I WAS PATCHED THROUGH to Molinari at the Palace of the Legion of Honor. The vice president's reception was less than two hours away. The G-8 had begun.

"I think I know where Danko is," I barked into the hand-held phone. "He's at Reed College. In Portland. He's a teacher there. Joe, Reed is where Stephen Hardaway went to school. It fits."

Molinari told me he would send an FBI team out to the college while I headed back to the city. I had the lights flashing and the siren on the whole way. South of Vallejo, I couldn't wait any longer. I got the general number for Reed.

I identified myself to an operator and was patched through to the dean of academic studies, a Michael Picotte. FBI agents from the Portland office were arriving as he got on the line.

"We desperately need to locate one of your professors. This is an emergency," I told the dean. "I don't have a name or description. His real name is Charles Danko. He'd be approximately fifty years old."

"D-Danko?" Picotte stammered. "There's no one by the name of Danko connected with the college. We have several professors in their fifties, including myself."

I was growing more exasperated and impatient. "Do you have a fax?" I asked. "A fax number I can have?"

I radioed in to the office and got Lorraine on the line. I told her to locate the FBI wanted poster of Charles Danko from the seventies. The resemblance might still be there. Dean Picotte put me on hold as the fax came through.

I was approaching the Bay Bridge; San Francisco Interna-tional was only about twenty minutes away. I could fly up to Portland myself, I was ............