“Okay,” Kelleher said, pausing just outside the press room entrance. “We need a strategy of some kind. I think we should split up . . .”

He broke off in mid-sentence as a middle-aged man with graying hair ducked out of the media center and made a quick turn away from them.

“Arlen!” Kelleher said, heading toward the man. “Arlen, hang on a second!”

The man half turned, still walking and waved a hand as if to say, go away. “Not now Bobby. I can’t talk. We’re organizing a press conference. We’ll let you know what’s going on in a while.”

He had slowed down enough that Kelleher was able to catch up to him. Stevie and Susan Carol followed at what they hoped was a discreet distance.

“In a while?” Kelleher said. “Come on, Arlen give me a break. Don’t give me that press conference crap. What happened out there. Where the hell is Symanova?”

The man stopped and turned to face Kelleher. Stevie noticed he was quite pale. He looked around as if to be sure no one could hear him and dropped his voice to a whisper so that Stevie, standing right behind Kelleher could barely hear.

“We don’t know,” he said.

For a second, Kelleher just stared at him. “What do you mean you don’t know? How can you not know? Wasn’t she on her way over to Armstrong with Walsh?”

“Yes she was!” Arlen said, clearly exasperated, still looking around as if he was afraid someone would hear him. “They were on their way over there and she disappeared.”

“Disappeared!” Kelleher shouted.

“Bobby please,...