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and tortoiseshell spectacles, stopped speaking and looked at him expectantly.
    Burrow nodded urbanely. 'I couldn't agree with you more, Mrs Vine,' he said, even though he hadn't been listening. 'You THE TUNNEL RATS 31 can rest assured that we are of one mind on this issue.' He stood up and adjusted the sleeves of his jacket. 'It's been a pleasure, ladies. I want to thank you all for the time and trouble you've taken to come and see me.'
    The three women stood up and he shook them by the hand. His handshake was as practised as his smile, strong enough to show strength of character and determination, but not too overpowering. He escorted them to the door and opened it, giving each of the women a warm smile as they left.
    Kristine Ross was standing in the outer office, holding a manila envelope. Burrow gave her a genuine smile and looked her up and down. With her long tanned legs, full figure and shoulder-length blonde hair, Kristine could have worked as a catwalk model. Not that Burrow would ever do anything more than look - he'd learned his lesson the hard way and he didn't want to throw away another fifty thousand dollars. She looked worried.
    'Something wrong, Kristine?' he asked.
    She gestured with the UPS package. 'Can I have a word with you, Senator?'
    'Of course,' he said, ushering her into his office. He watched her walk over to his desk. She had a sexy, sensual walk, slow and easy as if she knew that men liked to watch her move. Burrow made sure that his gaze was levelled at her face when she turned to face him.
    'This came in the morning mail,' she said as Burrow went back behind his side of the large oak desk. 'It was addressed private and confidential, but office policy is to--'
    'I know, I know,' he said brusquely, adjusting his cuffs. 'What's the problem?'
    'It's a photograph.'
    'So?' Burrow was starting to find the secretary's reticence annoying. She gave him the envelope, a look of disgust on her face, then looked away as he opened the envelope and took out a Polaroid photograph. Burrow grimaced. It was a human figure, spreadeagled, dripping with glistening blood, the flesh made ghostly pale by the camera flash. 'Why would anyone . . . ?' he began, then he noticed something impaled in the chest. He held the photograph closer to his face and squinted.
    'I wasn't sure whether I should give it to the Secret Service or--'
    'How was it delivered?' interrupted Burrow.
    'UPS. From London, England.'
    Burrow clicked his fingers impatiently. 'Get me the pack it came in. You've still got it, don't you?'
    'Yes. Yes, I do.' She backed away from him and then walked quickly out of the office. For the first time ever, Burrow didn't watch her go. He continued to stare at the photograph. His heart was racing and his palms were damp with sweat.
    Kristine returned with the UPS pack, and Burrow practically ripped it from her hands. He scanned the label. 'Max Eckhardt,' he whispered. .
    'I couldn't find his name on the computer,' said Kristine. 'That's why I opened it. I didn't do anything wrong, did I?'
    Burrow put the UPS pack down on the desk and leaned back in his chair. He smiled as if he didn't have a care in the world. 'Probably a crank,' said Burrow. 'Nothing to worry about, Kristine.'
    'Shall I give it to--?'
    'No, it's nothing. There wasn't anything else in the envelope, was there? No note or anything?'
    'Just the photograph,' said Kristine.
    Burrow shrugged dismissively. 'So it's nothing.'
    Kristine brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. 'You're sure?' she asked.
    Burrow crinkled his eyes slightly. It was his serious, sincere look. 'Absolutely,' he said.
    Kristine looked as if she wanted to say something else, but she could tell from Burrow's demeanour that the conversation was over. She left the office. This time Burrow watched her leave, but his eyes were cold and hard as if his mind was elsewhere. As soon as the door closed, he picked up the photograph again and stared at it.
    R eid and Wright got nothing of