Sidney Sheldon (2004) - " Are You Afraid of The Dark "

SIDNEY SHELDON
ARE YOU AFRAID OF THE DARK?

Copyright © 2004 by Sidney Sheldon
ISBN 0-06-055934-9
FOR ATANAS AND VERA
WITH LOVE
My special thanks go to my assistant,
Mary Langford,
whose contribution was invaluable.

PROLOGUE

Berlin, Germany
SONJA VERBRUGGE HAD no idea that this was going to be her
last day on earth. She was pushing
her way through the sea of summer tourists overflowing the
busy sidewalks of Unter den Linden.
Don't panic, she told herself. You must keep calm.
The instant message on her computer from Franz had been
terrifying. Run, Sonja! Go to the
Artemisia Hotel. You will be safe there. Wait until you
hear from—
The message had ended suddenly. Why had Franz not finished
it? What could be happening? The
night before, she had heard her husband saying to someone
on the telephone that Prima must be
stopped at all costs. Who was Prima?
Frau Verbrugge was nearing Brandenburgische Strasse, where
the Artemisia was located, the hotel that catered to women
only. I will wait for Franz there and he will explain to me
what this is all about.
* * *
WHEN SONJA VERBRUGGE reached the next corner, the traffic
light had turned to red, and as she stopped at the curb,
someone in the crowd bumped against her and she stumbled into
the street. Verdammt touristen! A limousine that had been
double-parked suddenly moved toward her, grazing
her just hard enough to knock her down. People began to
gather around her.
"Is she all right?"
"Ist ihr etwas passiert?"
"Peut-elle marcher?"
At that moment, a passing ambulance stopped. Two
attendants from the ambulance hurried over and
took charge. "We will take care of her."
Sonja Verbrugge found herself being lifted into the
ambulance. The door closed, and a moment later,
the vehicle sped away.
She was strapped onto a gurney, trying to sit up. "I am
fine," she protested. "It was nothing. I—"
One of the attendants was leaning over her. "It is all
right, Frau Verbrugge. Just relax."
She looked up at him, suddenly alarmed. "How do you know
my—?"
She felt the sharp sting of a hypodermic needle in her
arm, and a moment later, she gave herself up
to the waiting darkness.
Paris, France
MARK HARRIS WAS alone on the observation deck of the
Eiffel Tower, oblivious to the rain
swirling around him. From time to time a streak of
lightning shattered the raindrops into dazzling
diamond waterfalls.
Across the Seine River stood the familiar Palais de
Chaillot, and the Trocadero Gardens, but he was unaware of
them. His mind was focused on Prima and the astonishing news
that was about to be
released to the world.
The wind had begun to whip the rain into a frenzied
maelstrom. Mark Harris shielded his wrist with
his sleeve and looked at his watch. They were late. And
why had they insisted on meeting here, at midnight? Even as
he was wondering, he heard the tower elevator door open. Two
men were moving toward him, fighting against the fierce wet
wind.
As Mark Harris recognized them, he felt a sense of relief.
"You're late."
"It's this damn weather, Mark. Sorry."
"Well, you're here. The meeting in Washington is all set,
isn't it?"
"That's what we need to talk to you about. As a matter of
fact, we had a long discussion this morning about the best
way to handle this, and we decided—"
As they were speaking, the second man had moved behind
Mark Harris, and two things happened
almost simultaneously. A heavy, blunt instrument slammed
into his skull, and an instant later he felt himself being
lifted and tossed over the parapet into the cold driving
rain, his body plunging toward
the unforgiving sidewalk thirty-eight stories below.
Denver, Colorado
GARY REYNOLDS had grown up in rugged Kelowna, Canada, near
Vancouver, and had had his
flight training there, so he was accustomed to flying over
treacherous mountainous terrain. He was
piloting a Cessna Citation II, keeping a wary eye on the
snowcapped peaks surrounding him.
The plane was commissioned to carry a cockpit crew of two,
but today there was no copilot. Not
this trip, Reynolds thought grimly.
He had filed a false flight plan for Kennedy airport. No
one would think of looking for him in Denver.
He would spend the night at his sister's home, and in the
morning he would be on his way east, to
meet the others. All the arrangements for eliminating
Prima were complete, and—
A voice on the radio interrupted his thoughts. "Citation
One One One Lima Foxtrot, this is the
approach control tower at Denver International Airport.
Come in, please."
Gary Reynolds pressed the radio button. "This is Citation
One One One Lima Foxtrot. I am
requesting clearance to land."
"One Lima Foxtrot, say your position."
"One Lima Foxtrot. I am fifteen miles northeast of the
Denver airport. Altitude fifteen thousand feet."
He saw Pike's Peak looming up on the right side. The sky
was bright blue, the weather clear. A good omen.
There was a brief silence. The voice from the tower came
through again. "One Lima Foxtrot, you are cleared to land at
runway two-six. Repeat, runway two-six."
"One Lima Foxtrot, roger."
Without warning, Gary Reynolds felt the plane give a
sudden, high bounce. Surprised, he looked out
the cockpit window. A strong wind had come up, and within
seconds, the Cessna was caught in a
violent turbulence that began to toss the plane around. He
pulled back the wheel to try to gain altitude.
It was useless. He was trapped in a raging vortex. The
plane was completely out of control. He
slammed down the radio button.
"This is One Lima Foxtrot. I have an emergency."
"One Lima Foxtrot, what is the nature of your emergency?"
Gary Reynolds was shouting into the microphone. "I'm
caught in a wind shear! Extreme turbulence!
I'm in the middle of a goddamn hurricane!"
"One Lima Foxtrot, you are only four and a half minutes
from the Denver airport and there is no sign
of air turbulence on our screens."
"I don't give a damn what's on your screens! I'm telling
you—" The pitch of his voice suddenly rose. "Mayday! May—"
In the control tower, they watched in shock as the blip on
the radar screen disappeared.
Manhattan, New York
AT DAWN, AT an area under the Manhattan Bridge along the
East River not far from pier seventeen,
half a dozen uniformed police officers and plainclothes
detectives were gathered around a fully dressed corpse lying
at the river's edge. The body had been carelessly tossed
down, so its head was eerily
bobbing up and down in the water, following the vagaries
of the tide.
The man in charge, Detective Earl Greenburg, from the
Manhattan South Homicide Squad, had finished the official
prescribed procedures. No one was allowed to approach the
body until photographs had
been taken, and he made notes of the scene while the
officers looked for any evidence that might be
lying around. The victim's hands had been wrapped in clean
plastic bags.
Carl Ward, the medical examiner, finished his examination,
stood up, and brushed the dirt from his trousers. He looked
at the two detectives in charge. Detective Earl Greenburg was
a professional, capable-looking man with an impressive
record. Detective Robert Praegitzer was gray-haired, with
the laid-back manner of someone who had seen it all
before.
Ward turned to Greenburg. "He's all yours, Earl."
"What have we got?"
"The obvious cause of death is a slashed throat, right
through the carotid artery. He has two busted kneecaps, and
it feels like a few ribs are broken. Someone worked him over
pretty good."
"What about the time of death?"
Ward looked down at the water lapping at the victim's
head. "Hard to say. My guess is that they
dumped him here sometime after midnight. I'll give you a
full report when we get him to the morgue."
Greenburg turned his attention to the body. Gray jacket,
dark blue trousers, light blue tie, an expensive watch on the
left wrist. Greenburg knelt down and started going through
the victim's jacket pockets.
In one pocket, his fingers found a note. He pulled it out,
holding it by its edge. It read: "Washington. Monday, 10 a.m.
Prima." He looked at it a moment, puzzled.
Greenburg reached into another pocket, finding another
note. "It's in Italian." He glanced around. "Gianelli!"
One of the uniformed police officers hurried up to him.
"Yes, sir?"
Greenburg handed him the note. "Can you read this?"
Gianelli read it aloud slowly. " 'Last chance. Meet me at
pier seventeen with the rest of the dope or
swim with the fishes.'" He handed it back.
Robert Praegitzer looked surprised. "A Mafia hit? Why
would they leave him out here like this, in the open?"
"Good question." Greenburg was going through the corpse's
other pockets. He pulled out a wallet and opened it. It was
heavy with cash. "They sure as hell weren't after his money."
He took a card from
the wallet. "The victim's name is Richard Stevens."
Praegitzer frowned. "Richard Stevens . . . Didn't we read
something about him in the papers recently?"
Greenburg said, "His wife. Diane Stevens. She's in court,
in the Tony Altieri murder trial."
Praegitzer said, "That's right. She's testifying against
the capo di capos."
And they both turned to look at Richard Stevens's body.

