Dan's telephone rang twice. He was yanked awake by the beeps. He sat up, grabbed the telephone, and pressed a button.

"Hi, Dan. It's me. We need to talk."

"Where are you?"

"Lynns' Cafeteria."

"I know the place. I will be there shortly."

Dan disconnected the call, vaulted from the bed, landed on the parquet floor of his room, and dashed into the bathroom. He took a quick bath and spent the next two minutes grooming himself. When he was done, he went downstairs and into the kitchen, he made tea and bread. The food didn't settle well in his tummy, so he put it aside and drank water.

He fed the stray cat he'd found wandering in his backyard. Then he picked his car keys from the table in the lobby, locked the door, and got inside his black sedan. He was out of the driveway.

A distance away from Dan's house, a black SUV had been parked under a tree. The occupants shared a look, then one of them made a call. "He's on the move," he said when a voice came through the line.

"He's not going to work. Follow him. I'm sure he's meeting the fugitive. Keep me posted." She hung up.

The agent tossed the phone on the dashboard and pulled out from the remote spot.

Dan drove across the street at an incredible speed. He was in a hurry to meet Ethan. He slammed on the accelerator pedal and increased his speed. Two minutes later, he reached his destination, parked on the road, and stepped out. Then he walked to the cafeteria. He found Ethan sitting in a booth by the window. Dan rushed to his side and sat quickly.

"Hey, buddy. How have you been?"

Ethan pushed the red cap forward to conceal his face. "Fine. Were you followed?"

"No. I don't think so."

"Good. I spoke with Clinton."

"You did? When?"

Ethan leaned forward and rested his hands on the tabletop. "Today at Anna's house. He got to her and told her shit. She bought it. Clinton sent two men after me." He proceeded to narrate how he'd defeated Clinton's lapdogs and tied them up. By now he was certain they were in police custody under intense interrogation.

"My God, Ethan. You've been through hell."

He sighed. "Clinton knows I didn't plan my escape."

"Well. Did you?"

He told Dan how he was able to escape and the allegations about Admiral Peterson. After everything sank in, Dan exclaimed, "What!"

He lowered his voice. "Do you have proof?"

"No, I don't. That's why I'm working so hard to find evidence. If I don't, I will forever remain a mass murderer."

A waitress walked to their booth and they ordered distilled water. She brought their orders. Ethan uncapped the bottle and sipped.

"Where's the Judge now?"

"At her cousin's place. She's safe, but I think Clinton's got her daughter."

"Talking about that, I looked into him but didn't find anything implicating. Like I said, he's too powerful. If he's doing something illegal, then he's good at hiding it."

"Clinton has men everywhere. That's how he's helping Admiral Peterson. We need hard evidence to establish a connection. Phone calls, bank records. . . anything that proves those two know each other."

Dan mulled over everything he'd heard. "You said someone broke you out of the convoy?"

He nodded.

"Why would anyone want to do that when the whole world has proclaimed you a mass murderer?"

"Because my savior knows I'm innocent."

"Exactly. Right now we don't have the resources to go after Clinton and Admiral Peterson. We need help. If you didn't plan your escape, then it means someone also knows about the allegations. Someone powerful to hit a convoy and we have to find that person."

Outside the cafeteria, in the black SUV, one of the two agents looked into the lens of binoculars. He saw Dan speaking quickly with someone he couldn't see because the person purposefully didn't want to be seen. The agent was positive it was the fugitive. He signaled his partner and he made contact. The call was placed on loudspeaker. A feminine voice materialized on the line.

"It's him," the agent with the binoculars said.

Willet anxiously said, "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

For four seconds, Willet didn't speak.

"How should we proceed, ma'am?"

"Ethan will not surrender without putting up a fight. There're civilians too in the cafeteria. And this is our only chance. We can't miss it." She went silent, then came in again. "Proceed as planned. I want him alive."

"And the lawyer?"

"You know what to do with him."

He put the binoculars aside, reached for his gun, and loaded it with bullets. All set, the two agents stormed out of the car.

Ethan sipped from the bottle. "How are you going to find the person who hit the convoy?"

Dan nervously scratched his temple. "I'm still thinking. I believe whoever this person is has power and authority like Clinton. Maybe someone in a high position. Could be an FBI director, CIA, NSA. . . anybody who knows what Clinton and Peterson are doing."

"That's a wide search. How do we narrow it down?"

As he watched Dan's lips move, his peripheral vision spotted one of the agents on his trail. He muttered, then sprang up, and snatched his firearm.

He whispered to Dan. "We need to leave. We're compromised."

Dan followed the direction of his eyes to understand what was going on. He too lurched to his feet. Ethan gripped his wrist and dragged him along as he made his way to the back entrance. The agent heightened his steps.

They got to the back entrance which was distanced from the main room where all the civilians were seated-some busily eating-others engaged in a conversation. Ethan kicked the door open and took his first step into the alley. And there he stood, waiting for them with his gun pointed directly at the fugitive.

Ethan tightened his grip around Dan's wrist and backstepped, intending to use the other exit. He collided with his partner. He too was holding his gun to his head. Ethan was trapped and he was out of moves. Fighting back would attract onlookers and the result would be very disturbing. He wouldn't surrender too.

One of the agents held up his badge to his face. "Peter Ronald with the U.S. Marshals Service." Then he placed it back, and said, "You're under arrest, Ethan Willows." The agent saw that he wanted to pull a stunt so he cocked his gun.

"We could do this the easy way or the hard way. You choose."

Ethan let go of Dan's hand and slowly lifted his hand into the air. "All right." He threw his weapon away. "I'm unarmed. You can have me, but let my friend go. He's got nothing to do with this."

"He was harboring a criminal. He's guilty. Maybe if he cooperates and tells us what you were plotting, the law might go easy on him," the agent from the front entrance said.

Feeling a pang of guilt, he looked at Dan, lowered his voice, and said, "I'm sorry, Dan. I dragged you into this."

He widened his eyes. Dan fathomed what he wanted to do. He shook his head, telling him not to, and that it was suicidal, but Dan knew Ethan wouldn't listen.

Hands in the air, Ethan moved toward the second agent in the alley. As he surged forward to cuff him, he grabbed his hand, snatched the firearm, kicked him with his leg, and in nanoseconds, turned around swiftly, then fired a shot at the agent behind Dan. He fell and writhed on the floor, blood gushing out. Dan jumped from the section he stood, struggling to contain the bloody scene in front of him.

"Let's go, Dan," he said and reached for his wrist, then propelled him forward in his direction.

They hadn't covered a distance when Shelby Willet emerged from a van and released a shock from the stun gun. It hit his neck and he stiffened, staggered about, then landed on the floor, unconscious.

"He's down. Get out!"

Two men in dark suits stormed out of the van simultaneously and ran to the side Ethan lay, carried him, and deposited him into the van. Shelby looked at Dan.

"Who are you?" Dan asked.

"Not important. This is my card. Call me. We have a lot to talk about."

She gave him the card and turned to face the van. The men got out again and carried the two agents on the floor to the van.

"Where are you taking him?"

Shelby didn't reply. Dan watched as she got inside the van and the driver pulled out.