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it.
    —
    Architect hung up her phone and looked at the photograph of the beautiful young woman on her desk. “Circulate this,” she said to the man across from her. “Find her and take her alive, if at all possible.”

Holly found Stone in his study, and he poured them both a day’s-end drink.
    “God, I need this,” Holly said, sinking some bourbon.
    “Rough day?”
    “A fairly fruitless day. It got rough when I had to issue some instructions.”
    “Dare I ask what instructions?”
    “Don’t ask. Suffice it to say that I gave someone permission—no, that’s weaseling. I very nearly ordered someone to commit murder.” She took another swig of the amber liquid.
    “Don’t you do that practically every day?”
    Holly looked at him sharply, then realized he was just kidding. “Normally, no more than three or four times a week.”
    “You didn’t see this sort of thing coming when you got your promotion?”
    “When I worked for Lance he was a little protective of me, and he would give some orders to operatives himself.”
    “He was probably just eliminating you as a witness at some congressional hearing.”
    Holly laughed. “That’s exactly what he was doing, but I also thought he didn’t want me to get my hands too dirty, maybe because he thought I couldn’t handle it.”
    “Was he right?”
    “Oh, I’m handling it,” Holly replied ruefully. “It didn’t take me long to rationalize the whole thing.”
    “That’s good self-protection.”
    “Maybe, but you know what I keep thinking? Somehow, during my meager childhood religious experience, I formed the view that when my life ended I would have to face God and . . . well, not confess the bad things I had done, because He would already know. I would just have to face Him knowing that He knows. That’s pretty scary stuff, because at that point I wouldn’t know where I was going to end up for all eternity.”
    “Scary stuff for a little girl,” Stone agreed. “God will also know why you did what you did, and maybe he’ll confirm your judgment, instead of drop-kicking you into hell.”
    “What an image! God coming down from his skybox and booting me between the goalposts, right into the flaming end zone seats!” She tossed off the rest of her drink and poured herself another. “Do you ever feel guilty about anything?” she asked.
    Stone sighed. “When Arrington died, one of my first thoughts was the irrational feeling that I was somehow responsible.”
    “But you didn’t do anything. . . .”
    “I know, I know. I repeatedly worked my way back through the weeks before her death, and the worst I could come up with was that, if she hadn’t married me, she wouldn’t have died.”
    “As you say, irrational. I mean, she would have eventually dumped the guy, even if you weren’t around, wouldn’t she?”
    Stone brightened. “Funny, I didn’t think of that. Yes, she would have, surely.”
    “And then he probably would have done what he did anyway.”
    “That’s an awful thought, but it makes me feel slightly less guilty.”
    “Well, your average shrink would probably tell you that a lot of people irrationally feel guilt when they lose somebody.”
    “Your average shrink? Have you ever talked to one of those?”
    “Oh, I’ve talked to somebody like that once or twice a year since I’ve been with the Agency. The brass is always on the lookout for somebody who is about to bring an assault weapon to work. I mean, it’s a lot more pressure than working at the post office, isn’t it?”
    “I can only guess.”
    “You know who I think never has a moment’s guilt or a second thought about anything?”
    “Who? Kate Lee?”
    “Oh, no, Kate has a very active conscience—she’s a Democrat, after all. No, I was talking about Felicity Devonshire.”
    “Well, Felicity is a pretty cool customer.”
    “When we were all in L.A. I had a chance to talk to her for the first time, and she was very warm and helpful. We were working out