CHAPTER ONE

IN DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN, in courtroom thirty-seven of the
Supreme Court Criminal Term building at 180 Centre Street,
the trial of Anthony (Tony) Altieri was in session. The
large, venerable courtroom was filled to capacity with press
and spectators.
At the defendant's table sat Anthony Altieri, slouched in
a wheelchair, looking like a pale, fat frog
folding in on itself. Only his eyes were alive, and every
time he looked at Diane Stevens in the witness chair, she
could literally feel the pulse of his hatred.
Next to Altieri sat Jake Rubenstein, Altieri's defense
attorney. Rubenstein was famous for two things:
his high-profile clientele, consisting mostly of mobsters,
and the fact that nearly all of his clients were acquitted.
Rubenstein was a small, dapper man with a quick mind and a
vivid imagination. He was never the
same in his courtroom appearances. Courtroom histrionics
were his stock-in-trade, and he was highly skilled. He was
brilliant at sizing up his opponents, with a feral instinct
for finding their weaknesses. Sometimes Rubenstein imagined
he was a lion, slowly closing in on his unsuspecting prey,
ready to pounce ... or a cunning spider, spinning a web that
would eventually entrap them and leave them
helpless. . . Sometimes he was a patient fisherman, gently
tossing a line into the water and slowly
moving it back and forth until the gullible witness took
the bait.
The lawyer was carefully studying the witness on the
stand. Diane Stevens was in her early thirties.
An aura of elegance. Patrician features. Soft, flowing
blonde hair. Green eyes. Lovely figure. A girl-next-door kind
of wholesomeness. She was dressed in a chic, tailored black
suit. Jake Rubenstein knew that the day before she had made a
favorable impression on the jury. He had to be careful how
he handled her. Fisherman, he decided.
Rubenstein took his time approaching the witness box, and
when he spoke, his voice was gentle.
"Mrs. Stevens, yesterday you testified that on the date in
question, October fourteenth, you were
driving south on the Henry Hudson Parkway when you got a
flat tire and pulled off the highway at
the One Hundred and Fifty-eighth Street exit, onto a
service road into Fort Washington Park?"
"Yes." Her voice was soft and cultured.
"What made you stop at that particular place?"
"Because of the flat tire, I knew I had to get off the
main road and I could see the roof of a cabin
through the trees. I thought there might be someone there
who could help me. I didn't have a spare."
"Do you belong to an auto club?" Yes.
"And do you have a phone in your car?" Yes.
"Then why didn't you call the auto club?"
"I thought that might have taken too long."
Rubenstein said sympathetically, "Of course. And the cabin
was right there."
"Yes."
"So, you approached the cabin to get help?"
"That's right."
"Was it still light outside?"
"Yes. It was about five o'clock in the afternoon."
"And so, you could see clearly?"
"I could."
"What did you see, Mrs. Stevens?"
"I saw Anthony Altieri—"
"Oh. You had met him before?"
"No."
"What made you sure it was Anthony Altieri?"
"I had seen his picture in the newspaper and—"
"So, you had seen pictures that resembled the defendant?"
"Well, it—"
"What did you see in that cabin?"
Diane Stevens took a shuddering breath. She spoke slowly,
visualizing the scene in her mind.
"There were four men in the room. One a of them was in a
chair, tied up. Mr. Altieri seemed to be questioning him
while the two other men stood next to him." Her voice shook.
"Mr. Altieri pulled out
a gun, yelled something, and—and shot the man in the back
of the head."
Jake Rubenstein cast a sidelong glance at the jury. They
were absorbed in her testimony.
"What did you do then, Mrs. Stevens?"
"I ran back to my car and dialed 911 on my cell phone."
"And then?"
"I drove away."
"With a flat tire?"
"Yes.
Time for a little ripple in the water. "Why didn't you
wait for the police?"
Diane glanced toward the defense table. Altieri was
watching her with naked malevolence.
She looked away. "I couldn't stay there because I—I was
afraid that the men might come out of the
cabin and see me."
"That's very understandable." Rubenstein's voice hardened.
"What is not understandable is that when
the police responded to your 911 call, they went into the
cabin, and not only was no one there,
Mrs. Stevens, but they could find no sign that anyone had
been there, let alone been murdered there."
"I can't help that. I—"
"You're an artist, aren't you?"
She was taken aback by the question. "Yes, I—"
"Are you successful?"
"I suppose so, but what does—?"
It was time to yank the hook.
"A little extra publicity never hurts, does it? The whole
country watches you on the nightly news
report on television, and on the front pages of—"
Diane looked at him, furious. "I didn't do this for
publicity. I would never send an innocent man to—"
"The key word is innocent, Mrs. Stevens. And I will prove
to you and the ladies and gentlemen of
the jury that Mr. Altieri is innocent. Thank you. You're
finished."
Diane Stevens ignored the double entendre. When she
stepped down to return to her seat, she was seething. She
whispered to the prosecuting attorney, "Am I free to go?"
"Yes. I'll send someone with you."
"That won't be necessary. Thank you."
She headed for the door and walked out to the parking
garage, the words of the defense attorney
ringing in her ears.
You're an artist, aren't you?. . . A little extra
publicity never hurts, does it? It was degrading. Still,
all in all, she was satisfied with the way her testimony
had gone. She had told the jury exactly what
she had seen, and they had no reason to doubt her. Anthony
Altieri was going to be convicted and
sent to prison for the rest of his life. Yet Diane could
not help thinking of the venomous looks he
had given her, and she felt a little shiver.
She handed the parking attendant her ticket and he went to
get her car.
Two minutes later, Diane was driving onto the street,
heading north, on her way home.
* * *
THERE WAS A stop sign at the corner. As Diane braked to a
halt, a well-dressed young man standing
at the curb approached the car. "Excuse me. I'm lost.
Could you—?"
Diane lowered her window.
"Could you tell me how to get to the Holland Tunnel?" He
spoke with an Italian accent.
"Yes. It's very simple. Go down to the first—"
The man raised his arm, and there was a gun with a
silencer in his hand. "Out of the car, lady. Fast!"
Diane turned pale. "All right. Please don't—" As she
started to open the door, the man stepped back,
and Diane slammed her foot down on the accelerator and the
car sped away. She heard the rear
window smash as a bullet went through it, and then a crack
as another bullet hit the back of the car.
Her heart was pounding so hard that it was difficult to
breathe.
Diane Stevens had read about carjackings, but they had
always been remote, something that happened
to other people. And the man had tried to kill her. Did
carjackers do that? Diane reached for her cell phone and
dialed 911. It took almost two minutes before an operator
answered.
"Nine one one. What is your emergency?"
Even as Diane was explaining what had happened, she knew
it was hopeless. The man would be long gone by now.
"I'll send an officer to the location. May I have your
name, address, and phone number?"
Diane gave them to her. Useless, she thought. She glanced
back at the shattered window and shuddered. She desperately
wanted to call Richard at work and tell him what had
happened, but she knew he was working on an urgent project.
If she called him and told him what had just occurred, he
would get upset and rush to her side—and she did not want him
to miss his deadline. She would tell him what happened when
he got back to the apartment.
Suddenly a chilling thought occurred to her. Had the man
been waiting for her, or was this just a coincidence? She
remembered the conversation she had had with Richard when the
trial began:
I don't think you should testify, Diane. It could be
dangerous.
Don't worry, darling. Altieri will be convicted. They'll
lock him away forever.
But he has friends and—
Richard, if I didn't do this, I couldn't live with myself.
What just happened had to be a coincidence, Diane decided.
Altieri wouldn 't be crazy enough
to do anything to me, especially now, during his trial.
Diane turned off the highway and drove west until she
reached her apartment building on East Seventy-fifth Street.
Before she pulled into the underground garage, she took a
last careful look
in the rearview mirror. Everything seemed normal.
* * *
THE APARTMENT WAS an airy, ground-floor duplex, with a
spacious living room, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a large,
marble fireplace. There were upholstered floral sofas,
armchairs, a built-in bookcase, and a large television
screen. The walls were rainbowed with colorful paintings.
There was
a Childe Hassam, a Jules Pascin, a Thomas Birch, a George
Hitchcock, and, in one area, a group of Diane's paintings.
On the next floor were a master bedroom and bathroom, a
second guest bedroom, and a sunny atelier, where Diane
painted. Several of her paintings were hanging on the walls.
On an easel in the center of
the room was a half-finished portrait.
The first thing Diane did when she arrived home was to
hurry into the atelier. She removed the half-finished
portrait on the easel and replaced it with a blank canvas.
She began to sketch the face
of the man who had tried to kill her, but her hands were
trembling so hard that she had to stop.
* * *
DRIVING TO DIANE STEVEN'S apartment, Detective Earl
Greenburg complained, "This is the part
of the job I hate most."
Robert Praegitzer said, "It's better that we tell them
than have them hear about it on the evening news." He looked
at Greenburg. "You going to tell her?"
Earl Greenburg nodded unhappily. He found himself
remembering the story of the detective who had gone to inform
a Mrs. Adams, the wife of a patrolman, that her husband had
been killed.
She's very sensitive, the chief had cautioned the
detective. You'll have to break the news carefully.
Don't worry. I can handle it.
The detective had knocked on the door of the Adams home,
and when it was opened by Adams's
wife, the" detective had asked, Are you the widow Adams?
* * *
DIANE WAS STARTLED by the sound of the doorbell. She went
to the intercom. "Who is it?"
"Detective Earl Greenburg. I'd like to speak to you, Mrs.
Stevens."
It's about the carjacking, Diane thought. The police got
here fast.
She pressed the buzzer and Greenburg entered the hallway
and walked to her door.
"Hello."
"Mrs. Stevens?"
"Yes. Thank you for coming so quickly. I started to draw a
sketch of the man, but I ..." She took a
deep breath. "He was swarthy, with deep-set light brown
eyes and a little mole on his cheek. His gun
had a silencer on it, and—"
Greenburg was looking at her in confusion. "I'm sorry. I
don't understand what—"
"The carjacker. I called 911 and—" She saw the expression
on the detective's face. "This isn't about
the carjacking, is it?"
"No, ma'am, it's not." Greenburg paused a moment. "May I
come in?
"Please."
Greenburg walked into the apartment.
She was looking at him, frowning. "What is it? Is
something wrong?"
The words would not seem to come. "Yes. I'm sorry. I—I'm
afraid I have some bad news. It's about your husband."
"What's happened?" Her voice was shaky.
"He's had an accident."
Diane felt a sudden chill. "What kind of accident?"
Greenburg took a deep breath. "He was killed last night,
Mrs. Stevens. We found his body under a
bridge along the East River this morning."
Diane stared at him for a long moment, then slowly shook
her head. "You have the wrong person, Lieutenant. My husband
is at work, in his laboratory."
This was going to be even more difficult than he had
anticipated. "Mrs. Stevens, did your husband
come home last night?"
"No, but Richard frequently works all night. He's a
scientist." She was becoming more and more agitated.
"Mrs. Stevens, were you aware that your husband was
involved with the Mafia?"
Diane blanched. "The Mafia? Are you insane?"
"We found—"
Diane was beginning to hyperventilate. "Let me see your
identification."
"Certainly." Detective Greenburg pulled out his ID card
and showed it to her.
Diane glanced at it, handed it back, and then slapped
Greenburg hard across his face. "Does the city
pay you to go around trying to scare honest citizens? My
husband is not dead! He's at work." She
was shouting.
Greenburg looked into her eyes and saw the shock and
denial there. "Mrs. Stevens, would you like
me to send someone over to look after you and—?"
"You're the one who needs someone to look after you. Now
get out of here."
"Mrs. Stevens—"
"Now!"
Greenburg took out a business card and put it on a table.
"In case you need to talk to me, here's my number."
As he walked out the door, Greenburg thought, Well, I
handled that brilliantly. I might as well have
said, "Are you the widow Stevens?"
* * *
WHEN DETECTIVE EARL Greenburg left, Diane locked the front
door and took a deep, shivering breath. The idiot! Coming to
the wrong apartment and trying to scare me. I should report
him. She
looked at her watch. Richard will be coming home soon.
It's time to start getting dinner ready. She
was making paella, his favorite dish. She went into the
kitchen and started to prepare it.
* * *
BECAUSE OF THE secrecy of Richard's work, Diane never
disturbed him at the laboratory, and if
he did not call her, she knew it was a signal that he was
going to be late. At eight o'clock, the paella
was ready. She tasted it and smiled, satisfied. It was
made just the way Richard liked it. At ten o'clock, when he
still had not arrived, Diane put the paella in the
refrigerator and stuck a Post-it note on the refrigerator
door: Darling, supper is in the fridge. Come and wake me up.
Richard would be hungry
when he came home.
Diane felt suddenly drained. She undressed, put on a
nightgown, brushed her teeth, and got into bed.
In a few minutes, she fell sound asleep.
* * *
AT THREE O'CLOCK in the morning, she woke up screaming.

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS DAWN before Diane could stop trembling. The chill she felt was bone deep. Richard was
dead. She would never see him again, hear his voice, feel him hold her close. And it's my fault. I
should never have gone into that courtroom. Oh, Richard, forgive me. . . please forgive me ... I
don't think I can go on without you. You were my life, my reason to live, and now I have none.
She wanted to curl up into a tiny ball. She wanted to disappear. She wanted to die.
She lay there, desolate, thinking about the past, how Richard had transformed her life. . . .
* * *
DIANE WEST HAD grown up in Sands Point, New York, an area
of quiet affluence. Her father
was a surgeon and her mother was an artist, and Diane had
begun to draw when she was three. She attended St. Paul's
boarding school, and when she was a freshman in college, she
had a brief relationship with her charismatic mathematics
teacher. He told her he wanted to marry her because she was
the only woman in the world for him. When Diane learned that
he had a wife and three children, she decided that either his
math or his memory was defective, and transferred to
Wellesley College.
She was obsessed with art and spent every spare moment
painting. By the time Diane graduated, she
had begun selling her paintings and was acquiring a
reputation as an artist of promise.
That fall, a prominent Fifth Avenue art gallery gave Diane
her own art show, and it was a huge success. The owner of the
gallery, Paul Deacon, was a wealthy, erudite African-American
who had helped
nurture Diane's career.
Opening night, the salon was crowded. Deacon hurried up to
Diane, a big smile on his face. "Congratulations! We've
already sold most of the paintings! I'm going to set up
another exhibition in
a few months, as soon as you're ready."
Diane was thrilled. "That's wonderful, Paul."
"You deserve it." He patted her on the shoulder and
bustled off.
Diane was signing an autograph when a man came up behind
her and said, "I like your curves."
Diane stiffened. Furious, she spun around and opened her
mouth to make a sharp retort, when he
went on:
"They have the delicacy of a Rossetti or a Manet." He was
studying one of her paintings on the wall.
Diane caught herself just in time. "Oh." She took a closer
look at the man. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He
was about six feet tall, with an athletic build, blond hair,
and bright blue eyes. He was dressed in a soft tan suit, a
white shirt, and a brown tie.
"I—thank you."
"When did you begin painting?"
"When I was a child. My mother was a painter."
He smiled. "My mother was a cook, but I can't cook. I know
your name. I'm Richard Stevens."
At that moment, Paul Deacon approached with three
packages.
"Here are your paintings, Mr. Stevens. Enjoy them." He
handed them to Richard Stevens and walked away.
Diane looked at him in surprise. "You bought three of my
paintings?"
"I have two more in my apartment."
"I'm—I'm flattered."
"I appreciate talent."
"Thank you."
He hesitated. "Well, you're probably busy, so I'll run—"
Diane heard herself saying, "No. I'm fine."
His smile widened. "Good. You could do me a big favor,
Miss West."
Diane looked at his left hand. He was not wearing a
wedding band. "Yes?"
"I happen to have two tickets for the opening of a revival
of Noel Coward's Blithe Spirit tomorrow
night, and I have no one to go with. If you're free—?"
Diane studied him a moment. He seemed nice and was very
attractive, but, after all, he was a total stranger. Too
dangerous. Much too dangerous. And she heard herself say, "I
would love to go."
* * *
THE FOLLOWING EVENING turned out to be delightful. Richard
Stevens was an amusing
companion, and there was an instant compatibility. They
shared an interest in art and music, and
much more, She felt attracted to him, but she was not sure
whether he felt the same way about her.
At the end of the evening, Richard asked, "Are you free
tomorrow night?"
Diane's answer was an unhesitating "Yes."
The following evening they were having dinner at a quiet
restaurant in SoHo.
"Tell me about you, Richard."
"Not much to tell. I was born in Chicago. My father was an
architect and designed buildings all over
the world, and my mother and I traveled with him. I went
to about a dozen different foreign schools
and learned to speak a few languages in self-defense."
"What do you do? For a living?"
"I work at KIG—Kingsley International Group. It's a large
think tank."
"That sounds exciting."
"It's fascinating. We do cutting-edge technology research.
If we had a motto, it would be something
like 'If we don't have the answer now, wait until
tomorrow.'"
* * *
AFTER DINNER, RICHARD took Diane home. At her door, he
took her hand and said, "I enjoyed
the evening. Thank you."
And he was gone.
Diane stood there, watching him walk away. I'm glad he's a
gentleman and not a wolf. I'm really glad. Damn!
* * *
THEY WERE TOGETHER every night after that, and each time
Diane saw Richard, she felt the
same warm glow.
On a Friday evening, Richard said, "I coach a Little
League team on Saturdays. Would you like to
come along and watch?"
Diane nodded. "I'd love to, Coach."
The following morning, Diane watched Richard working with
the eager young ballplayers. He was
gentle and caring and patient, screaming with joy when
ten-year-old Tim Holm caught a fly ball, and
it was obvious that they adored him.
Diane thought, I'm falling in love. I'm falling in love.
* * *
A FEW DAYS later, Diane had a carefree luncheon with a few
women friends, and as they left the restaurant, they passed a
gypsy fortune-telling parlor.
On an impulse Diane said, "Let's have our fortunes told."
"I can't, Diane. I have to get back to work."
"So do I."
"I have to pick up Johnny."
"Why don't you go, tell us what she said."
"All right. I will."
Five minutes later, Diane found herself sitting alone with
a sunken-faced crone with a mouth full of
gold teeth and a dirty shawl over her head.
This is nonsense, Diane thought. Why am I doing this? But
she knew why she was doing it. She
wanted to ask if she and Richard had a future together.
It's just for the fun of it, she told herself.
Diane watched as the old woman picked up a tarot deck and
began to shuffle the cards, never
looking up.
"I would like to know if—"
"Shhh." The woman turned up a card. It was the picture of
the Fool, colorfully dressed and carrying
a satchel. The woman studied it a moment. "There are many
secrets for you to learn." She turned
up another tarot card. "This is the Moon. You have desires
you are uncertain about."
Diane hesitated and nodded.
"Does this involve a man?"
"Yes."
The old woman turned up the next card. "This is the Lovers
card."
Diane smiled. "Is that a good omen?"
"We will see. The next three cards will tell us." She
turned over another card. "The Hanged Man."
She frowned, paused, and turned up the next card. "The
Devil," she muttered.
"Is that bad?" Diane asked lightly.
The gypsy fortune-teller did not answer.
Diane watched as the old woman turned up the next card.
She shook her head. Her voice was eerily hollow. "The Death
card."
Diane got to her feet. "I don't believe in any of this,"
she said angrily.
The old woman looked up, and when she spoke, her voice was
macabre. "It does not matter what
you believe. Death is all around you.

