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mission itself. It is a world in which
success is always right and failure always wrong, and there is no
price that will not be paid for success.
    Which is mainly why I got the hell out.
    And which was why, at that moment in the
House of Isaac, my guts were fairly screaming with concern for Dr.
Jen.
    Nor were they screaming for nothing.
    This very bland-faced, pleasant looking man
was on both knees beside the Jacuzzi, Jennifer was in the Jacuzzi,
totally submerged, and the guy was holding her under.
    He noticed my presence
there just maybe a single heartbeat before I took his head in both
of my hands and threw it across the wet bar. The body followed, but
not exactly in a proper arc.
    I did not even look for the touchdown but
had the spluttering, bug-eyed beauty in my arms and hauling even
before the crash beyond the bar. She was okay; a little the worse
for wear but alive and well enough, which maybe was more than could
be said a few minutes hence if we had hung around to discuss the
matter. I wrapped her in a towel and carried her out of there,
carefully placed her inside the Maserati, and away we went without
a backward glance.
    I thought I caught a glint of light
reflecting from a metallic surface near some trees just below the
drive as we flashed past that point but I was not positive I had
seen anything at all, and it was no time for idle curiosity—nor was
it necessary, with the Maserati beneath us. She lifted us up, up,
and away—and I knew damned well that nothing on wheels behind us
would so much as taste our dust until I was ready for that.
    We hit the Foothill
Freeway at full scream and I did not throttle-back until I'd worked
us through a briskly running traffic pack and had them all numbered
in my rearview.
    Dr. Jen had spoken not a
word and I'd had little opportunity to do more than toss her an
occasional reassuring smile until that moment. But then I lit a
cigarette and offered it to her. To my surprise, she accepted it
and took a businesslike pull at it. So I lit another for myself and
tried to wind the guts back into place.
    "You okay?" I quietly inquired.
    "Does mad as hell
qualify?" she replied, just as quietly.
    I chuckled and said, "I'd be mad, too. You
looked like hell, kiddo. Snot coming out your nose, eyes all bugged
and terrified. Can't you find a better way to get your kicks?"
    She asked, "Did you kill him?"
    I shrugged as I replied, "Unless I've lost
my touch."
    "How does that make you feel?"
    I shrugged again. "It was his nickel. How
does it make you feel?"
    She did not reply to that but told me, "Ash,
I'm really scared."
    "We're okay for now," I assured her.
    "I don't mean—I mean...
Isaac. That man was looking for Isaac."
    "He seemed pretty busy with you," I
commented.
    "He was trying to get me to tell him where
Isaac is. I kept telling him I didn't know. And he kept pushing me
back under. Why in the world would a man like that be looking
for... ?" She made a lunge for me and held on for dear life. "My
God but you were a beautiful sight to terrified eyes! Thank you,
Ash. I don't know how to... just thanks, thanks."
    I asked, very quietly, "Where is Isaac,
Jen?"
    "I don't know," she whispered.
    I said, "I believe that you do."
    "No. Please. I just don't know."
    But she did. She knew.
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Six: The Lock
     
    I moved from the Foothill to the Simi Valley
Freeway and ran on west to Topanga Canyon then took that surface
route south for roughly twenty miles to the coast, which put me
down about halfway between Santa Monica and Malibu. If you are
unfamiliar with the area, Topanga Canyon all the way through the
Santa Monica Mountains is a tortuous course and heavily traveled,
so the going was relatively slow and it was nearing eight o'clock
when we hit the coast highway. Throughout that tense journey,
however, we had traveled in silence, with not so much as a word
between us. Which gave a lot of thinking time, and I certainly
needed that. Jen needed it too, apparently—curled up