"Yeah, you were. But you looked really sexy in those shorts and that tight shirt." She stroked Stark's forearm. "You've got such a great body."

"Jeez," Stark mumbled, but she grinned with pleasure.

"Honey, you know I love you, right?"

Stark frowned. "Sure I do."

"I want to go back to work."

"We've only been here five days. The commander said at least a week."

"I know what she said," Savard replied, drawing random patterns in the sand between them. "But they need me up there. I'm the FBI connection, and I was in the counterterrorism division. They need me working on what happened at Blair's."

"You need a little bit of a break," Stark said carefully, "so you'll be able to work the way you should. That's all."

Savard met Stark's eyes. "I know I almost lost it for a while there. And I know you know."

"Sweetheart—"

"No, it's okay. I'm not embarrassed that you know that I'm not always... strong."

"You are. You're the strongest woman I've ever known. And the bravest."

"I love you." Savard smiled softly. "You know I've seen my old therapist—the one I saw when I was a teenager—twice since I've been down here. It's helped."

"Yeah, but sometimes it takes longer—"

"I know that too. But I can talk to him on the phone from wherever we are, whenever I need to. And I will, I promise."

"I just want you to be okay. I don't care about anything as much as I care about that."

Savard braced a hand in the sand and leaned forward, brushing her mouth over Stark's. "I know. And that's one of the reasons I'm going to be fine."

"Can I tell you something?" Stark said quietly.

"Anything."

"I want to go back to work too. It's driving me crazy that the commander's doing my job."

Savard laughed out loud. "I never would've guessed you were that territorial."

"Oh yeah?" Stark reached out and pulled Savard onto her beach towel, and kissed her hard. "Just try looking at some other woman."

"Really?" Savard's voice rose, surprised at the unexpected show of aggression from her normally laid-back lover. "We did need this vacation. I'm learning all sorts of wonderful things about you."

"I'm really glad we came. I love being alone with you like this. Your folks are great too, though."

"I told you they'd love you," Savard said. She frowned and ran her hand over Stark's abdomen. "Did you put on your sunscreen? Your stomach's getting pink."

"I did, and that's not a sunburn." Stark grinned. "It was the kiss."

"Don't tell me you're ready again."

"I've been saving it my whole life just for you."

Savard leaned closer, her breasts nestling against Stark's, and kissed her lightly on the mouth. "You are adorable. And so goddamned sexy. And as soon as we shower, I'll take care of that burn of yours."

"We can't."

"Why not?" Savard sat up and dusted sand from the back of her legs.

"Your mother's home."

"Paula, honey, she knows we sleep together."

"Yes, but if we disappear into the bedroom in the middle of the afternoon, she's going to know we have sex."

"Oh, I'm sure that never occurred to her before." Savard smiled. "We'll do it in the shower, then."

Stark's breath caught. "Oh man. Now we're going to have to."

"What's the matter," Savard asked, pressing even closer, the bare skin of her stomach sliding over Stark's, "did that just make you wet?",

Stark blushed. "It made everything...happen." She glanced down, half expecting to see her sudden excitement apparent through her bathing suit. "Just thinking about you touching me makes me so excited, I want to.. .you know. Come."

Savard groaned. "That's it. We're going in the house."

"Yeah," Stark muttered, standing and lifting her towel at the same time. "Maybe we can sneak by your mother."

Chapter Twenty-five

Wednesday, September 26

C am pulled up a chair and regarded the three women seated around the dining-room table that now served as their conference area. Savard, she noted, looked tired, but not haunted. There was a clarity in her blue eyes that had been missing ten days ago. Some of the improvement, Cam surmised, was due to the fact that Stark showed no evidence of anthrax. Neither did Blair, and Cam knew just how much that meant in terms of her own peace of mind and ability to concentrate. She wouldn't feel completely comfortable until the sixty-day incubation period had passed, but Blair was taking the medication prescribed by Captain Andrews, and at this point she was perfectly healthy.

"Good to see you back, Savard. Are you up to speed yet?"