CHAPTER THREE

Berlin, Germany
THE POLIZEIKOMMANDANT, OTTO Schiffer, two uniformed police
officers, and the
superintendent of the apartment building, Herr Karl Goetz,
were staring at the naked, shriveled body
lying at the bottom of the overflowing bathtub. A faint
bruise circled her neck.
The Polizeikommandant held a finger under the dripping
tap. Cold." He sniffed at the empty liquor
bottle on the side of the tub and turned to the building
superintendent. "Her name?"
"Sonja Verbrugge. Her husband is Franz Verbrugge. He is
some kind of scientist."
"She lived in this apartment with her husband?"
"Seven years. They were wonderful tenants. Always paid
their rent on time. Never any trouble.
Everyone loved . . ." He realized what he was about to say
and stopped. "Did Frau Verbrugge have
a job?"
"Yes, at the Cyberlin internet cafe, where people pay to
use the computers for—"
"What led you to discover the body?"
"It was because of the cold water tap in the bathtub. I
tried to fix it several times, but it would never
turn completely off."
"So?"
"So this morning the tenant in the apartment below
complained about water dripping through his ceiling.
I came up here, knocked on the door, and when there was no
answer, I opened it with my passkey.
I came into the bathroom and found . . ." His voice
choked.
A detective came into the bathroom. "No liquor bottles in
the cabinets, just wine."
The Kommandant nodded. "Right." He pointed to the liquor
bottle on the side of the tub. "Have that tested for
fingerprints."
"Yes, sir."
The Kommandant turned to Karl Goetz. "Do you know where
Herr Verbrugge is?"
"No. I always see him in the morning, when he leaves for
work, but—" He made a helpless gesture.
"You did not see him this morning?"
"No."
"Do you know if Herr Verbrugge was planning to take a trip
somewhere?"
"No, sir. I do not."
The Kommandant turned to the detective. "Talk to the other
tenants. Find out if Frau Verbrugge
seemed depressed lately, or if she and her husband
quarreled, and if she was a heavy drinker. Get
all the information you can." He looked at Karl Goetz. "We
will check on her husband. If you think
of anything that might be helpful—"
Karl Goetz said tentatively, "I do not know whether this
is helpful, but one of the tenants told me that
an ambulance was parked in front of the building last
night, and he asked if anyone was sick. By the
time I went outside to see what was happening, the
ambulance was gone. Does that help?"
The Kommandant said, "It will be looked into."
"What—what about her—her body?" Karl Goetz asked
nervously.
"The medical examiner is on his way. Empty the tub and
throw a towel over her."

CHAPTER FOUR

I'M AFRAID I have some bad news... killed last night. . .
we found his body under a bridge. . . .
For Diane Stevens, time had stopped. She wandered
aimlessly through the large apartment filled with memories
and thought: Its comfort has gone . . . its warmth has gone.
. . without Richard, it is only
a collection of cold bricks. It will never come alive
again.
Diane sank onto the couch and closed her eyes. Richard,
darling the day we were married, you asked what I would like
as a gift. I told you I didn't want anything. But I do now.
Come back to me. It
doesn't matter if I can't see you. Just hold me in your
arms. I'll know you 're here. I need to feel your touch once
more. I want to feel you stroking my breast. . . . I want to
imagine that I can hear your
voice saying that I make the best paella in the world. . .
. I want to hear your voice asking me to stop pulling the
bedcovers ojfyou. . . . I want to hear you telling me that
you love me. She tried to stop the sudden flow of tears, but
it was impossible.
* * *
FROM THE TIME Diane realized that Richard was dead, she
spent the next several days locked away
in their darkened apartment, refusing to answer the
telephone or the door. She was like a wounded animal, hiding.
She wanted to be alone with her pain. Richard, there were so
many times I wanted to
say "I love you," so that you would say "I love you, too."
But I didn't want to sound needy. I was a
fool. Now I'm needy.
Finally, when the constant ringing of the telephone and
the incessant sound of the doorbell would not stop, Diane
opened the door.
Carolyn Ter, one of Diane's closest friends, stood there.
She looked at Diane and said, "You look like hell." Her voice
softened. "Everyone's been trying to reach you, honey. We've
all been worried sick."
"I'm sorry, Carolyn, but I just can't—"
Carolyn took Diane in her arms. "I know. But there are a
lot of friends who want to see you."
Diane shook her head. "No. It's im—"
"Diane, Richard's life is over, but yours isn't. Don't
shut out the people who love you. I'll start making calls."
* * *
FRIENDS OF DIANE and Richard began telephoning and coming
to the apartment, and Diane found herself listening to the
endless litany of the cliches of death:
"Think of it this way, Diane. Richard is at peace. . . ."
"God called him, darling. . . ."
"I know Richard is in heaven, shining down on you. . . ."
"He's passed over to a better place. . . ."
"He's joined the angels. . . ." Diane wanted to scream.
* * *
THE STREAM OF visitors seemed endless. Paul Deacon, the
owner of the art gallery that displayed Diane's work, came to
the apartment. He put his arms around Diane and said, "I've
been trying to
reach you, but—"
"I know."
"I'm so sad about Richard. He was a rare gentleman. But,
Diane, you can't shut yourself away like
this. People are waiting to see more of your beautiful
work."
"I can't. It's not important anymore, Paul. Nothing is.
I'm through."
She could not be persuaded.
* * *
THE FOLLOWING DAY, when the doorbell rang, Diane
reluctantly went to the door. She looked through the
peephole, and there seemed to be a small crowd outside.
Puzzled, Diane opened the door. There were a dozen young boys
in the hallway.
One of them was holding a little bouquet of flowers. "Good
morning, Mrs. Stevens." He handed the bouquet to Diane.
"Thank you." She suddenly remembered who they were. They
were members of the Little League
team that Richard had coached.
Diane had received countless baskets of flowers, cards of
condolence, and e-mails, but this was the
most touching gift of all.
"Come in," Diane said.
The boys trooped into the room. "We just wanted to tell
you how bad we feel."
"Your husband was a great guy."
"He was really cool."
"And he was an awesome coach."
It was all Diane could do to hold back her tears. "Thank
you. He thought you were great, too. He was very proud of all
of you." She took a deep breath. "Would you like some soft
drinks or—?"
Tim Holm, the ten-year-old who had caught the fly ball,
spoke up. "No, thanks, Mrs. Stevens. We just wanted to tell
you that we'll miss him, too. We all chipped in for the
flowers. They cost twelve dollars."
"Anyway, we just wanted you to know how sorry we are."
Diane looked at them and said quietly, "Thank you, boys. I
know how much Richard would appreciate your coming here."
She watched as they mumbled their good-byes and left.
As Diane observed their departure, she remembered the
first time she had watched Richard coach the boys. He had
talked to them as though he were their age, in language they
understood, and they loved him for it. That was the day I
started to fall in love with him.
Outside, Diane could hear the rumble of thunder and the
first drops of rain beginning to roll down
against the windows, like God's tears. Rain. It had been
on a holiday weekend . . .
* * *
"DO YOU LIKE picnics?" Richard asked.
"I adore them."
He smiled. "I knew it. I'll plan a little picnic for us.
I'll pick you up tomorrow at noon."
It was a beautiful, sunny day. Richard had arranged for a
picnic in the middle of Central Park. There
was silverware and linens, and when Diane saw what was in
the picnic basket, she laughed. Roast
beef... a ham . . . cheeses . . . two large pates... an
assortment of drinks and half a dozen desserts.
"There's enough for a small army! Who's going to join us?"
And an unbidden thought popped into
her mind. A minister? She blushed.
Richard was watching her. "Are you all right?"
All right? I've never been so happy. "Yes, Richard."
He nodded. "Good. We won't wait for the army. Let's
start."
While they ate, there was so much to talk about, and every
word seemed to bring them closer. There
was a strong sexual tension building up between them, and
they could both feel it. And in the middle
of this perfect afternoon, it began to rain. In a matter
of minutes, they were soaked.
Richard said ruefully, "I'm sorry about this. I should
have known better—the paper said no rain. I'm afraid it's
spoiled our picnic and—"
Diane moved close to him and said softly, "Has it?"
And she was in his arms and her lips were pressed against
his, and she could feel the heat racing
through her body. When she finally pulled back, she said,
"We have to get out of these wet clothes."
He laughed. "You're right. We don't want to catch—"
Diane said, "Your place or mine?"
And Richard suddenly became very still. "Diane, are you
sure? I'm asking because . . . this isn't just
a one-night stand."
Diane said quietly, "I know."
* * *
HALF AN HOUR later they were in Diane's apartment,
undressing, and their arms were around each other, and their
hands were exploring tantalizing places, and finally, when
they could stand it no longer, they got into bed.
Richard was gentle and tender and passionate and frenzied,
and it was magic, and his tongue found her and moved slowly,
and it felt as though warm waves were gently lapping at a
velvet beach, and then he was deep inside her, filling her.
They spent the rest of the afternoon, and most of the
night, talking and making love, and they opened their hearts
to each other, and it was wonderful beyond words.
In the morning, while Diane was making their breakfast,
Richard asked, "Will you marry me, Diane?"
And she turned to him and said softly, "Oh, yes."
* * *
THE WEDDING TOOK place one month later. The ceremony was
warm and wonderful, with friends and family congratulating
the newlyweds. Diane looked over at Richard's beaming face
and thought of
the fortune-teller's ridiculous prediction, and smiled.
They had planned to leave for a honeymoon in France the
week after the wedding, but Richard had
called her from work. "A new project has just come up and
I can't get away. Is it all right if we do it
in a few months? Sorry, baby."
She said, "Of course it's all right, darling."
"Do you want to come out and have lunch with me today?"
"I'd love that."
"You like French food. I know a great French restaurant.
I'll pick you up in half an hour."
Thirty minutes later, Richard was outside, waiting for
Diane. "Hi, honey. I have to see one of our
clients off at the airport. He's leaving for Europe. We'll
say good-bye and then go on to lunch."
She hugged him. "Fine."
When they arrived at Kennedy airport, Richard said, "He
has a private plane. We'll meet him on the tarmac."
A guard passed them through to a restricted area, where a
Challenger was parked. Richard looked
around. "He's not here yet. Let's wait in the plane."
"All right."
They walked up the steps and entered the luxurious
aircraft. The engines were running.
The flight attendant walked in from the cockpit. "Good
morning."
"Good morning," Richard said.
Diane smiled. "Good morning."
They watched the flight attendant close the cabin door.
Diane looked at Richard. "How late do you think your
client is going to be?"
"He shouldn't be very long."
The roar of the jets started getting louder. The plane
began to taxi.
Diane looked out the window, and her face paled. "Richard,
we're moving."
Richard looked at Diane in surprise. "Are you sure?"
"Look out the window." She was panicking. "Tell—tell the
pilot—"
"What do you want me to tell him?" To stop!
"I can't. He's already started."
There was a moment of silence and Diane looked at Richard,
her eyes wide. "Where are we going?"
"Oh, didn't I tell you? We're going to Paris. You said you
liked French food."
She gasped. Then her expression changed. "Richard, I can't
go to Paris now! I have no clothes.
I have no makeup. I have no—"
Richard said, "I heard they have stores in Paris."
She looked at him a moment, then flung her arms around
him. "Oh, you fool, you. I love you."
He grinned. "You wanted a honeymoon. You've got it."

