SIXTY-FIVE

Sung Kim was careful to obey the speed limit.

Three miles clear of the farm on State 15, she slowed to make the turn into a small road on her right. She drove down the road for a half mile before she saw the gray Lincoln sedan parked off to the side. She passed the Lincoln, pulled the Dodge van over and parked. Opening the door and sliding out, she didn’t bother to take anything. There was nothing in the van that could lead anyone to her.

She walked back to the Lincoln. The driver nodded as she approached, then opened the door and got out of the car.

“It’s ready?” she asked him.

“Of course,” he said. Despite the fact that the man was Japanese, that every aspect of his ID and legend linked him directly to Tokyo, his English was perfect. “The plates are untraceable,” he added. “The registration checks out perfectly.”

“And the van?”

“By tonight there will be no evidence it ever existed.”

Sung Kim nodded, went past him, and got into the Lincoln. She closed the door and watched the man as he walked to the van and climbed in behind the wheel. She started the engine and pulled up to the side of the Dodge, then reached across to the glove compartment and pulled out a small brown leather purse. She got out of the Lincoln and walked around to the driver’s door of the van. The driver’s eyebrows rose as he lowered his window.

“Did I forget something?” he asked.

Sung Kim moved up close to him, kept the purse down by the side of her leg where he couldn’t see it. From the purse she withdrew a Sig Sauer nine-millimeter semiautomatic with an attached silencer. She kept it out of sight as long as possible before swinging it up and shooting him directly above the line of his eyes. The man seemed to stare at her for a moment before he fell to his right across the center console.

Sung Kim threw the gun into the seat next to him, closed the door and went back to the Lincoln. She glanced at her watch on the way, and as she did so she heard a tremendous explosion from the direction of the mansion. The Secret Service and the FBI would be on their way soon. They would find the Japanese man. Later they would find the Japanese fibers in the ammunition bunker.

It wouldn’t hold up over time, of course, but it would create doubt. The conspiracy wackos would do the rest. No matter what facts the bureau came up with, the crazies would never believe them. The talk shows would keep the rumors alive for years. It would be decades before the Japanese recovered.

He didn’t have long, Monk knew.

Back at the mansion the Secret Service would be dashing around in a state of confusion. They would have verified his identity by now, but they’d be unable to fathom why an FBI agent had broken into the golf course and popped out of the dumbwaiter. They’d be trying to figure out his confrontation with Thomas Franklin—and how his doing so had saved the president and the Japanese prime minister—but that didn’t mean they’d stop coming after him.

And he had another problem as well. An even bigger one.

Weapons. He didn’t have any.

He’d needed only his mouth with Franklin, but it would take more than words for the rest of this.

Monk reached for the telephone hanging on the dashboard and punched Lisa’s cell phone number. He listened to it ring, then her voice asking him to leave a message. Damn it. He checked the clock in the dashboard. Seven-twenty. Could she still be at the office? He tried the phone at her desk. She answered after the first ring.

“Puller?” she asked before he could get a word out.

Hearing her voice, Monk’s body sagged. He released a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding. Thank God, he heard himself murmur. Dear God, thank you. He hadn’t believed for a moment that she was dead, he told himself, but suddenly he was so weak with relief he thought he might have to pull over to the side of the road.

“Puller?” she repeated. “Is that you?”

“I need you, Lisa. I need your help.”

“Christ, Puller, what are you up to? I just came out of the assistant director’s office. He wants to know what you’re doing at Franklin’s—”

“Not now!” Monk snapped. “Just listen!”

A brief pause. “What do you need? Where do you want me?”