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death was part of a cover-up to protect you and Susannah. He’s spent the last sixteen years living under an alias in Africa.”
    Janice still looked perplexed, and her face paled. “Please tell me you don’t mean—” She sank to the ground, seeking something to hold her up. Chas moved to her side and helped reseat her on the chair.
    Susannah knelt at her feet. “Mom, FTP is on the case. The whole Bod Squad is. We’re going to find him. It’s too complicated—and too dangerous—for me to tell you any of the details, but we’ve got to go now. I’ll report back as soon as I can. We may be his only hope.”
    Janice sat for a moment, her hand over her mouth. Her eyes darted around the room as her mind sought to catch up to the information given to her. Then she pursed her lips and said, “Well, goddamn that bastard. I should’ve known. He’s got a hell of a lot of explaining to do. In the meantime, I want to know everything, everything you find out, as soon as you can get me the info. And when you find him, give him a message from me: tell him he’d better be prepared, because the second he’s home, I’m going to kill him for this.”
    ‡‡‡
    AN HOUR LATER, the Bod Squad boarded a private plane waiting at JFK. Since they were in New York for Susannah’s wedding, they all had everything they might need packed in a small travel bag—what the Boss called “The Yellow Brick Roadster.” He had insisted that they all have a travel pack of surveillance gear and travel paraphernalia so that they could leave the country at the drop of a hat. AJ was there with all her recon essentials, wearing a fabulous Prada jacket; Susannah, Chas, Jackson, Lisa Bee, and the Boss were all sporting backpacks and an expression of determination; and Tyka had joined them, wearing aviator goggles and carrying a set of flight plans. She announced that if need be, she could fly the plane.
    When the plane was at cruising altitude, they were offered drinks by a stewardess named Graham Cracker. Or so her name tag said. Jackson seemed to be acquainted with her and called her “Lady’s Got Wings.” At one point, standing near the front of the plane, Graham Cracker reached up to a compartment to grab some snacks; her miniskirt lifted slightly, revealing the tip of a gun. Tyka snorted and said, “Well, since we’re so well taken care of, I’m sure you won’t mind if I see how the pilot’s doing?”
    Graham Cracker smiled and said, with a melodic Western twang, “We’ve all got protection, baby. And you know what I mean!”
    Tyka said something in Russian that none of them understood, then brushed past their saucy stewardess and into the pilot’s cabin.
    ‡‡‡
    THEY TOOK SOME TIME to enjoy their drinks and the lushness of the plane Jackson had chartered. The cabin was spacious, with chairs that looked like they belonged in a living room rather than an airplane. In the center was a table with seating around it, perfect for conferences— or poker , as Jackson told them with a wink. The primary color of the interior was a blush pink, with violet lighting and gray accents. He had wanted to decorate the cabin with pink rose petals for Lisa Bee but hadn’t had the time; also, she had no idea how he felt and probably would have laughed at the effort. Come to think of it, he would have laughed at himself. Rose petals? Really? You don’t need to act like a fucking douche bag to win her, Oreida. Still, he had been deeply pleased when she entered the cabin, let out a small “Oh!,” and held her hand to her chest. But he would never tell her he had chosen the colors for her. It wasn’t the right time, he reasoned. And maybe it never would be. Maybe she’d find this whole thing too strange. He certainly didn’t want to scare her off before he knew where she stood. Besides, there was some rough shit he had to tell them all, so it was time to buck up and get to work.
    After settling in, Jackson led them to the conference table and