CHAPTER FIVE

AT ORLY, A limousine was waiting to take them to the Hotel
Plaza Athenee.
When they arrived, the manager said, "Your suite is ready
for you, Mr. and Mrs. Stevens."
"Thank you."
They were booked into suite 310. The manager opened the
door, and Diane and Richard walked
inside. Diane stopped in shock. Half a dozen of her
paintings were hanging on the walls. She turned
to look at Richard. "I—how did that—?"
Richard said innocently, "I have no idea. I guess they
have good taste here, too."
Diane gave him a long, passionate kiss.
* * *
PARIS WAS A wonderland. Their first stop was at Givenchy,
to buy outfits for both of them, then
over to Louis Vuitton, to get luggage for all their new
clothes.
They took a leisurely walk down the Champs-Elysees to the
Place de la Concorde, and saw the storied Arc de Triomphe,
and the Palais-Bourbon, and la Madeleine. They strolled along
la Place Vendome,
and spent a day at the Musee du Louvre. They wandered
through the sculpture garden of the Musee Rodin and had
romantic dinners at Auberge de Trois Bonheurs, and Au Petit
Chez Soi, and D'Chez Eux.
* * *
The ONLY THING that seemed odd to Diane was the telephone
calls Richard received at peculiar hours.
"Who was that?" Diane asked once, at 3 a.m., as Richard
finished a phone conversation.
"Just routine business."
In the middle of the night?
* * *
"Diane! diane!"
She was shaken out of her reverie. Carolyn Ter was
standing over her. "Are you all right?"
"I'm—I'm fine."
Carolyn put her arms around Diane. "You just need time.
It's only been a few days." She hesitated.
"By the way, have you made arrangements for the funeral?"
Funeral. The saddest word in the English language. It
carried the sound of death, an echo of despair.
"I—I haven't—been able to—"
"Let me help you with it. I'll pick out a casket and—"
"No!" The word came out harsher than Diane had intended.
Carolyn was looking at her, puzzled.
When Diane spoke again, her voice was shaky. "Don't you
see? This is—this is the last thing I can ever do for
Richard. I want to make his funeral special. He'll want all
his friends there, to say goodbye."
Tears were running down her cheeks.
"Diane—"
"I have to pick out Richard's casket to make sure he—he
sleeps comfortably."
There was nothing more Carolyn could say.
* * *
THAT AFTERNOON, DETECTIVE Earl Greenburg was in his office
when the call came.
"Diane Stevens is on the phone for you."
Oh, no. Greenburg remembered the slap in the face the last
time he had seen her. What now? She probably has some new
beef. He picked up the phone. "Detective Greenburg."
"This is Diane Stevens. I'm calling for two reasons. The
first is to apologize. I behaved very badly,
and I'm truly sorry."
He was taken aback. "You don't have to apologize, Mrs.
Stevens. I understood what you were going through."
He waited. There was a silence.
"You said you had two reasons for calling."
"Yes. My husband's—" Her voice broke. "My husband's body
is being held somewhere by the police. How do I get Richard
back? I'm arranging for his—his funeral at the Dalton
Mortuary."
The despair in her voice made him wince. "Mrs. Stevens,
I'm afraid that some red tape is involved.
First, the coroner's office has to file a report on the
autopsy and then it's necessary to notify the various—" He
was thoughtful for a moment, then made his decision. Look—you
have enough on
your mind. I'll make the arrangements for you. Everything
will be set within two days."
"Oh. I—I thank you. Thank you very—" Her voice choked up
and the connection was broken.
Earl Greenburg sat there a long time, thinking about Diane
Stevens and the anguish she was going through. Then he went
to work cutting red tape.
* * *
THE DALTON MORTUARY was located on the east side of
Madison Avenue. It was an impressive two-story building with
the facade of a southern mansion. Inside, the decor was
tasteful and understated, with soft lighting and whispers of
pale curtains and drapes.
Diane said to the receptionist, "I have an appointment
with Mr. Jones. Diane Stevens."
"Thank you."
The receptionist spoke into a phone, and moments later the
manager, a gray-haired, pleasant-faced
man, came out to greet Diane.
"I'm Ron Jones. We spoke on the phone. I know how
difficult everything is at a time like this,
Mrs. Stevens, and our job is to take the burden off you.
Just tell me what you want and we will see
that your wishes are carried out."
Diane said uncertainly, "I—I'm not even sure what to ask."
Jones nodded. "Let me explain. Our services include a
casket, a memorial service for your friends,
a cemetery plot, and the burial." He hesitated. "From what
I read of your husband's death in the newspapers, Mrs.
Stevens, you'll probably want a closed casket for the
memorial service, so—"
"No!"
Jones looked at her in surprise. "But—"
"I want it open. I want Richard to—to be able to see all
his friends, before he . . ." Her voice trailed off.
Jones was studying her sympathetically. "I see. Then if I
may make a suggestion, we have a
cosmetician who does excellent work where"—he said
tactfully—"it's needed. Will that be all right?"
Richard would hate it, but—"Yes."
"There's just one thing more. We'll need the clothes you
want your husband to be buried in."
She looked at him in shock. "The—" Diane could feel the
cold hands of a stranger violating Richard's naked body, and
she shivered.
"Mrs. Stevens?"
I should dress Richard myself. But I couldn 't bear to see
him the way he is. I want to remember—
"Mrs. Stevens?"
Diane swallowed. "I hadn't thought about—" Her voice was
strangled. "I'm sorry." She was unable
to go on.
He watched her stumble outside and hail a taxi.
* * *
WHEN DIANE RETURNED to her apartment, she walked into
Richard's closet. There were two
racks filled with his suits. Each outfit held a treasured
memory. There was the tan suit Richard had
been wearing the night they met at the art gallery. I like
your curves. They have the delicacy of a
Rossetti or a Manet. Could she let go of that suit? No.
Her fingers touched the next one. It was the light gray
sport jacket Richard had worn to the picnic,
when they had been caught in the rain.
Your place or mine?
This isn 'tjust a one-night stand.
I know.
How could she not keep it?
The pinstriped suit was next. You like French food. I know
a great French restaurant. . . .
The navy blazer . . . the suede jacket. . . Diane wrapped
the arms of a blue suit around herself and hugged it. I could
never let any of these go. Each of them was a cherished
remembrance. "I can't." Sobbing, she grabbed a suit at random
and fled.
The following afternoon, there was a message on Diane's
voice mail: "Mrs. Stevens, this is Detective Greenburg. I
wanted to let you know that everything here has been cleared.
I've talked to the Dalton Mortuary. You're free to go ahead
with whatever plans you want to make. . . ." There was a
slight
pause. "I wish you well. . . . Good-bye."
Diane called Ron Jones at the mortuary. "I understand that
my husband's body has arrived there."
"Yes, Mrs. Stevens. I already have someone taking care of
the cosmetics, and we've received the
clothes you sent. Thank you."
"I thought—would this coming Friday be all right for the
funeral?"
"Friday will be fine. By then we will have taken care of
all the necessary details. I would suggest eleven a.m."
In three days, Richard and I will be parted forever. Or
until I join him.
* * *
THURSDAY MORNING, DIANE was busily preparing the final
details of the funeral, verifying the
long list of invitees and the pallbearers, when the
telephone call came.
"Mrs. Stevens?"
"Yes."
"This is Ron Jones. I just wanted to let you know that I
received your paperwork and the change was made, just as you
requested."
Diane was puzzled. "Paperwork—?"
"Yes. The courier brought it yesterday, with your letter."
"I didn't send any—"
"Frankly, I was a little surprised, but, of course, it was
your decision."
"My decision—?"
"We cremated your husband's body one hour ago."

CHAPTER 6

Paris, France
KELLY HARRIS WAS a roman candle that had exploded into the
world of fashion. She was in her late twenties, an
African-American with skin the color of melted honey and a
face that was a photographer's dream. She had intelligent
soft brown eyes, sensual full lips, lovely long legs, and a
figure filled with
erotic promise. Her dark hair was cut short in deliberate
dishabille, with a few strands sprawling across her forehead.
Earlier that year, the readers of Elle and Mademoiselle
magazines had voted Kelly the
Most Beautiful Model in the World.
As she finished dressing, Kelly looked around the
penthouse, feeling, as always, a sense of wonder. The
apartment was spectacular. It was on the exclusive Rue
St.-Louis-en-Elle, in the Fourth Arrondissenient
of Paris. The apartment had a double-door entry that
opened into an elegant hall with high ceilings and soft
yellow wall panels, and the living room was furnished with an
eclectic mixture of French and Regency furniture. From the
terrace, across the Seine, was a view of Notre-Dame.
Kelly was looking forward to the coming weekend. Mark was
going to take her out for one of his
surprise treats.
I want you to get all dressed up, honey. You 're going to
love where we're going.
Kelly smiled to herself. Her husband was the most
wonderful man in the world. Kelly glanced at her wristwatch
and sighed. I had better get moving, she thought. The show
starts in half an hour. A few moments later, she left the
apartment, heading down the hallway toward the elevator. As
she did so,
the door of a neighboring apartment opened and Madame
Josette Lapointe came out into the corridor.
A small butterball of a woman, she always had a friendly
word for Kelly.
"Good afternoon, Madame Harris."
Kelly smiled. "Good afternoon, Madame Lapointe."
"You're looking beautiful, as always."
"Thank you." Kelly pressed the button for the elevator.
A dozen feet away, a burly man in work clothes was
adjusting a wall fixture. He glanced at the two women, then
quickly turned his head.
"How is the modeling going?" Madame Lapointe asked.
"Very well, thank you."
"I must come and see you in one of your fashion shows
soon."
"I'll be happy to arrange it anytime."
The elevator arrived, and Kelly and Madame Lapointe
stepped inside. The man in work clothes pulled
out a small walkie-talkie, spoke hurriedly into it, and
rapidly walked away.
As the elevator door started to close, Kelly heard the
telephone ring in her apartment. She hesitated.
She was in a hurry, but it could be Mark calling.
"You go ahead," she said to Madame Lapointe.
Kelly stepped out of the elevator, fumbled for her key,
found it, and ran back into her apartment.
She raced to the ringing telephone and picked it up.
"Mark?"
A strange voice said, "Nanette?'
Kelly was disappointed. "Nous ne connaissons pas la
personne qui repond a ce nom."
"Pardonnez-moi. C'est une erreur de telephone."
A wrong number. Kelly put the phone down. As she did,
there was a tremendous crash that shook the whole building. A
moment later, there was a babble of voices and loud screams.
Horrified, she rushed
into the hall to see what had happened. The sounds were
coming from below. Kelly ran down the stairs, and when she
finally reached the lobby, she heard loud, excited voices
coming from the basement.
Apprehensively, she went down the stairs to the basement
and stood in shock as she saw the crushed elevator car and
the horribly mangled body of Madame Lapointe in it. Kelly
felt faint. That poor
woman. A minute ago she was alive and now. . . And I could
have been in there with her. If not for
that telephone call. . .
A crowd had gathered around the elevator, and sirens were
heard in the distance. I should stay, Kelly thought guiltily,
but I can't. I have to leave. She looked at the body and
whispered, "I'm so sorry, Madame Lapointe."
* * *
WHEN KELLY ARRIVED at the fashion salon and walked in the
stage door, Pierre, the nervous
fashion coordinator, was waiting.
He pounced on her. "Kelly! Kelly! You're late! The show
has already started and—"
"I'm sorry, Pierre. There—there was a bad accident."
He looked at her in alarm. "Are you hurt?"
"No." Kelly closed her eyes for a moment. The idea of
going to work after what she had witnessed
was nauseating, but she had no choice. She was the star of
the show.
"Hurry!" Pierre said. "Vite!"
Kelly started toward her dressing room.
* * *
THE YEAR'S MOST prestigious fashion show was being held at
31 Rue Cambon, Chanel's original salon. The paparazzi were
near the front rows. Every seat was occupied, and the back of
the room
was crowded with standees eager to get the first glimpse
of the coming season's new designs. The room had been
decorated for the event with flowers and draped fabrics, but
no one was paying any attention
to the decor. The real attractions were on the long
runway—a river of moving colors, beauty, and style. In the
background, music was playing, its slow, sexy beat
accentuating the movements onstage.
As the lovely models glided back and forth, they were
accompanied by a voice on a loudspeaker giving
a running commentary on the fashions.
An Asian brunette started down the runway: "... a satin
wool jacket with edge top stitching and georgette pants and a
white blouse . . ."
A slim blonde undulated across the runway: "... is wearing
a black cashmere turtleneck with white cotton cargo pants . .
."
A redhead with an attitude appeared: "... a black leather
jacket and black shantung pants with a white
knit shirt. . ."
A French model: "... a pink, three-button angora jacket, a
pink cable-knit turtleneck and black cuffed pants..."
A Swedish model: "... a navy satin wool jacket and pants
and a lilac charmeuse blouse ..."
And then the moment everyone had been waiting for. The
Swedish model had walked off and the
runway was deserted. The voice over the loudspeaker said,
"And now that the swimming season is
here, we are pleased to display our new line of
beachwear."
There was a crescendo of anticipation, then Kelly Harris
appeared at the peak of it. She was wearing
a white bikini, a bra that barely covered her firm, young
breasts and a figure-hugging bottom. As she floated
sensuously down the runway, the effect was mesmerizing. There
was a wave of applause.
Kelly gave a faint smile of acknowledgment, circled the
runway, and disappeared.
Backstage, two men were waiting for her.
"Mrs. Harris, if I could have a moment—?"
"I'm sorry," Kelly said apologetically. "I have to make a
quick change." She started to walk away.
"Wait! Mrs. Harris! We are with the Police Judiciaire. I
am Chief Inspector Dune and this is Inspector Steunou. We
need to talk."
Kelly stopped. "The police? Talk about what?"
"You are Mrs. Mark Harris, yes?"
"Yes." She was filled with sudden apprehension.
"Then I am sorry to inform you that—that your husband died
last night."
Kelly's mouth was dry. "My husband—? How—?"
"Apparently, he committed suicide."
There was a roar in Kelly's ears. She could barely make
out what the chief inspector was saying: "...
Tour Eiffel. . . midnight. . . note . . . very regrettable
. . . deepest sympathy."
The words were not real. They were pieces of sound with no
meaning.
"Madame—"
This weekend, I want you to get all dressed up, darling.
You're going to love where we're going.
"There is some—some mistake," Kelly said. "Mark wouldn't—"
"I am sorry." The chief inspector was watching Kelly
closely. "Are you all right, madame?"
"Yes." Except that my life has just ended.
Pierre bustled over to Kelly, carrying a beautiful striped
bikini. "Cherie, you must change quickly.
There is no time to waste." He thrust the bikini in her
arms. "Vite! Vite!"
Kelly slowly let it drop to the floor. "Pierre?"
He was looking at her in surprise. "Yes?"
"You wear it."
* * *
A LIMOUSINE BROUGHT Kelly back to her apartment. The salon
manager had wanted to send someone to be with her, but Kelly
had refused. She wanted to be alone. Now, as she walked in
through the entrance, Kelly saw the concierge, Philippe
Cendre, and a man in overalls, surrounded
by a group of tenants.
One of the tenants said, "Poor Madame Lapointe. What a
terrible accident."
The man in overalls held up two jagged ends of a heavy
cable. "It was no accident, madame. Someone cut the
elevator's safety brakes."

