Having been given carte-blanche, Lockheart was in the position to surround himself with a dozen ronins, all formerly disavowed, all without patronage, all of whom owed their livelihoods and loyalty to him. Without hesitation, they accepted his position as leader.

His posse came from Kiev, Marseilles, Berlin, Tel Aviv, Damascus, Seoul, and Cape Town, in addition to one stunning female -- Harpy. The men kept a distance from her out of respect for their boss.

Her ethnicity was a mixture of Near-East and Teutonic blood, an exotic blend whom Lockheart met when he advised French Intelligence in Marseilles. Soon after, their relationship blossomed beyond working. Already a looker to start, she had her bone structures lasered to precise Fibonacci ratios, her features aligned in perfect symmetry. Below her chin, the body designers had shaped and reinforced her musculature into a sleek powerful fitness frame. And more than that. Of the group, she was the only one to receive internal weapon implants, a gift from Lockheart, which she had used on the kid in the Black Irish.

Harpy jolted up and looked over at the clock projection. The iridescent 5:05 AM floated over the bedside table. Outside the glass walls, it was still dark. On her stomach, she patted the left side of the bed. He wasn't there.

Instead, Milo Lockheart was sitting in a chair, staring out the dark window.

"Can't sleep, mein Schatz?" Harpy asked rolling over and propping up on two pillows, her neck against the plush leather backboard.

"Lots of things keeping me up. I lost five men today. Good men."

"We lost them to your old girlfriend, how ironic." She chuckled with derision.

"It lasted a month."

"And the men, how do they feel about the loss, you consider that?"

"They want blood, of course."

"And what do you want?"

"Now is not the time for retribution," Lockheart said. "We're close to getting everything we want."

"Then I'll take your Porsche out," Harpy said. "My gift to you and the fellas."

"She's no soft target." He gazed at Harpy's reflection on the glass. "No, I won't risk you."

"Don't you think I'm capable?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I didn't say that."

"Two things going for me, I'm better endowed than she is -- in more ways than one." She winked. "And she won't know when I make my move."

"No," he said with finality.

"Or is it because of DeWitt's offer that's making you -- what's the word, skittish?" Harpy said.

"I don't get skittish."

"A hundred million makes everyone skittish -- could set us up for life."

"What kind of life is that, mein lieber engel?" Lockheart said without looking at her, lost to some distant pull.

"We could live like those Übermenschen in the clouds," she cooed.

"We'll always be looking over our shoulders. Is that what you want?"

"Better than now."

"I see another path," he mused. "What if we use the technology. With Moreau's bio-weapon, we could become a force unmatched, an invincible army of super-soldiers . . . We could walk in and take over a host fief, imagine that, run our own territory."

"Your ambition is frightening, if not fantastical." Harpy lifted one milky leg over the sheet.

Lockheart turned to her at last, scowling. "What will you have me do? DeWitt's deal is a fool's dream, even if it's for real. We're nothing but be liabilities to him. He could throw us to the wolves anytime he wishes, and why wouldn't he? He's done it before."

"You hate him that much, your mentor?"

"Hate is wasteful," he said evenly. "We don't need anyone's patronage. With this tech, we are a power of our own." Lockheart got up from his chair. He stretched his nude frame and turned toward the bed.

"You're not worried?" she huffed.

"About Balkan? One thing you must realize, Schatzi, Balkan is like any other Fednik official -- he's a slave to public scrutiny. Everything is bluff and bluster because any of this leaks out, they would fry him. We have no such constraints. You see, Balkan thinks he has power, but he's a serf like any other cabinet member installed by the PIP. I know how to handle these mollusks."

"Yet, he's waiting for you to deliver Moreau tomorrow. What will you tell him?"

"Nothing. He'll get the Cracker Jack box." Lockheart shrugged. "But no compass inside."

"I hope you know what you're doing," Harpy said, kicking the sheets aside.

"Absolut mein Schatz." Lockheart smiled, slipped his head between her legs, and bit her inner thigh.

* * *

It was a nice sunny day, cool and crisp as Lockheart and Balkan strolled along the Reflecting Pool near the Lincoln Memorial end. Visitors who had come out to see the Tree were thick near the monuments. The men stayed clear from them and sat down on a bench, keeping a few feet between each other. Balkan had on a half-face mirror visor; Lockheart wore none.

Lockheart placed a cooler between them.

"Is that it?" Balkan said with disgust, eying the case as if it were a rabid cur he was forced to pet.

"Wrapped in dry ice. He won't bite."

"Revolting."

"Hey, if the storage device was in his arm, I would have taken that instead."

Balkan picked up the plastic case with his fingers and dragged it closer to his leg.

"So what's in his head that you want so badly?" Lockheart asked, the corner of his mouth bent. "I'm curious."

"You're aren't paid to be curious."

A faint smile took over Lockheart's face.

Balkan wrapped the handle twice with a handkerchief. "I hate this skulking about. We should have met elsewhere."

"The more you hide, the more attention you get."

"Stupid saying -- is that why you aren't covering up?" Balkan asked.

"No one knows my face," Lockheart said. "And it's fresh, recently morphed; my new biometrics aren't on any security database. So, relax."

"Five of your people are dead, yet four names on my list are still at large," Balkan said, looking ahead. "Should I relax?"

"Not my fault," Lockheart said.

"Then whose?"

"Look in the mirror if you want to know."

Balkan chuckled, not from amusement. "Don't be impudent."

"Shall I tell you how? You wanted a hunt but had no clue of the terrain."