"Getting there, Commander. And thank you. It's good to be back." She and Stark had taken a night flight and then rented a car, arriving just after dawn. Paula had gone immediately to the main house, and she had sought out Felicia, who briefed her quickly over doughnuts and coffee. Just before the seven a.m. briefing, Valerie had come in through the back door. They hadn't had time to do more than nod to one another.

"We've got our full complement of people back now," Cam said. "So let's hear where we are." She looked first at Valerie. "What do we have on the worldwide situation? Anything to tie in to our four UNSUBs?"

"Nothing specific. Everything points to bin Laden as the mastermind of the WTC attack, although it looks like the terrorists responsible were assembled from an assortment of cells—some from Germany, some from the Middle East, and some who had been living here for at least several years. There's nothing that points to a direct American connection."

"On the other hand," Savard interjected, "there is plenty of evidence to suggest that terrorist groups throughout Europe, the Middle East, and elsewhere have begun to collaborate with one another, putting aside their philosophical differences in favor of combined strength. It's not much of a stretch to imagine that something like that could've happened here."

"It works in theory, I agree," Cam said flatly, "but we need facts. What have we turned up on the domestic front?"

Felicia passed out file folders.

Cam opened the top one, as did everyone else at the table. A computer image of a clean-shaven, white, middle-aged male with a buzz cut was on top. His face was square-jawed, with broad cheekbones and a short, relatively shapeless nose—an average face that reflected the melting-pot characteristics of many Americans of far-distant European descent. She looked up, waiting.

"This is August Kreis," Felicia said, "the Webmaster of the neo-Nazi Sheriff's Posse Comitatus group based in Ulysses, Pennsylvania. On September 11, while the World Trade Center towers stood burning, he posted a message praising the 'Islamic freedom fighters' and calling the attacks 'the first shots in a racial holy war that will topple the US government.'"

"Crazy bastard," Savard muttered.

Cam nodded. "I know who he is. He and his 'brothers' routinely get a mention in our internal security reports. So far, I gather he's come up clean for anything related to the attacks?"

"He's been on the FBI watch list for years," Savard said. "There's nothing to connect him to the WTC, other than the timing of his statement. As far as that goes, he either made a very good guess as to who was behind the attacks or he actually knew something. Unfortunately, no one can prove prior knowledge. But if his group knew, other patriot groups did too."

"What we've got," Felicia picked up the thread, "is a loose association of neo-Nazis, skinheads, white separatists, Christian Patriots, neo-Confederates—and the list goes on and on—who have slowly formed a coalition of paramilitary organizations in this country. They share intelligence and feed each other's fanaticism. And they don't give each other up. Code of silence and all that."

"We're looking into all of these organizations for something that connects to these four men," Savard said. "The problem is, our intelligence on these groups is scattered among all the various agencies. We're literally reduced to combing through internal memos from FBI field offices and interagency communiques trying to put the picture together."

"Have you put Foster into the mix as well?" Cam asked.

The agents nodded.

"And?" Cam leaned forward, still believing the answer would be found with him.

"Foster is a cipher," Felicia said, reading from another file folder. "Twenty-nine years old—six years of government service. Nothing exemplary or problematic about his career. His passport, which is reviewed routinely by our agency, showed three trips to Europe other than for assignment-related travel. Each time to Paris, all three trips in the last five months."

Cam narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "Girlfriend over there? Boyfriend?"

"No sign of any serious romantic relationship here or abroad. And he appears to be heterosexual."

"Savard, pull up the postings of Egret's travel schedule for the last twelve months." It was common practice for the White House press department to post the first family's schedule on the White House Web site as well as in briefings to the press corps, sometimes months in advance. It made the Secret Service's job more difficult, because it provided advance information to anyone who might be a threat, but it was part of the open communication policy that was at least paid lip service on Capitol Hill.

"Got it," Savard said after a minute of clicking through files on her laptop.

"How far in advance was her trip to Paris posted?"

Savard scrolled through data, then raised her eyes from the screen, a look of consternation creasing her face. "Just under six months ago— right before Foster's trips started."