CHAPTER 7

AT FOUR O'CLOCK in the morning, Kelly was seated in a
chair, staring out the window in a daze,
her mind racing. Police Judiciaire. . . we need to talk .
. . Tour Eiffel . . suicide note. . . Mark is
dead. . . Mark is dead. . . Mark is dead. The words became
a dirge pulsing through Kelly's brain.
She could see Mark's body tumbling down, down, down. . . .
She put her arms out to catch him just before he smashed
against the sidewalk. Did you die because of me? Was it
something I did?
Something I didn't do? Something I said? Something I
didn't say? I was asleep when you left,
darling, and I didn't have a chance to say good-bye, to
kiss you and tell you how much I love you.
I need you. I can't stand it without you, Kelly thought.
Help me, Mark. Help me—the way you always helped me. . . .
She slumped back, remembering how it had been before Mark, in
the awful early days.
* * *
KELLY HAD BEEN born in Philadelphia, the illegitimate
daughter of Ethel Hackworth, a black maid who worked for one
of the town's most prominent white families. The father of
the family was a judge. Ethel was seventeen and beautiful,
and Pete, the handsome, blond, twenty-year-old son of the
Turner family, had been attracted to her. He had seduced her,
and a month later Ethel learned she was pregnant.
When she told Pete, he said, "That's—that's wonderful."
And he rushed into his father's den to tell him the bad news.
Judge Turner called Ethel into his den the next morning
and said, "I won't have a whore working in this house. You're
fired."
With no money and no education or skills, Ethel had taken
a job as a cleaning lady in an industrial building, working
long hours to support her newborn daughter. In five years,
Ethel had saved enough money to buy a run-down clapboard
house that she turned into a boardinghouse for men. Ethel
converted the rooms into a living room, a dining room,
four small bedrooms, and a narrow little utility room that
Kelly slept in.
From that time on, a series of men constantly arrived and
left.
"These are your uncles," Ethel told her. "Don't bother
them."
Kelly was pleased that she had such a large family until
she became old enough to realize that they
were all strangers.
When Kelly was eight years old, she was asleep one night
in her small, darkened bedroom when she
was awakened by a guttural whisper: "Shhh! Don't make a
sound."
Kelly felt her nightgown being lifted, and before she
could protest, one of her "uncles" was on top of her and his
hand was over her mouth. Kelly could feel him forcibly
spreading her legs. She tried to struggle, but he held her
down. She felt his member tearing inside her body, and she
was filled with excruciating pain. He was merciless, forcing
himself inside her, going deeper and deeper, rubbing her skin
raw. Kelly could feel her warm blood gushing out. She was
silently screaming, afraid she would faint. She was trapped
in the terrifying blackness of her room.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she felt him
shudder and then withdraw.
He whispered, "I'm leaving. But if you ever tell your
mother about this, I'll come back and kill her."
And he was gone.
The next week was almost unbearable. She was in misery all
the time, but she treated her lacerated
body as best she could until finally the pain subsided.
She wanted to tell her mother what had happened, but she did
not dare. If you ever tell your mother about this, I'll come
back and kill her.
The incident had lasted only a few minutes, but those few
minutes altered Kelly's life. She changed
from a young girl who had dreamed of having a husband and
children to someone who felt that she
was tarnished and disgraced. She resolved that she would
never let a man touch her again. Something
else had changed in Kelly.
From that night on, she was afraid of the dark.

CHAPTER 8

WHEN KELLY TURNED ten, Ethel put her to work helping
around the boardinghouse. Kelly rose
at five every morning to clean the toilets, scrub the
kitchen floor, and help prepare breakfast for the boarders.
After school she did the laundry, mopped the floor, dusted,
and assisted with dinner. Her
life became a dreadful, tedious routine.
She was eager to help her mother, hoping for a word of
praise. It never came. Her mother was too preoccupied with
the boarders to pay any attention to her daughter.
When Kelly was very young, a kind boarder had read to her
the story Alice's Adventures in
Wonderland, and Kelly was fascinated by the way Alice
escaped into a magic rabbit hole. That's
what I need, Kelly thought, a way to escape. I can't spend
the rest of my days scrubbing toilets
and mopping floors and cleaning up after messy strangers.
And one day Kelly found her magic rabbit hole. It was her
imagination, which would take her
anywhere she wanted to go. She rewrote her life. . .
She had a father, and her mother and father were the same
color. They never got angry and yelled
at her. They all lived in a beautiful home. Her mother and
father loved her. Her mother and father
loved her. Her mother and father loved her. . . .
* * *
WHEN KELLY WAS fourteen, her mother married one of the
boarders, a bartender named Dan
Berke, a surly, middle-aged man who was negative about
everything. Kelly could do nothing to
please him.
"The dinner is lousy. ..."
"That dress is the wrong color for you. . . ."
"The shade in the bedroom is still broken. I told you to
fix it. . . ."
"You haven't finished cleaning the bathrooms. . . ."
Kelly's stepfather had a drinking problem. The wall
between Kelly's bedroom and her mother and stepfather's
bedroom was thin, and night after night, Kelly could hear the
sounds of blows and screams. In the morning, Ethel would
appear wearing heavy makeup that failed to cover bruises and
black eyes.
Kelly was devastated. We should get out of here, she
thought. My mother and I love each other.
One night, when Kelly was half asleep, she heard loud
voices from the next room. "Why didn't you
get rid of the kid before she was born?"
"I tried to, Dan. It didn't work."
Kelly felt as though she had been kicked in the gut. Her
mother had never wanted her. No one wanted her.
* * *
KELLY FOUND ANOTHER escape from the unending dreariness of
her life: the world of books. She became an insatiable reader
and spent as much of her spare time as she could at the
public library.
At the end of the week, there was never any money left for
Kelly, so she got a job as a babysitter, envying the happy
families she would never have.
* * *
AT SEVENTEEN, KELLY was developing into the beauty her
mother had once been. The boys at
school began asking her for dates. She was repelled. She
turned them all down.
Saturdays, when there was no school and Kelly's chores
were finished, she would hurry to the public library and
spend the afternoon reading.
Lisa Marie Houston, the librarian, was an intelligent,
sympathetic woman with a quiet, friendly manner and whose
clothes were as unpretentious as her personality. Seeing
Kelly in the library so often,
Mrs. Houston became curious.
One day she said, "It's nice to see a young person
enjoying reading so much. You spend a lot of time here."
It was the opening gambit of a friendship. As the weeks
went by, Kelly poured out her fears and hopes and dreams to
the librarian.
"What would you like to do with your life, Kelly?"
"Be a teacher."
"I think you'd make a wonderful teacher. That's the most
rewarding profession in the world."
Kelly started to speak, then stopped. She was remembering
a breakfast conversation with her mother
and stepfather a week earlier. Kelly had said, I need to
go to college. I want to be a teacher.
A teacher? Berke had laughed. That's a dumb-ass idea.
Teachers make zip. Do you hear me? Zip.
You can make more sweeping floors. Anyway, your old lady
and I don't have money to send you
to college.
But I've been offered a scholarship and—
So what? You'll spend four years wasting your time. Forget
it. With your looks, you could probably peddle your ass.
Kelly had left the table.
Now she said to Mrs. Houston, "There's a problem. They
won't let me go to college." Her voice
was choked. "I'll spend the rest of my life doing what I'm
doing!"
"Of course you won't." Mrs. Houston's tone was firm. "How
old are you?"
"In three months I'll be eighteen."
"You'll soon be old enough to make your own decisions.
You're a beautiful young woman, Kelly.
Do you know that?"
"No. Not really." How can I tell her that I feel like a
freak? I don't feel beautiful. "I hate my life,
Mrs. Houston. I don't want to be like— I want to get away
from this town. I want something
different, and I'll never have it." She was trying hard to
control her emotions. "I'll never have a
chance to do something, to be somebody."
"Kelly—"
"I never should have read all those books." Her voice was
bitter.
"Why?"
"Because they're filled with lies. All those beautiful
people and glamorous places and magic ..." Kelly shook her
head. "There is no magic."
Mrs. Houston studied her a moment. It was obvious that
Kelly's sense of self-worth had been badly damaged. "Kelly,
there is magic, but you have to be the magician. You have to
make the magic happen."
'Really?" Kelly's tone was cynical. "How do I do that?"
'First, you have to know what your dreams are. Yours are
to have an exciting life, filled with interesting people and
glamorous places. The next time you come in here, I'll show
you how to make your dreams come true."
Liar.
* * *
THE WEEK AFTER Kelly graduated, she returned to the
library. Mrs. Houston said, "Kelly, do you remember what I
said about making your own magic?"
Kelly said skeptically, "Yes."
Mrs. Houston reached behind her desk and pulled out a
handful of magazines: COSMOgirl, Seventeen, Glamour,
Mademoiselle, Essence, Allure . . . She handed them to Kelly.
Kelly looked at them. "What am I supposed to do with
these?"
"Have you ever thought of becoming a model?"
"No."
"Look at these magazines. Then tell me if they give you
any ideas that might bring magic into your life."
She means well, Kelly thought, but she doesn't understand.
"Thank you, Mrs. Houston, I will."
I'll start looking for a job next week.
* * *
KELLY TOOK THE magazines back to the boardinghouse and
shoved them into a corner and forgot about them. She spent
the evening doing her chores.
As Kelly started to get into bed that night, exhausted,
she remembered the magazines Mrs. Houston
had given her. She picked up a few out of curiosity and
started to skim through them. It was another world. The
models were beautifully dressed, with handsome, elegant men
at their sides, in London
and Paris and exotic places all over the world. Kelly felt
a sudden sense of yearning. She hastily put
on a robe and walked down the hall to the bathroom.
She studied herself in the mirror. She supposed that
perhaps she was attractive. Everyone always told
her she was. Even if it's true, I have no experience. She
thought about her future life in Philadelphia
and looked in the mirror again. Everyone has to start
somewhere. You have to be the magician . . .
make the magic happen.
* * *
EARLY THE NEXT morning, Kelly was in the library to see
Mrs. Houston.
Mrs. Houston looked up, surprised to see Kelly in the
library so early. "Good morning, Kelly. Have
you had a chance to look at the magazines?"
"Yes." Kelly took a deep breath. "I would like to try
being a model. The problem is that I have no
idea where to start."
Mrs. Houston smiled. "I do. I looked in the New York
telephone directory. You said you wanted to
leave this town?" Mrs. Houston took a typed sheet of paper
from her purse and handed it to Kelly.
"This is a list of the top dozen modeling agencies in
Manhattan, with their addresses and telephone numbers." She
squeezed Kelly's hand. "Start at the top."
Kelly was stunned. "I—I don't know how to thank—"
"I'll tell you how. Let me see your photograph in these
magazines."
At dinner that evening, Kelly said, "I've decided that I'm
going to be a model."
Her stepfather grunted. "That's your stupidest idea yet.
What the hell's the matter with you?
All models are whores."
Kelly's mother sighed. "Kelly, don't make my mistake. I
had false dreams, too. They'll kill you.
You're black and poor. You're not going anywhere."
That was the moment Kelly made her decision.
* * *
AT FIVE O'CLOCK the following morning, Kelly took a packed
suitcase from under her bed and
headed for the bus station. In her purse was two hundred
dollars that she had earned babysitting.
The bus ride to Manhattan took two hours, and Kelly spent
that time fantasizing about her future.
She was going to become a professional model. "Kelly
Hackworth" did not sound professional.
I know what I'll do. I'll just use my first name. She said
it in her mind over and over. And this is
our top model, Kelly.
* * *
SHE CHECKED INTO a cheap motel, and at nine o'clock, Kelly
walked in the front door of the modeling agency at the top of
the list Mrs. Houston had given her. Kelly had no makeup on
and
was wearing a wrinkled dress, because she had no way to
iron her clothes.
There was no one at the reception desk in the lobby. She
approached a man sitting in an office,
busily writing at a desk.
"Excuse me," Kelly said.
The man grunted something without looking up.
Kelly hesitated. "I wondered if you needed a model."
"No," the man muttered, "we're not hiring."
Kelly sighed. "Thank you, anyway." She turned to leave.
The man glanced up, and his expression changed. "Wait!
Wait a minute. Come back here." He had jumped to his feet.
"My God. Where did you come from?"
Kelly looked at him, puzzled. "Philadelphia."
"I mean—never mind. Have you ever modeled before?"
"No."
"It doesn't matter. You'll learn it here, on the job."
Kelly's throat was suddenly dry. "Does that mean I'm—I'm
going to be a model?"
He grinned. "I'll say. We have clients who will go crazy
when they see you."
She could hardly believe it. This was one of the biggest
modeling agencies in the business and they—
"My name is Bill Lerner. I run this agency. What's your
name?"
This was the moment Kelly had been dreaming of. This was
the first time she was going to use her
new, one-word professional name. Lerner was staring at
her. "Don't you know your name?" Kelly
drew herself up to her full height and said confidently,
"Of course I do. Kelly Hackworth."