"Meaning what?"

"There are other parties interested in the package."

"Irrelevant."

"Aren't you at least curious?" Lockheart asked.

"I don't care. Stick with your objective, mister." Balkan fidgeted trying hard to look away from Lockheart.

"And there lies the problem, Mr. Secretary," Lockheart sneered. "You sent me to hunt but I wasn't the only hunter." He sighed.

"What?"

"We've encountered a mechanic, an Agency asset no less, female, well trained. Imagine my surprise."

"An Agency asset?" Balkan dismissed it with a flick of his head. "Impossible. Oliver would have known."

"Director Oliver wouldn't know his ass from his nose. Her existence is below his radar. At this moment, her status is inactive, her file taken out of circulation just days ago." Lockheart made a ticking sound with his tongue.

"And how did you know and the DCI didn't?"

"The evening we torched Moreau's place, she was there watching him -- and us."

Balkan listened without a word as Lockheart relayed the details of that evening.

"We thought this was a fluke encounter. Then when we moved against Marlboro, guess who showed up again?" Lockheart paused with a carping grin. "Somebody got the same idea you have, Mr. Secretary, except they're playing defense. As a result, I lost five good men that night to the same mechanic. Because we didn't know what we were walking into."

"Not my problem," Balkan said, grinding his teeth.

"You're wrong, it's our problem. You see, the mechanic is no stranger. I knew her well, know what I mean?" Lockheart winked. "She's known by one name -- Porsche, a talented she-wolf with extensive experience whom I had the displeasure of plowing." Lockheart made a pumping motion with his fist. "But her handler is the real worry. His name is Harry DeWitt."

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"No? It should. DeWitt is Regent Augustine's strategist -- and my old mentor," Lockheart said with a mischievous grin. "You should know who your real enemies are -- because Midland is running interference." He chuckled with a disapproving head shake. "I'd say your secrets are blown, Mr. Secretary. A rival fief is on your scent trail throwing headwind against us. And you didn't even know."

Balkan kept quiet, looking out at the twinkling surface of the long reflecting pool.

"You see where I'm going?" Lockheart exhaled with force.

"No."

"Can't leave either of them alive and expect to complete this assignment."

"You can't even handle this Porsche." The Secretary sneered.

"I will if you don't step on the brakes."

"What?"

"I can take DeWitt off the board, and throw Midland off balance."

"No," Balkan said, his decision resonated like a slam of a door.

"He'll dig until he finds dirt, that's his way."

"I forbid it."

"Okay, then have him arrested. I'll do the rest."

"On what charge?" Balkan said, his eyes narrowed.

"That shouldn't be so hard: embezzlement, body parts trafficking, narco slavery, whatever flavor of the day is."

"You think we're so capricious?" Balkan bit his lower lip. "When a paramountcy is involved in a major dispute, it compels the federal watchdog to step in with established Rules of Conduct. I can't touch an adviser to Augustine without legal review from Dallas and approval from the Attorney General. Do you understand the delicate nature involved?"

"I don't profess to know your fancy rules and etiquette but consider this -- they put a tail on Moreau, which means they were interested in more than the man. Moreau was a top tech maven, so ask the question -- which science does Midland desire?" Lockheart allowed the silence to soak.

"Imagine I take off your leash, what happens then? Midland goes into a war footing, and the fief gloves come off. They accuse me in public. The other Houses will go into defensive postures, which brings out Justice, the Press, Congress and Jesus Himself," said Balkan. "Don't hunt rabbits in bear country."

"DeWitt is no rabbit."

"DeWitt is off the menu."

"Bad move."

"You've given me nothing but heartaches and excuses. Your people are supposed to be attack dogs. Instead, I got poodles, whimpering at the sight of a pussy cat, one woman besting the lot of you," Balkan snorted, wrinkling his nose. "Maybe I should hire her in your stead."

"Go ahead, see who would take such a job."

"Are you threatening me? I'm the wrong person to extort --"

"I have losses I need to cover and ranks to shore up," Lockheart said with a cold glare. "Time to either double-down or walk away, Mr. Secretary. Those are your options." He got up from the bench, unexpectedly.

"Sit down!" Balkan growled.

The Sandman stopped and returned to sit, a derisive grin on his face.

"You have names I want gone," Balkan said, his tone amenable. "I will discuss Midland's involvement with Dallas. But do nothing against DeWitt. We clear?"

Lockheart nodded.

"And you'll get your resources."

Balkan got up from the bench, grasped the medical cooler and headed toward the Lincoln Memorial while Lockheart took the opposite direction. Farther ahead, a group of men and a woman materialized among the throng of people to join the Sandman.

* * *

"And?" Harpy asked, one eye cocked. She, Lockheart's lieutenant Johann Casper and two other men stopped playing tourists to join him.

"He swallowed." Lockheart gloated. "Before long, he'll think DeWitt and Midland took Moreau's kernel when he finds the noggin's empty."

"He’s not stupid," Casper said.

"Let’s not wait for him to find out." Lockheart beamed, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "Have you made contact?"

"I have," Harpy said with a headshake. "We got one nibble. I’m thinking Europe might be better."

"Going outside North America could make this sticky with the Fedniks, turn it into a capital crime."

"A bullet is a bullet, no matter from which barrel."

Lockheart planted a kiss on her neck, inhaling her scent.

"What about the current assignment?" Casper asked. "Do we suspend pursuit of Cerberus?"

"I suspect that once Balkan finds out he has an empty skull, we'll be the center of his fury. So we better shore up for the storm."