bet that situation changes now."

"I think a lot of things in this country are going to change." Felicia regarded Valerie contemplatively. "Do you really think nobody knew what was coming?"

Valerie hesitated for a second, then shook her head. "No, I'm willing to bet a lot of people knew something. The problem is not enough people knew everything —or even enough. We've been watching Osama—even before the attack on the Cole. But we've never gotten more than bits and pieces of the puzzle."

"Well, let's hope we can find a few of the pieces ourselves."

Two hours later, Valerie pushed back from the computer. "I need some air."

"You should get some sleep."

"Thanks," Valerie said quietly. "I'm okay. A walk will clear the cobwebs out."

"Take a jacket," Felicia said absently, her attention refocused on her monitor. "Supposed to rain."

Valerie pulled on a black nylon windbreaker on her way out through the rear door of the guesthouse. She crossed the deck and started down the narrow sand path to the beach. The wind had picked up and whipped her shoulder-length hair around her face. She hunched her shoulders and put her hands in the jacket pockets, trying to stay warm in the unexpected chill. Within minutes she was at the ocean's edge, surveying the steady march of white-tipped waves that broke and roiled over the small stones and shells that littered the beach inches from her toes. She narrowed her eyes and searched the horizon, but she couldn't make out the presence of any life. They must be out there, the merchant ships and fishing trawlers, fighting the elements, dwarfed by the immensity of nature's power. She looked up into the sky, which had darkened now almost to black, wondering if there would ever come a time again when the heavens would hold only beauty and not the threat of death. With a sigh, she turned away from the house and walked along the ocean's edge, unmindful of the first drops of rain. She had always known her purpose, always understood her place, but in the last few years the world had shifted on its axis and she had lost her balance. What had once been so clear, so simply delineated in black and white, had turned, like the sky, to ever more murky shades of gray. The rain fell harder, and now and then she absently brushed the water from her eyes.

She knew she imagined it when the wind carried the sound of her name, and she kept on. When it came the second time, unmistakable, she turned and held the hair back from her face with one hand. Down the beach, hurrying toward her from the direction of the guesthouse, was a woman in a navy windbreaker much like her own, her hair tucked up beneath a cap. There was no mistaking her gender, however, or, as she drew closer, her identity. Valerie held her breath, afraid to blink and break the spell.

"Valerie!" Diane called.

It was the first time in her life she could ever recall a wish coming true. She stood very still, trying to absorb every detail of Diane's face. The slight frown—worry or anger? Uncertain, Valerie waited for judgment.

Diane stopped inches from Valerie. "You're soaked."

"I got caught out in the rain."

"You should've come back."

"I would have. Soon."

Diane put both hands behind Valerie's head, tangling her fingers in the wet blond strands, and pulled Valerie's mouth to hers. Valerie's lips were cold, but her mouth was molten. Diane moaned softly as she delved inside, swirling her tongue over satin-smooth surfaces until the unexpected sensation of teeth tugging at her lip sent a stab of pleasure straight to her center. Her legs trembled, and she pressed hard into Valerie to steady herself, not surprised when strong arms closed around her waist and held her securely. She tilted her head back and kissed the tip of Valerie's chin. "I missed you."