CHAPTER 9

THE SOUND OF the plane buzzing low overhead brought a
smile to Lois Reynolds's lips. Gary. He
was late. Lois had offered to go to the airport to meet
him, but he had said, "Don't bother, sis. I'll
take a taxi."
"But, Gary, I'll be glad to—"
"It will be better if you stay home and wait for me
there."
"Whatever you say, bro."
* * *
HER BROTHER HAD always been the most important person in
Lois's life. Her growing-up years, in Kelowna, had been a
nightmare. From the time Lois was a young girl, she felt that
the world was against her: glamour magazines, fashion models,
female movie stars—and just because she was a little plump.
Where was it written that buxom girls could not be just as
beautiful as sickly-looking, skinny girls?
Lois Reynolds would constantly study her reflection in the
mirror. She had long blonde hair, blue eyes,
delicate pale features, and what Lois considered a
pleasantly full-figured body. Men can go around
with their beer bellies hanging over their pants and no
one says a word. But let a woman put on a
few pounds and she's an object of scorn. What male moron
had the right to decide that the ideal
woman s figure should be 36-26-36?
For as long as Lois could remember, her schoolmates had
mocked her behind her back—"fat ass," "tubby," "porky." The
words hurt deeply. But Gary had always been there to defend
her.
By the time Lois had graduated from the University of
Toronto, she had had enough of the teasing.
If Mr. Wonderful is looking for a real woman, I'm here.
* * *
AND ONE DAY, unexpectedly, Mr. Wonderful appeared. His
name was Henry Lawson. They met at
a church social, and Lois was immediately attracted to
him. He was tall, thin, and blond, with a face
that seemed always ready to smile and a disposition that
matched it. His father was the minister of the church. Lois
spent most of her time at the social with Henry, and while
they were talking, she learned
that he owned a successful nursery and was a nature lover.
"If you're not busy tomorrow night," he said, "I'd like to
take you to dinner."
There was no hesitation on Lois's part. "Yes, thank you."
Henry Lawson took her to the popular Sassafraz, one of the
finest restaurants in Toronto. The menu
was tantalizing, but Lois ordered a light dinner because
she did not want Henry to think she was a gourmand.
Henry noticed that she was eating only a salad and he
said, That's not enough for you."
"I'm trying to lose weight," Lois lied.
He put his hand over hers. "I don't want you to lose
weight, Lois. I like you just the way you are."
She felt a sudden thrill. He was the first man who had
ever said that to her.
"I'm going to order you a steak, some potatoes, and a
Caesar salad," Henry said.
It was so wonderful, finally, to find a man who understood
her appetite and approved of it.
* * *
THE NEXT FEW weeks went by in a delicious series of dates.
At the end of three weeks, Henry
said, "I love you, Lois. I want you to be my wife."
Words she thought she would never hear. She put her arms
around him and said, "I love you, too,
Henry. I want to be your wife."
* * *
THE WEDDING TOOK place in Henry's father's church five
days later. Gary and a few friends were there, and it was a
beautiful ceremony, officiated by Henry's father. Lois had
never been so happy.
"Where are you two going to honeymoon?" Reverend Lawson
asked.
"Lake Louise," Henry said. "It's very romantic."
"That's perfect for a honeymoon."
Henry put his arms around Lois. "I expect every day to be
a honeymoon for the rest of our lives."
Lois was ecstatic.
* * *
IMMEDIATELYAFTER THE wedding, they left for Lake Louise.
It was a spectacular oasis in
Banff National Park, in the heart of the Canadian Rockies.
They arrived in the late afternoon with the sun sparkling
over the lake.
Henry took Lois in his arms. "Are you hungry?"
She looked into his eyes and smiled. "No."
"Neither am I. Why don't we get undressed?"
"Oh, yes, darling."
Two minutes later, they were in bed and Henry was making
exquisite love to her. It was wonderful. Exhausting.
Exhilarating.
"Oh, darling, I love you so much."
"I love you, too, Lois," Henry said. He stood up. "Now we
must fight carnal sin."
Lois looked at him, confused. "What?"
"Get on your knees."
She laughed. "Aren't you tired, darling?"
"Get on your knees."
She smiled. "All right."
She got on her knees and watched, puzzled, as Henry took a
large belt from his trousers. He walked
up to her, and before she realized what was happening, he
smashed the belt hard against her naked buttocks.
Lois screamed and started to get up. "What are you—?"
He shoved her down. "I told you, darling. We must fight
carnal sin." He raised the belt and struck
her again.
"Stop it! Stop it!"
"Stay there." His voice was filled with fervor.
Lois fought to get up, but Henry held her down with one
strong hand and slammed the belt against
her again.
Lois felt as though her backside had been flayed. "Henry!
My God! Stop it!"
Finally Henry stood up and took a deep, quivery breath.
"It's all right now."
It was difficult for Lois to move. She could feel the open
sores oozing. She painfully managed to get
to her feet. She couldn't speak. She could only stare in
horror at her husband.
"Sex is sinful. We must fight temptation."
She shook her head, still speechless, still not believing
what had just happened.
"Think of Adam and Eve, the beginning of the downfall of
mankind." He went on.
Lois began to weep, huge gulping sobs.
"It's all right now." He took Lois in his arms. "It's all
right. I love you."
Lois said uncertainly, "I love you, too, but—"
"Don't worry. We have conquered it."
Which means that will be the last time that happens, Lois
thought. It probably has something to do
with his being a minister's son. Thank God it's over.
Henry held her close. "I love you so much. Let's go out to
dinner."
* * *
IN THE RESTAURANT, Lois was barely able to sit down. The
pain was terrible, but she was too embarrassed to ask for a
pillow.
"I'll order," Henry said. He ordered a salad for himself
and an enormous meal for Lois. "You have to keep your
strength up, my dearest."
During dinner Lois thought about what had just happened.
Henry was the most wonderful man she
had ever known. She had been taken aback by his—what was
it, she wondered—fetish. Anyway,
that was over. She could look forward to spending the rest
of her life taking care of this man and
being taken care of.
When they had finished their entrees, Henry ordered an
extra dessert for Lois and said, "I like a lot
of woman."
She smiled. "I'm glad I please you."
When dinner was over, Henry said, "Shall we go back to the
room?
"Fine."
When they returned to their room, they undressed and Henry
took Lois in his arms and the pain
seemed to disappear. His lovemaking was sweet and gentle
and was even more enjoyable than before.
Lois hugged her husband and said, "That was wonderful."
"Yes." He nodded. "Now we must atone for carnal sin. Get
on your knees."
* * *
IN THE MIDDLE of the night, when Henry was asleep, Lois
quietly packed a suitcase and fled. She
took a plane to Vancouver and called Gary. At lunch, she
told him what had happened.
"I'm filing for divorce," Lois said, "but I have to move
out of town."
Gary thought for a moment. "I have a friend who owns an
insurance agency, sis. It's in Denver,
and that's fifteen hundred miles away."
"That would be perfect."
Gary said, "I'll talk to him."
* * *
TWO WEEKS LATER, Lois was working at the midwest insurance
agency in a managerial position.
Gary had kept in constant touch with Lois. She had bought
a small, charming bungalow with a view of the Rockies in the
distance, and from time to time her brother would visit her.
They would have great weekends together—skiing, or fishing,
or simply sitting on the sofa, talking. I'm so proud of you,
sis,
he'd always tell her, and Lois was proud of Gary's
accomplishments as well. He had earned his Ph.D.
in science, was working for an international corporation,
and had taken up flying as a hobby.
* * *
AS LOIS WAS thinking about Gary, there was a knock at the
front door. She looked out the window
to see who was calling and recognized him. Tom Huebner. He
was a tall, rugged-looking charter pilot,
a friend of Gary's.
Lois opened the door and Huebner walked in.
"Hi, Tom."
"Lois."
"Gary isn't here yet. I think I heard his plane a little
while ago. He should be here any minute. Would
you like to wait or—?"
He was staring at her. "You haven't been watching the
news?"
Lois shook her head. "No. What's going on? I hope we're
not going to get into another war and—"
"Lois, I'm afraid I have some bad news. Really bad news."
His voice was tight. "It's about Gary."
She stiffened. "What about him?"
"He was killed in a plane crash on his way here to see
you." He watched the light go out of her eyes.
"I'm so sorry. I know how much you loved each other."
Lois tried to speak, but she was hyperventilating.
"How—how— how—?"
Tom Huebner took her hand and gently led her to the couch.
Lois sat down and took deep breaths. "What—what happened?"
"Gary's plane hit the side of a mountain a few miles
outside of Denver."
Lois felt faint. "Tom, I'd like to be alone."
He studied her, worried. "Are you sure, Lois? I could stay
and—"
"Thank you, but please go."
Tom Huebner stood there irresolutely, then nodded. "You
have my number. Call if you need me."
Lois did not hear him leave. She sat there in a state of
shock. It was as if someone had told her she had died. Her
mind started flashing back to their childhood. Gary had
always been her protector, fighting
boys who teased her and, as they got older, escorting her
to baseball games and movies and parties.
The last time she had seen him was a week ago, and she saw
the scene in her mind, unspooling like
a blurred film through her tears.
The two of them were seated at the dining room table.
"You're not eating, Gary."
"It's delicious, sis. I'm not very hungry."
She watched him a moment. "Anything you want to talk
about?"
"You always know, don't you?"
"It's something to do with your work."
"Yes." He pushed his plate away. "I think my life is in
danger."
Lois looked at him, startled. "What?"
"Sis, only half a dozen people in the world know about
what's happening. I'm flying back here next Monday to spend
the night. On Tuesday morning, I'm heading for Washington."
Lois was puzzled. "Why Washington?"
"To tell them about Prima."
And Gary explained it.
* * *
NOW GARY WAS dead. I think my life is in danger. Her
brother had not been killed in an accident.
He had been murdered.
Lois looked at her watch. It was too late to do anything
now, but in the morning she was going to make the phone call
that would avenge her brother's murder. She was going to
finish what Gary had planned
to do. Lois felt suddenly drained. It was an effort to get
up from the couch. She had had no dinner, but the idea of
food nauseated her.
Lois headed for the bedroom and fell onto the bed, too
tired to undress. She lay there, dazed, until she finally
fell asleep.
* * *
LOIS DREAMED THAT she and Gary were on a speeding train
and that all the passengers in the railroad car were smoking.
It was getting hot, and the smoke made her cough. Her
coughing woke her
up, and she opened her eyes. She looked around in shock.
Her bedroom was on fire, the blaze racing
up the curtains, the room filled with smoke. Lois stumbled
out of bed, choking. Trying to hold her
breath, she staggered into the living room. The entire
room was engulfed in flames. She took half a
dozen steps toward the door, felt her legs give way, and
fell to the floor.
The last thing Lois Reynolds remembered was the flames
hungrily licking their way toward her.

