covering their asses and trying to prevent a panic. But there obviously existed a clandestine and

well-organized cult of necromancers, undoubtedly involving some very highly placed and well-respected

adepts, most likely in the private sector, but possibly even in the Bureau and the I.T.C. itself. Al Hassan

had been the prime example, one of the most powerful and influential adepts in the world, a mage who

had sat on the board of the I.T.C. itself and who had died in a cataclysm induced by an incredibly

powerful necromantic spell that had gone out of control.

covering their asses and trying to prevent a panic. But there obviously existed a clandestine and

well-organized cult of necromancers, undoubtedly involving some very highly placed and well-respected

adepts, most likely in the private sector, but possibly even in the Bureau and the I.T.C. itself. Al Hassan

had been the prime example, one of the most powerful and influential adepts in the world, a mage who

had sat on the board of the I.T.C. itself and who had died in a cataclysm induced by an incredibly

powerful necromantic spell that had gone out of control.

Once that decision had been made, there was the question of whom to assign to the case. Every single

field agent who wasn't actively engaged on some other case, and even many of those who were and had

heard about it through the grapevine, had started angling to be assigned. Megan had been no exception.

She had called in every favor she could think of, pulled every string, she had campaigned for it like a

skillful politician, and she had landed it at last. But meanwhile, precious time had been lost. She had to

assemble her team, which had taken more time, but had not proved to be a problem. There was no

shortage of volunteers. Everyone wanted in on it. If a bust went down, they all wanted a piece of the

credit.

She had arrived in Santa Fe in a state of nervous anticipation and excitement, like a racehorse anxiously

ramming at the starting gate—Loomis's analogy had been depressingly apt—and she had almost blown it.

Kira—if that was her real name—had been playing games with her. Her arrogance was simply beyond

belief, thought Megan. She was confident, certain of her own invulnerability. That suggested to Megan

that Kira felt protected. And why shouldn't she? Who would suspect the sexy young girlfriend of the

Bureau district chief? Even if anyone did suspect her, Ramirez, through his position and his local

influence, would protect her. She must have the poor fool completely wrapped around her little finger,

Megan thought.

Well, that wouldn't help her. She was going to make this bust and she was going to crack Kira like an

eggshell if it took the combined powers of the entire Bureau team to get her to confess and name her

accomplices. And then, Megan thought, she'd be able to write her own ticket in the Bureau. Even be

promoted to a position in the I.T.C., perhaps at their headquarters in Geneva. She might even eventually

wind up with a seat on the board. And that smug little bitch was going to give it to her. She would get it

all.

She managed to beat Loomis to The Inn at Loretto, where the rest of the team was staying. As soon as

she arrived, Rosowitz and Stanley had news for her.

"You were right," said Rosowitz. "There's no record at the Bureau of Ramirez ever putting in a request

for your jacket. And there's no record of anyone having sent it to him."

"Iknew it," Megan said. "I knew that bitch was lying."

"There's more," said Stanley. "We got a listing of all calls made from Ramirez's office last night. The last

call made during regular office hours was shortly before six o'clock and it was a local call. The only other

call was made shortly before four A.M., to a number in New York. We checked on it and it's an address