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on for so long, especially through the holidays.
     I’m just glad he was able to come home for a few hours before heading back. But I’m worried that the work is too dangerous.
     All it takes is one wacko with a gun and Scott—”
    “Scott’s a technical specialist, pumpkin. He’s not supposed to be—”
    “But he was.”
    “Well, this time, perhaps. I think it just happened because he has a common background. It’s not everyday we crack one of
     these cybergang cases wide open, you know. He’s a real—”
    “Hero, yes I know: I read the plaque. But does it have to be Scott who—”
    “I’m afraid it does. He’s made a connection with their leader and now that they’re talking, we need to find out everything
     we can.”
    She waved her hand at Edward. Edward set the tray on the table beside her. “Earl Grey?”
    “Yes, ma’am. Strong, three-minute steep, just the way you like it. The biscotti are fresh, just baked.”
    Edward excused himself. Cynthia thanked him, then turned back to her father. “Tea? It’s imported, some of the best.” He nodded
     and she poured. She smacked his hand when he reached for the sugar. “No sugar. You don’t need any of that.”
    Mr. Simons smiled, sincerely. “No, I don’t. Your mother’d be laughing right now if she were here.”
    “She would, wouldn’t she. Next year, we’ll go together?”
    “Yes, we will.”
    ***
    Scott unzipped the garment bag, put the suits into the motel closet, put the Beretta in the left boot and the Browning into
     the shoulder holster. He stretched out on the bed and propped his head against a pillow. He closed his eyes, but didn’t sleep—wouldn’t
     sleep. He left that part of him behind in Baltimore. The part of him that was here in a forty-dollar-a-day motel room in downtown
     Miami didn’t need sleep to perform. Oh he’d sleep all right, an hour here, a few minutes there, but only when he couldn’t
     go on otherwise.
    Right now he was trying to sort out the cryptic message he’d received from Glen when he checked in. He saw the words in his
     mind’s eye and tried to reorder them. He hated Caesar alphabet encoding and was sure that if anyone was watching, they would
     have sorted it out by now anyway.
    He rummaged through the bedside nightstand. Finding a pad of paper and a pen, he wrote:
    Friday, 2p.m.
    Jessica Wellmen
    Southeast Financial Center
    Not a team player
    As he wrote, the videophone and the glossies under the plastic tabletop caught his eye. A caption under one of the pictures
     read: THE ONLY SAFE SEX IS PHONE SEX. FOR THE ULTIMATE, CALL SALT AND PEPPER. Scott chuckled for a moment. The phone book
     was under the videophone. He grabbed it and looked under the W’s. What he found surprised him. There wasn’t a listing for
     a Jessica Wellmen.
    He looked for the Southeast Financial Center next, found a listing, but before he dialed their informational number, he blacked
     out the lens on the phone. “Yes, I’m trying to find someone who works… I should have called directory assistance? Will they
     be able to tell me… They won’t? Thank you.”
    As he hung up the phone, he looked down at the tabletop. The ad for Sid’s Pizza, printed in bold neon red, caught his eye:
     SID’S PIZZA 555-3758. DOWNTOWN, CHEAP, WE DELIVER. He called the number. A guy with the worst Italian accent he’d ever heard
     said, “Hold a minute, then I’ll take your information.”
    He ordered a pizza with the works. Afterward, he drummed his fingers on the nightstand while he considered his next move,
     and that’s when the light went on. He picked up the phone and dialed information.
    The voice said, “What city please?”
    “Miami.”
    “What listing?”
    “Jessica Wellmen.”
    There was a moment of silence, then an operator said, “I’ve checked the listings, and there is no Jessica Wellmen.”
    “Can you check for the area?”
    “Okay, sir… I’m checking for the big cities, Fort Lauderdale, Hialeah, Kendall,