I GOT IN TO THE OFFICE at seven-thirty the following morning and was surprised to find Deputy Director Molinari on the phone behind my desk. Something had happened.

He signaled for me to close the door. From what I could make out, he was talking with his office back East, getting briefed on a case. He had a stack of folders in his lap and he jotted down the occasional note. I could make out a couple: 9mm and Itinerary.

"What's goin' on?" I asked when he hung up.

He motioned for me to sit down. "There's been a killing in Portland. A Swiss national was shot in his hotel room. An economist. He was preparing to leave for Vancouver this morning on a fishing excursion."

Not to sound blas? but we already had two national-security murder cases and the leaders of the Free World were eyeballing our every move. "I'm sorry," I said, "this relates to us, how?"