Brognola pounced on the telephone before it had the chance to ring a second time. His palm was moist and sticky as he lifted the receiver to his ear.

"Hello?"

"You made it. Good."

"My family can't help you."

"They already have. We're talking, aren't we?"

"If you harm my wife or children..."

"What?" There was a challenge in the tone. "You gonna track us down?" The caller chuckled to himself. "That's bullshit, man. We're on your back like white on rice, and you will do exactly what you're told."

Brognola took a breath and held it briefly, finally allowed it to escape between clenched teeth. He had been on the verge of threatening this faceless enemy, a foolish move that could have jeopardized his wife, his children. Already chilling out, he recognized the need to take things easy, without provoking any violence on the other end.

The caller was correct, of course. Hal's bluster had been that and nothing more, an empty challenge, totally devoid of substance. He could never hope to find them on his own, retrieve his family and dole out retribution single-handedly. Even if he knew the bastards' names and their whereabouts, there would be little he could do. As long as Helen and the kids were held as hostages, his hands were tied.

"I'm listening," he said at last.

"That's better." Triumph, gloating in the other's tone. "We're going to need a meet."

"Just tell me where and when."

"Relax, old man. Don't be too eager. You've got chores to do before it gets that far."

"What kind of chores?"

"We need some information from you. You've got sources and it's time to share."

"Be more specific."

"Names and places ought to do for openers, okay? Protected witnesses, your people under cover, shit like that."