CHAPTER 10

TO KELLY, EVERYTHING was happening at a dizzying pace. She
quickly learned about the most important aspects of modeling:
the agency had given her training courses in image
projection, poise,
and carriage. Much of modeling was attitude, and to Kelly
that meant acting, because she felt neither beautiful nor
desirable.
The phrase "overnight sensation" could have been invented
for Kelly. She projected not only an
exciting, provocative image, but also an air of
untouchability that was a challenge to men. Within two years,
Kelly had risen to the top tier of models. She was
advertising products in a dozen countries.
Much of Kelly's time was spent in Paris, where some of her
agency's most important clients were
located.
Once, after a fashion extravaganza in New York, before
heading back to Paris, Kelly went to see her mother, who
looked older and more careworn. I've got to get her out of
here, Kelly thought. I'll buy
a nice apartment for her, and take care of her.
Her mother seemed pleased to see her. "I'm glad you're
doing so well, Kelly. Thanks for your monthly checks."
"You're welcome. Mother, there's something I want to talk
to you about. I have a plan all worked out.
I want you to leave—"
"Well, look who's come to pay us a visit—her highness."
Her stepfather had just walked in. "What
are you doing here? Shouldn't you be strutting around in
them fancy clothes?"
I'll have to do this another time, Kelly thought.
* * *
KELLY HAD ONE more stop to make. She went to the public
library where she had spent so many wonderful hours, and as
she walked through the door, holding half a dozen magazines,
her mind was dancing with memories.
Mrs. Houston was not at her desk. Kelly walked inside and
saw her standing in one of the side aisles, looking radiant
in a sleek, tailored dress, busily filling a shelf with
books.
As Mrs. Houston heard the door open, she said, "I'll be
with you in a moment." She turned. "Kelly!"
It was almost a scream. "Oh, Kelly."
They ran to each other and embraced.
Mrs. Houston pulled back and looked at Kelly. "I can't
believe it's you. What are you doing in town?"
"I came to see my mother, but I wanted to see you, too."
"I'm so proud of you. You have no idea."
"Mrs. Houston, do you remember when I asked how I could
thank you? You said I could thank you
by letting you see my picture in a fashion magazine.
Here." And Kelly put the pile of fashion magazines
in Mrs. Houston's arms. There were copies of Elle,
Cosmopolitan, Mademoiselle, and Vogue. She
was on the cover of each one.
"They're beautiful." Mrs. Houston was beaming. "I want to
show you something." She went behind
her desk and pulled out copies of the same magazines.
It took a moment before Kelly could speak. "What can I
ever do to thank you? You changed my life."
"No, Kelly. You changed your life. All I did was give you
a little push. And Kelly—"
"Yes?"
"Thanks to you I've become a fashion plate."
* * *
SINCE KELLY VALUED her privacy, her fame sometimes was
troublesome. The constant barrage
of photographers annoyed her, and she had what amounted to
a phobia of being approached by people she did not know.
Kelly enjoyed being alone.
One day, she was having lunch at Restaurant le Cinq at the
George V Hotel, when a badly dressed
man passing by stopped to stare at her. He had the pallid,
unhealthy complexion of someone who
spent all his time indoors. He was carrying a copy of
Elle, opened to a page of photographs of Kelly.
"Excuse me," the stranger said.
Kelly looked up, annoyed. "Yes?"
"I saw your—I read this article about you, and it says
that you were born in Philadelphia." His voice
grew enthusiastic. "I was born there, too, and when I saw
your pictures, I felt like I knew you and—"
Kelly said coldly, "You don't, and I don't like strange
men bothering me."
"Oh, I'm sorry." He swallowed. "I didn't mean to—I'm not
strange. I mean—my name is Mark Harris, and I work for
Kingsley International Group. When I saw you here, I—I
thought maybe you didn't like having lunch alone and that you
and I could—"
Kelly gave him a scathing look. "You thought wrong. Now
I'd like you to leave."
He was stammering. "I—I didn't mean to intrude. It's just
that I—" He saw the look on her face.
"I'm going."
Kelly watched him walk out the door, carrying the magazine
with him. Good riddance.
* * *
KELLY HAD SIGNED to do a week of layouts for several
fashion magazines. The day after her encounter with Mark
Harris, she was in the models' dressing room, getting
dressed, when three
dozen roses arrived for her. The card read: Please forgive
me for bothering you. Mark Harris.
Kelly ripped up the card. "Send the flowers to the
children's hospital."
The next morning the wardrobe mistress came into the
dressing room again, with a package.
"Some man left this for you, Kelly."
In it was a single orchid. The card read: I hope I'm
forgiven. Mark Harris.
Kelly tore up the card. "Keep the flower."
* * *
AFTER THAT, MARK Harris's gifts came almost daily: a small
basket of fruit, a mood ring, a toy
Santa Claus. Kelly threw them all into a wastebasket. The
next gift that arrived was different: it was
an adorable French poodle puppy with a red ribbon around
its neck with a card: This is "Angel."
I hope you'll love her as much as I do. Mark Harris.
Kelly dialed Information and got the number of Kingsley
International Group. When their operator answered, Kelly
asked, "Do you have a Mark Harris working there?"
"Oui, mademoiselle."
"Could I speak with him, please?"
"Un moment."
A minute later Kelly heard his familiar voice. "Hello?"
"Mr. Harris?"
"Yes."
"This is Kelly. I've decided to take you up on your
invitation to lunch."
There was a stunned silence, then, "Really? That's—that's
wonderful."
Kelly could hear the excitement in his voice.
"Laurent today, at one?"
"That will be great. Thank you so much. I—"
"I'll make the reservation. Good-bye."
* * *
MARK HARRIS WAS standing, waiting at a table at Laurent,
when Kelly strode in, carrying the puppy.
Mark's face lit up. "You—you came. I wasn't sure that—and
you brought Angel."
"Yes." Kelly planted the dog in Mark's arms. "She can join
you for lunch," she said icily, and turned to leave.
Mark said, "I don't understand. I thought—"
"Well, I'm going to explain it for you for the last time,"
Kelly snapped. "I want you to stop annoying
me. Do you understand that?"
Mark Harris's face turned a bright red. "Yes. Yes, of
course. I'm sorry. I didn't—I didn't mean to—
I just thought—I don't know what to ... I'd like to
explain. Would you sit down just for a moment?"
Kelly started to say no, then sat, a look of contempt on
her face. Yes?
Mark Harris took a deep breath. "I'm really so sorry. I
didn't mean to annoy you. I sent you those
things to apologize for intruding. All I wanted was a
chance to—when I saw your picture, I felt as
though I had known you all my life. And then when I saw
you in person and you were even more—"
He was stammering, mortified. "I— I should have known that
someone like you could never be
interested in someone like . . . I—I acted like a stupid
schoolboy. I'm so embarrassed. It's just that I—
I didn't know how to tell you how I felt, and . . ." His
voice trailed off. There was a naked vulnerability about him.
"I'm just not good at... at explaining my feelings. I've been
alone all my life. No one ever . . . when I was six years
old, my parents got a divorce, and there was a custody
battle. Neither one of
them wanted me."
Kelly was watching him, silent. His words were resonating
in her mind, bringing back long-buried memories.
Why didn't you get rid of the kid before she was born?
I tried to. It didn't work.
He went on. "I grew up in half a dozen different foster
homes, where nobody cared. ..."
These are your uncles. Don't bother them.
"It seems I couldn't do anything right. ..."
The dinner is lousy. . . . That dress is the wrong color
for you. . . . You haven't finished cleaning
the bathrooms. . . .
"They wanted me to quit school to work at a garage, but
I—I wanted to be a scientist. They said
I was too dumb. . . ."
Kelly was becoming more and more engrossed in what he was
saying.
I want to be a model.
All models are whores. . . .
"I dreamed of going to college, but they said with the
kind of work I would be doing, I—I didn't
need an education."
What the hell do you need to go to school for? With your
looks, you could peddle your ass. . . .
"When I got a scholarship to MIT, my foster parents said I
would probably flunk out, and should
go to work at the garage. . . ."
College? You'll waste four years of your life. . . .
Listening to this stranger was like hearing a replay of
her own life.
Kelly sat there, deeply touched, feeling the same painful
emotions as the stranger seated across from her.
"When I finished MIT, I went to work for a branch of
Kingsley International Group in Paris. But I was
so lonely." There was a long pause. "Somewhere, a long
time ago, I read that the greatest thing in life
was to find someone to love, who loved you . . . and I
believed it." Kelly sat there, quiet. Mark Harris said
awkwardly, "But I never found that person and I was ready to
give up. And then that day I saw
you . . ." He could not go on.
He stood up, holding Angel in his arms. "I'm so ashamed
about all this. I promise never to bother you again.
Good-bye."
Kelly watched him start to walk away. "Where are you going
with my dog?" she called.
Mark Harris turned, confused. "I'm sorry?"
"Angel is mine. You gave her to me, didn't you?"
Mark stood there, nonplussed. "Yes, but you said—"
"I'll make a deal with you, Mr. Harris. I'll keep Angel,
but you can have visiting rights."
It took him a moment and then his smile lit up the room.
"You mean I can—you'll let me—?"
Kelly said, "Why don't we discuss it at dinner tonight?"
And Kelly had no idea that she had just set herself up as
a target for assassination.

CHAPTER 11

Paris, France
REUILLY POLICE Headquarters on Henard Street, in the
Twelfth Arrondissement in Paris, an interrogation was taking
place. The superintendent of the Eiffel Tower was being
questioned by Detectives Andre Belmondo and Pierre Marais.
TOUR EIFFEL SUICIDE INVESTIGATION
Monday, May 6
10 a.m.
Subject: Rend Pascal
* * *
BELMONDO: Monsieur Pascal, we have reason to believe that
Mark Harris, the man who supposedly fell from the observation
deck of the Eiffel Tower, was murdered.
PASCAL: Murdered? But—I was told it was an accident and—
MARAIS: He could not possibly have fallen over that
parapet by accident. It is much too high.
BELMONDO: And we have established that the victim was not
suicidal. In fact, he had made
elaborate plans with his wife for the weekend. She's
Kelly—the model.
PASCAL: I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I don't see what
that—why was I brought here?
MARAIS: To help us clarify a few matters. What time did
the restaurant close that night?
PASCAL: At ten o'clock. Because of the storm, the Jules
Verne was empty, so I decided to—
MARAIS: What time did the elevators shut down?
PASCAL: They usually run until midnight, but on that
night, since there were no sightseers or diners,
I closed them down at ten p.m.
BELMONDO: Including the elevator that goes to the
observation deck? Pascal-. Yes. All of them.
MARAIS: Is it possible for someone to get to the
observation deck without using the elevator?
PASCAL: No. On that night everything was closed off. I
don't understand what this is all about. If—
BELMONDO: I will tell you what it is all about. Monsieur
Harris was thrown from the observation
deck. We know it was the observation deck because when we
examined the parapet, the top had
been scraped, and the cement embedded in the soles of his
shoes were flakes that matched the scraped cement on the
parapet. If the floor was locked off, and the elevators were
not working, how did he get
up there at midnight?
PASCAL: I don't know. Without an elevator, it would be—it
would be impossible.
MARAIS: But an elevator was used to take Monsieur Harris
up to the observation tower, and to take
up his assassin—or assassins—and bring them down again.
BELMONDO: Could a stranger run the elevators?
PASCAL: No. The operators never leave them when they are
on duty, and at night the elevators are locked down with a
special key.
MARAIS: How many keys are there?
PASCAL: Three. I have one, and the other two are kept
here.
BELMONDO: You are certain that the last elevator was shut
down at ten o'clock?
PASCAL: Yes.
MARAIS: Who was running it?
PASCAL: Toth. Gerard Toth.
MARAIS: I would like to speak with him.
PASCAL: So would I.
MARAIS: I beg your pardon?
PASCAL: Toth has not shown up for work since that night. I
called his apartment. There was no
answer. I got hold of his landlord. Toth has moved out.
MARAIS: And left no forwarding address?
PASCAL: That's right. He's vanished into thin air.
* * *
"'VANISHED INTO THIN air'? Are we talking about the Great
Houdini or a damned elevator
operator?"
The speaker was Secretary General Claude Renaud, in charge
of Interpol Headquarters. Renaud was
a short, dynamic man in his fifties, who had worked his
way up the police hierarchy over a period of twenty years.
Renaud was chairing a meeting in the main conference room
at the seven-story Interpol Headquarters,
the international police organization that is the
clearinghouse of information for 126 police forces in 78
countries. The building was located in Saint-Cloud, six miles
west of Paris, and the headquarters was manned by former
detectives from the Surete Nationale, and the Paris
Prefecture.
There were twelve men seated at the large conference
table. They had been questioning Detective Belmondo for the
past hour.
Secretary General Renaud said sourly, "So you and
Detective Marais were unable to get any information about how
a man was murdered in an area it would be impossible for him
to be in, in the first place, and impossible for his
assassins to get to or escape from? Is that what you're
telling me?"
"Marais and I talked to everyone who—"
"Never mind. You may go." Yes, sir.
They watched the chastened detective walk out of the room.
Secretary General Renaud turned to the group. "During your
investigations, have any one of you come across a man named
Prima?"
They were thoughtful a moment and then shook their heads.
"No. Who is Prima?"
"We don't know. His name was scribbled on a note found in
the jacket pocket of a dead man in New York. We think there's
a connection." He sighed. "Gentlemen, we have a riddle
wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. In the fifteen years I
have been in this office, we have investigated serial
killers, international gangs, mayhem, patricide, and every
other crime imaginable." He paused. "But in all those years,
I have never come across anything like this. I am sending a
NOTICE to the New York office. . . ."
* * *
FRANK BIGLEY, CHIEF of Manhattan detectives, was reading
the file Secretary General Renaud
had sent when Earl Greenburg and Robert Praegitzer entered
his office.
"You wanted to see us, Chief?"
"Yes. Sit down."
They each took a chair.
Chief Bigley held up the paper. "This is a NOTICE that
Interpol sent this morning." He started reading. "Six years
ago, a Japanese scientist named Akira Iso committed suicide,
hanging himself in his hotel
room in Tokyo. Mr. Iso was in perfect health, had just
received a promotion, and was reported to be
in high spirits."
"Japan? What does that have to do with—?"
"Let me go on. Three years ago, Madeleine Smith, a
thirty-two-year-old Swiss scientist, turned on the
gas in her Zurich apartment and committed suicide. She was
pregnant and about to marry the father of her baby. Friends
said they'd never seen her happier." He looked up at the two
detectives. "In the past three days: a Berliner named Sonja
Verbrugge drowned herself in her bathtub. The same night Mark
Harris, an American, did a swan dive off the observation deck
of the Eiffel Tower. A day later, a Canadian named Gary
Reynolds crashed his Cessna into a mountain near Denver."
Greenburg and Praegitzer were listening, more and more
puzzled.
"And yesterday, you two found the body of Richard Stevens
on the bank of the East River."
Earl Greenburg was looking at him, perplexed. "What do all
these cases have to do with us?"
Chief Bigley said quietly, "They're all the same case."
Greenburg was staring at him. "What? Let me see if I have
this right. A Japanese six years ago, a
Swiss three years ago, and in the past few days a German,
a Canadian, and two Americans." He was silent for a moment.
"What connects these cases?"
Chief Bigley handed Greenburg the NOTICE from Interpol. As
Greenburg read it, his eyes widened.
He looked up and said slowly, "Interpol believes that a
think tank, Kingsley International Group, is
behind these murders? That's ridiculous."
Praegitzer said, "Chief, we're talking about the biggest
think tank in the world."
"All those people were murdered, and each one had a
connection with KIG. The company is owned and run by Tanner
Kingsley. He's the president and CEO of Kingsley
International Group, chairman of the Presidential Science
Committee, head of the National Advanced Planning Institute,
and on the Defense Policy Board at the Pentagon. I think you
and Greenburg had better have a talk with Mr. Kingsley."
Earl Greenburg swallowed. "Right."
"And Earl. . ."
"Yes."
"Walk softly and carry a small stick."
* * *
FIVE MINUTES LATER, Earl Greenburg was talking to Tanner
Kingsley's secretary. When he had finished, he turned to
Praegitzer.
"We have an appointment Tuesday at ten a.m. Right now Mr.
Kingsley is appearing at a congressional committee hearing in
Washington."
* * *
AT THE HEARING before the Senate Select Committee on the
Environment, in Washington, D.C.,
a panel of six Senate committee members and three dozen
spectators and reporters were listening attentively to the
testimony of Tanner Kingsley.
Tanner Kingsley was in his forties, tall and handsome,
with steely blue eyes that blazed with
intelligence. He had a Roman nose, a strong chin, and a
profile that could have graced a coin.
The committee head, senior senator Pauline Mary Van Luven,
was an imposing figure with an almost aggressive
self-confidence. She looked at Tanner and said crisply, "You
may continue, Mr. Kingsley."
Tanner nodded. "Thank you, Senator." He turned to the
other members of the committee, and when
he spoke, his voice was impassioned. "While some of our
politicians in the government are still
quibbling about the consequences of global warming and the
greenhouse effect, the hole in the ozone layer is rapidly
growing. Because of that, half the world is suffering
droughts and the other half floods.
In the Ross Sea, an iceberg the size of Jamaica has just
collapsed because of global warming. The
ozone hole over the South Pole has reached the record size
of ten million square miles." He paused
for effect and repeated slowly, "Ten million square miles.
"We're witnessing a record number of hurricanes, cyclones,
typhoons, and storms that are ravaging
parts of Europe. Due to the radical changes in the
weather, millions of people in countries around the world are
facing starvation and extinction. But those are just words:
starvation and extinction. Stop thinking of them as words.
Think of their meaning—men, women, and children, hungry and
homeless and facing death.
"This past summer, more than twenty thousand people died
in a heat wave in Europe." Tanner's
voice rose. "And what have we done about it? Our
government has refused to ratify the Kyoto
Protocol drawn up at the global environmental summit. The
message is that we don't give a damn
what happens to the rest of the world. We'll just go ahead
and do what suits us. Are we so dense,
so self-absorbed that we can't see what we're doing to—?"
Senator Van Luven interrupted. "Mr. Kingsley, this is not
a debate. I will ask you to adopt a more moderate tone."
Tanner took a deep breath and nodded. In a less
impassioned tone, he continued. "As all of us are
aware, the greenhouse effect is caused by the burning of
fossil fuels and other related factors
completely under our control, and yet those emissions have
reached their highest point in half a
million years. They're polluting the air that our children
and grandchildren breathe. The pollution can
be stopped. And why isn't it? Because it would cost big
business money." His voice rose again.
"Money! How much is a breath of fresh air worth compared
to the life of a human being? A gallon of gas? Two gallons of
gas?" His voice became even more fervent. "As far as we know,
this Earth is the only place that's habitable for us, yet
we're poisoning the land and the oceans and the air we
breathe
as fast as we can. If we don't stop—"
Senator Van Luven interrupted again. "Mr. Kingsley—"
"I apologize, Senator. I'm angry. I can't watch the
destruction of our universe without protesting."
Kingsley spoke for another thirty minutes. When he was
finished, Senator Van Luven said,
"Mr. Kingsley, I would like to see you in my office,
please. This hearing is adjourned."
* * *
SENATOR VAN LUVEN's office had been originally furnished
in typical sterile, bureaucratic fashion:
a desk, a table, six chairs, and rows of filing cabinets,
but the senator had added her own feminine touches, with
colorful fabrics, paintings, and photographs.
When Tanner entered, there were two people in the office
besides Senator Van Luven.
"These are my assistants, Corinne Murphy and Karolee
Trost."
Corinne Murphy, an attractive young redhead, and Karolee
Trost, a petite blonde, both in their
twenties, took seats next to the senator. They were
obviously fascinated by Tanner.
"Sit down, Mr. Kingsley," Senator Van Luven said.
Tanner took a seat. The senator studied him for a moment.
"Frankly, I don't understand you."
"Oh, really? I'm surprised, Senator. I thought I made
myself perfectly clear. I feel—"
"I know how you feel. But your company, Kingsley
International Group, has contracts for many
projects with our government, and yet you're challenging
the government on the environment issue.
Isn't that bad for business?"
Tanner said coldly, "This isn't about business, Senator
Van Luven. This is about humanity. We're
seeing the beginning of a disastrous global
destabilization. I'm trying to get the Senate to allocate
funds to correct it."
Senator Van Luven said skeptically, "Some of those funds
could go to your company, couldn't they?"
"I don't give a damn who gets the money. I just want to
see action taken before it's too late."
Corinne Murphy said warmly, "That's admirable. You're a
very unusual man."
Tanner turned to her. "Miss Murphy, if you mean by that,
that the majority of people seem to believe
that money is more important than morals, I regret to say
you're probably right."
Karolee Trost spoke up. "I think what you're trying to do
is wonderful."
Senator Van Luven gave each of her assistants a
disapproving look, then turned to Tanner. "I can't promise
anything, but I will talk with my colleagues and get their
point of view on the environmental issue. I will get back to
you."
"Thank you, Senator. I would be most appreciative." He
hesitated. "Perhaps sometime when you're in Manhattan, I can
take you around KIG and show you our operation. I think you
might find it interesting."
Senator Van Luven nodded indifferently. "I'll let you
know."
The meeting was over.

