Becker held him a moment, then he released his grip. Without taking his eyes off the frightened kid, Becker stooped down, picked up the bottles, and returned them to the table. "What do you say?" he asked.

The kid was speechless.

"You're welcome," Becker snapped. This kid's a walking billboard for birth control.

"Go to hell!" the kid yelled, now aware of his peers laughing at him. "Ass-wipe!"

Becker didn't move. Something the kid had said suddenly registered. I come here every night. Becker wondered if maybe the kid could help him. "I'm sorry," Becker said, "I didn't catch your name."

"Two-Tone," he hissed, as if he were giving a death sentence.

"Two-Tone?" Becker mused. "Let me guess… because of your hair?"

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Catchy name. Make that up yourself?"

"Damn straight," he said proudly. "I'm gonna patent it."

Becker scowled. "You mean trademark it?"

The kid looked confused.

"You'd need a trademark for a name," Becker said. "Not a patent."

"Whatever!" the punk screamed in frustration.

The motley assortment of drunken and drugged-out kids at the nearby tables were now in hysterics. Two-Tone stood up and sneered at Becker. "What the fuck do you want from me?"

Becker thought a moment. I want you to wash your hair, cleanup your language, and get a job. Becker figured it was too much to ask on a first meeting. "I need some information," he said.

"Fuck you."

"I'm looking for someone."

"I ain't seen him."

"Haven't seen him," Becker corrected as he flagged a passing waitress. He bought two Aguila beers and handed one to Two-Tone. The boy looked shocked. He took a swig of beer and eyed Becker warily.

"You hitting on me, mister?"

Becker smiled. "I'm looking for a girl."

Two-Tone let out a shrill laugh. "You sure as hell ain't gonna get any action dressed like that!"

Becker frowned. "I'm not looking for action. I just need to talk to her. Maybe you could help me find her."

Two-Tone set down his beer. "You a cop?"

Becker shook his head.

The kid's eyes narrowed. "You look like a cop."

"Kid, I'm from Maryland. If I were a cop, I'd be a little out of my jurisdiction, don't you think?"

The question seemed to stump him.

"My name's David Becker." Becker smiled and offered his hand across the table.

The punk recoiled in disgust. "Back off, fag boy."

Becker retracted the hand.

The kid sneered. "I'll help you, but it'll cost you."

Becker played along. "How much?"

"A hundred bucks."

Becker frowned. "I've only got pesetas."

"Whatever! Make it a hundred pesetas."

Foreign currency exchange was obviously not one of Two-Tone's fortes; a hundred pesetas was about eighty-seven cents. "Deal," Becker said, rapping his bottle on the table.

The kid smiled for the first time. "Deal."

"Okay," Becker continued in his hushed tone. "I figure the girl I'm looking for might hang out here. She's got red, white, and blue hair."

Two-Tone snorted. "It's Judas Taboo's anniversary. Everybody's got-"

"She's also wearing a British flag T-shirt and has a skull pendant in one ear."

A faint look of recognition crossed Two-Tone's face. Becker saw it and felt a surge of hope. But a moment later Two-Tone's expression turned stern. He slammed his bottle down and grabbed Becker's shirt.

"She's Eduardo's, you asshole! I'd watch it! You touch her, and he'll kill you!"

Chapter 56

Midge Milken prowled angrily into the conference room across from her office. In addition to the thirty-two foot mahogany table with the NSA seal inlaid in black cherry and walnut, the conference room contained three Marion Pike watercolors, a Boston fern, a marble wet bar, and of course, the requisite Sparklett's water cooler. Midge helped herself to a glass of water, hoping it might calm her nerves.

As she sipped at the liquid, she gazed across at the window. The moonlight was filtering through the open venetian blind and playing on the grain of the table. She'd always thought this would make a nicer director's office than Fontaine's current location on the front of the building. Rather than looking out over the NSA parking lot, the conference room looked out over an impressive array of NSA outbuildings-including the Crypto dome, a high-tech island floating separate from the main building on three wooded acres. Purposefully situated behind the natural cover of a grove of maples, Crypto was difficult to see from most windows in the NSA complex, but the view from the directorial suite was perfect. To Midge the conference room seemed the perfect vantage point for a king to survey his domain. She had suggested once that Fontaine move his office, but the director had simply replied, "Not on the rear." Fontaine was not a man to be found on the back end of anything.