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something bigger than the intermittent sniping we use to keep the Baldies off guard. So what I need from every Marine now are disciplined, by-the-book operations, and no lamebrained screwups. You read me?”
    “Louder and clearer still, Commander.”
    Van Felsen looked at him; McGee had the distinct impression that she was trying very hard not to smile. She almost looked like she wanted to pat him on the head. “Glad to hear it” was all she said and then resumed walking, hands folded behind her rather generous posterior.
    “You know, McGee, we’d have invited you up here a long time ago if it wasn’t for…for…” Van Felsen trailed off.
    “For my personal situation. I know, sir.”
    Van Felsen sighed, evidently relieved that McGee had made it possible for her to avoid naming his missing, pregnant girlfriend. “Now, because of what’s happened to your—family—we have need of your special assistance.”
    “Anything, sir. Just name it. I’m your man.”
    Van Felsen stopped and turned to look up—way up—at him. “I know that, Alessandro. More than you can guess. So here’s what I need. I need to come for a visit.”
    “A-a visit, sir?”
    “Yes, son, a visit. Me and the rest of the joint forces command. Well, all but two of us. We can’t put all the cadre’s eggs in one basket, no matter how quiescent the Baldies have been to date. But the rest of us need to get on-site in Melantho, have some specialists look at your house, study where your—where Jennifer worked, socialized, shopped.”
    “To figure out why they disappeared her, you mean?”
    “Well, yes—but disappearing often has the context of a permanent disappearance. As in an undisclosed execution.”
    McGee wouldn’t let his head sag. “Yes, sir.”
    “Well, that’s not how we’re seeing Jennifer’s disappearance. Since you were laid up in the hospital and then came straight up here, there’s some news you’re probably not aware of. On the day that Jennifer was taken, twenty-two other persons were disappeared in Melantho. Same approach, same methods.”
    “What?”
    “And there’s only one connection we’ve been able to establish among them.”
    “What’s that?”
    “They’re all artists.”
    McGee’s thoughts chased around purposelessly, like a dog in vigorous pursuit of its own tail. “They’re all artists? ” he echoed.
    Van Felsen nodded. “Yes. All twenty-three of the abductees were artists.”
    “But why—”
    Van Felsen stopped and looked at him again, firmly but with a touch of gentleness. “Despite the official line I barked out during the general briefing, our theory is that the Baldies are trying to communicate with us. Art is nonverbal communication—and the whole verbal approach has been a nonstarter for them. And us.”
    McGee found the theory vaguely intriguing but was unsure where Van Felsen was heading. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t—”
    “Did you hear me, Lieut—apologies: I mean, Sergeant? Our theory is that they want to try to communicate with us.”
    McGee heard the broader implication but had spent so long suppressing the uncertainty, the fear, the regret, the self-recriminations, that he didn’t dare embrace it all at once. “Communication. They took Jennifer to communicate. So, she might be alive.”
    “It’s only a theory so far. But there is something else.”
    McGee’s heart felt like it wanted to soar and plummet, to race and die, all in the same instant. He could only nod and parrot. “Something else?”
    “Yes. There has been only one subsequent abduction incident. It happened just recently. The Baldies snatched up two nurses with the OB/GYN unit in Melantho General when they left their overnight shift two days ago. Neither one had any prior contact with the Baldies or the Resistance, and no explanation was given by the abductors.”
    McGee’s heart finally decided on a direction: it leapt up. “You mean…?”
    Van Felsen closed her eyes and made a palm-down calming