Anyone expecting to find clues here that might help pin down The Cottage's location will be disappointed. Even though I'm not there as I type this it's still in use by Wilde Labs and is still relatively secure so far as I know. I've already revealed that Gladys's mother was living about two hours away in Leicester County, Virginia, which might or might not be precisely accurate but is not vital to security at this point. To give you anything more specific, in words Dana Carvey once used in his impressions of then-President George H. W. Bush, "wouldn't be prudent. Not gonna do it."

Our ride was what appeared to be a new dark metallic blue Buick Enclave.

"I know what you're thinking," said Joan when she noticed my surprise. She had brought the SUV around from an underground garage to the exit facing the circular drive at the edge of the extensive woods that buffered us from casual prying eyes. "The government drives black. Well, we're working undercover today, you might say. Besides, I prefer the blue."

She handed each of us a leather folder that concealed an official looking photo ID and a sparkling gold badge.

"Treasury agents," she said as I squinted to get a closer look at the writing on the ID and badge. "I suggest you put your regular identification documents at the bottom of your overnight bags. Can't you read that, Al? You're Doug Chesnic for this little mission. Pink, you're Frank Horrigan. You're both agents of the U.S. Treasury Department. Don't ask."

"Joan, for chrissake, I'm on parole. I can't get caught with this!"

"You won't get caught with it, Al. Neither will you, Pink. These credentials are for you to flash if we have to question people who get suspicious, if we can't find Mrs. Alabi - neighbors, landlord, that sort of thing. And if these badges don't do the trick and somebody calls the police - which they won't, but if they do - and I can't talk our way out of any trouble our security team will be on us like a flies on a meadow muffin. OK?"

"But what about you, Joan? You're sticking your neck way out here. Giving us these phony credentials." I extended my arm and waved the leather case at her, hoping she'd come to her senses and take it back. She waved me off.

"I keep these with me at all times," she said. "They're from the old days for the kinds of situation where we needed at least the appearance of backup. Like the posses in the Old West. You're my deputies now, boys, and you had damned well better not screw up, you hear?"

"But, Joan..."

"But what?" she snapped.

"Look, you know I trust you implicitly, even though you did scare the hell out of me when I thought you were dead, but I understand now why you had to do that, I think. What I don't understand is how were you able to get our faces on these plastic ID cards so fast? You didn't - we didn't - know about this until this morning."

She laughed. "Al, look at your buddy, Special Agent Horrigan." I turned and saw that Pink was grinning widely.

"In the lab, Al," he said. "I can do anything in my lab."

When I turned back to Joan she was holding a black, short-barreled revolver out to me. She had another in her other hand. "Put this in your pocket. I'll show you how to do it so it won't show through your pants and so you can get it out in a hurry without an accidental discharge." She handed the other one to Pink, who seemed dumbfounded, holding it as if it were about to explode.

"Look, the chance of you having to use those things is next to zero, like winning the lottery. OK? They're strictly a last-ditch survival weapon in an absolute worst-case scenario, like if something happens to me. You don't need any skill to operate them. Just point them at whoever is trying to kill you and pull the trigger. Simple as that. OK?"

"Alright, so we get there and Mrs. Alabi's not home. What are the neighbors gonna think when three Secret Service agents start combing the neighborhood?" I fought back a smirk, knowing I'd just laid four aces on the table. After all, I was a former governor of Iowa. I'm supposed to win one now and again. Of course Joan took the pot with her royal flush. This consisted of a plastic scroll she unrolled and stuck to the driver's side door. Publishers Clearing House proclaimed the large glossy letters.

"One for each side," she said, smiling brightly. "Everybody loves a winner. They'll trip over each other cooperating with us. Just remember to smile." She detached the magnetic sign from her door and rolled it back up. "We'll wait until we're there. Wouldn't wanna cause an accident on the way."

By the time we rolled out of the woods onto the nearest road the sun had slipped below the horizon. Pink had the back seat to himself, as Joan wanted me riding shotgun.

"We're old friends," she told Pink.

"No problem," he said. "I'll just stretch out and take a catnap."