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Nowadays, I spend my free time, in the evenings, reading about Pontiac, doing a little amateur research on the period.”
    “I understand, I understand,” Tucker said, “but, you know, it’s not good simply to subside into the woodwork. You have hired a nurse, possibly you could get a little more help, and that would free up some time. . . . We pay very well, you know.”
    “Who is ‘we’? The DEA? CIA? Who are we talking about?” Mulheisen asked.
    “It’s actually a coalition of agencies,” Tucker said. “In fact, it’s a special task force, under the new Homeland Security aegis. I’m running it. You’d be answerable only to me. So you see, if you’re concerned about joining some government agency, it wouldn’t be like that. No training, no elaborate security clearance, no civil service exam or requirements. You would be simply a civilian contractor, for a set fee. Say, one hundred thousand dollars?”
    Mulheisen stopped. “A hundred grand? For the duration? I mean, what if it gets wrapped up in a couple of weeks? Or in two years? What then?”
    Tucker liked the way this was going. As long as Mulheisen was in negotiation, other issues could be shunted aside. “A hundredgrand for the duration of the investigation . . . that is, until we have our perpetrators.”
    “Ah. Until you have them? Identified them? Arrested them? Convicted them?”
    “Identified them,” Tucker said, “to our satisfaction, at least. And, naturally, we’d want to know where they are, if they’re still alive, but that wouldn’t necessarily involve tracking them down and arresting them. But, that could be part of it, if you’re interested. Let’s say the investigation runs longer than six months . . . we could negotiate an additional fee. And so on . . . for the duration. Sound okay?”
    “Okay? It sounds too good. I never got anything like that on the force.”
    “These are special times,” Tucker said. “Congress is responding to the anxiety of the public. The funds are there. And you’re a man with special abilities, with a special interest. You’re motivated.”
    “You mean, my mother? Well, to be honest, Colonel, I’ve never quite bought into revenge as a motive.”
    Tucker was surprised. “Revenge is a very familiar motive,” he asserted.
    “So they say,” Mulheisen agreed, “but I’ve always been a little skeptical. In practice, I get the feeling that the desire for revenge is intense immediately following the . . . ah, event. But it begins to fade pretty quickly, I suspect. People begin to think about reality, making a living, getting on with their lives. I felt a lot of anger, but it soon got pushed aside in favor of my concern for my mother. Still, I know that some cultures . . .”
    He looked thoughtful, then added, “I can remember a couple of cases. The murder of Big Sid Sedlacek, for instance. His daughter was certainly on fire about that. We figured she was behind the subsequent murder of Carmine Busoni, the mob boss who ordered the hit.”
    Tucker’s eyes lit up. “I know about that case,” he said. “We were interested in his successor, DiEbola. It’s funny that you should mention it, because there is a kind of connection with the bombing.”
    “What!” It was Mulheisen’s turn to be amazed. “What possible connection?”
    “It’s tenuous,” Tucker said. “Just a name that keeps popping up. Service.”
    “You’re kidding. Joe Service? What could Service possibly have to do with terrorists?”
    Tucker was delighted with Mulheisen’s kindled interest. “Who knows?” he said. “Maybe nothing. But it’s one of the things we have to find out.”
    “What was the connection?”
    “Just the name,” Tucker said. “Maybe it was irrelevant, but there it was. Some of the people we were interested in, possible connections to the incident, had been in communication with Service. His name came up on some telephone intercepts. Possibly, he supplied some expertise, or some weapons . . . it