CHAPTER 12

FROM THE MOMENT people heard of Mark's death, Kelly Harris
had been flooded with phone calls and flowers and e-mails.
The first to call was Sam Meadows, a coworker and close
friend of Mark's.
"Kelly! My God. I can't believe it! I—I don't know what to
say, I'm just devastated. Every time I turn around, I expect
to see Mark there. Kelly—is there anything I can do for you?"
"No, thank you, Sam."
"Let's stay in touch. I want to be of help in any way I
can . . ."
After that came a dozen calls from Mark's friends, and
from models Kelly worked with.
Bill Lerner, the head of the modeling agency, telephoned.
He offered his condolences, then said, "Kelly,
I realize this is not the appropriate time, but I think
that getting back to work might be good for you right now.
Our phone has been ringing off the hook. When do you think
you'll be ready to go to work?"
"When Mark comes back to me." And she dropped the
telephone.
* * *
AND NOW THE phone was ringing again. Finally Kelly picked
it up.
"Yes?"
"Mrs. Harris?"
Was she still Mrs. Harris? There was no Mr. Harris
anymore, but she would always, always be
Mark's wife.
She said firmly, "This is Mrs. Mark Harris."
"This is Tanner Kingsley's office."
The man Mark works—worked for. "Yes?"
"Mr. Kingsley would appreciate it if you could come and
see him in Manhattan. He would like to have
a meeting with you at the company headquarters. Are you
free?"
Kelly was free. She had told the agency to cancel all her
bookings. But she was surprised. Why does Tanner Kingsley
want to see me? "Yes."
"Will it be convenient for you to leave Paris on Friday?"
Nothing would ever be convenient again. "Friday. All
right."
"Good. There will be a United Airlines ticket waiting for
you at Charles de Gaulle airport." He gave
her the flight number. "A car will meet you in New York."
* * *
MARK HAD SPOKEN to Kelly about Tanner Kingsley. Mark had
met with him and thought he was
a genius and a wonderful man to work for. Perhaps we could
share some memories of Mark. The
thought cheered her up.
Angel came running in and jumped onto her lap. Kelly
hugged her. "What am I going to do with you
while I'm away? Mama would take you with her, but I'm only
going to be gone a few days."
Suddenly, Kelly knew who would take care of the puppy.
* * *
KELLY WALKED DOWN the stairs to the building concierge's
office. Workmen were installing a
new elevator, and Kelly winced every time she passed them.
The superintendent of the building, Philippe Cendre, was a
tall, attractive man with a warm personality, and his wife
and daughter had always gone out of their way to be helpful.
When they had heard the
news about Mark, they had been devastated. Mark's funeral
had been held at the Pere-Lachaise Cemetery, and Kelly had
invited the Cendre family to attend.
Kelly approached Philippe's apartment door and knocked.
When Philippe opened the door, Kelly
said, "I have a favor to ask of you."
"Come in. Anything you wish, Madame Harris."
"I have to go to New York for three or four days. I wonder
if you would mind taking care of Angel
while I'm gone."
"Mind? Ana Maria and I would love it."
"Thank you. I would appreciate it."
"And I promise to do everything I can to spoil her."
Kelly smiled. "Too late. I've already spoiled her."
"When do you plan to leave?"
"Friday."
"Very well. I will see to everything. Did I tell you that
my daughter has been accepted at the Sorbonne?"
"No. That's wonderful. You must be very proud."
"I am. She starts in two weeks. We're all very excited.
It's a dream come true."
* * *
FRIDAY MORNING KELLY took Angel down to Philippe Cendre's
apartment.
Kelly handed the concierge some paper bags. "Here's
Angel's favorite food and some toys for her to play—"
Philippe stepped back, and behind him Kelly saw a pile of
dog toys on the floor.
Kelly laughed. "Angel, you're in good hands." She gave the
puppy a final hug. "Good-bye, Angel.
Thank you so much, Philippe."
* * *
ON THE MORNING Kelly was leaving, Nicole Paradis, the
receptionist at the fancy apartment
building, was standing at the door to say good-bye. An
ebullient gray-haired woman, she was so
tiny that when she was seated behind her desk, only the
top of her head was visible.
She smiled at Kelly and said, "We will miss you, madame.
Please hurry back to us."
Kelly took her hand. "Thank you. I'll be back soon,
Nicole." And, minutes later, she was on her way
to the airport.
The Charles de Gaulle airport was crowded beyond belief,
as always. It was a surrealistic maze of
ticket counters, shops, restaurants, stairways, and giant
escalators crawling up and down like prehistoric monsters.
When Kelly arrived, the airport manager escorted her to a
private lounge. Forty-five minutes later, her flight was
announced. As Kelly started toward the boarding gate, a woman
standing nearby watched
her go through the gate. The moment Kelly was out of
sight, the woman picked up her cell phone and made a call.
* * *
KELLY SAT in her airplane seat, thinking about Mark,
oblivious to the fact that most of the men and women in the
cabin were covertly staring at her. What was Mark doing on
the observation deck of
the Eiffel Tower at midnight? Who was he going to meet?
And why? And the worst question of
all—Why would Mark commit suicide? We were so happy
together. We loved each other so much.
I don't believe he killed himself. Not Mark. . . not Mark.
. . not Mark. She closed her eyes and let
her thoughts drift back. . . .
* * *
IT WAS THEIR first date. She had dressed for the evening
in a prim black skirt and a high-necked
white blouse so that Mark would not get the idea that she
was trying to tempt him in any way. This
was just going to be a casual, congenial evening. Kelly
found that she was nervous. Because of the unspeakable thing
that had happened to her when she was a child, Kelly had not
socialized with any
men except for business reasons or obligatory charity
events.
Mark isn't really a date, Kelly kept telling herself. He
and I are just going to be friends. He can be
my escort around town, and there won't be any romantic
complications. Even as she was thinking it,
the doorbell rang.
Kelly took a hopeful breath and opened the door. Mark
stood there, smiling, holding a box and a paper bag. He was
wearing an ill-fitting gray suit, a green shirt, a bright red
tie, and brown shoes. Kelly almost laughed aloud. The fact
that Mark had no sense of style was somehow endearing. She
had known too many men whose egos were involved in how
elegant they thought they looked.
"Come in," Kelly said.
"I hope I'm not late."
"No, not at all." He was twenty-five minutes early.
Mark handed Kelly the box. "This is for you."
It was a five-pound box of chocolates. Over the years
Kelly had been offered diamonds and furs and penthouses, but
never chocolates. Exactly what every model needs, she
thought, amused. Kelly smiled. "Thank you."
Mark held out the bag. "And these are treats for Angel."
As if on cue, Angel came bouncing into the
room and ran up to Mark, her tail wagging.
Mark picked Angel up and petted her. "She remembers me."
"I really want to thank you for her," Kelly said. "She's a
wonderful companion. I've never had one before."
Mark looked at Kelly, and his eyes said it all.
* * *
THE EVENING WENT unexpectedly well. Mark was a charming
companion, and Kelly was touched
by how obviously thrilled he was to be with her. He was
intelligent and easy to talk to, and the time
went by more quickly than Kelly had anticipated.
At the end of the evening, Mark said, "I hope we can do
this again."
"Yes. I would like that."
"What's your favorite thing to do, Kelly?"
"I enjoy soccer games. Do you like soccer?"
A blank look came over Mark's face. "Oh—er—yes. I—I love
it."
He's such a poor liar, Kelly thought. A mischievous idea
came into her head. "There's a championship game Saturday
night. Would you like to go?"
Mark swallowed and said weakly, "Sure. Great."
* * *
WHEN THE EVENING was over and they arrived back at Kelly's
apartment building, Kelly found
herself tensing. This was always the moment for:
How about a good-night kiss?. . .
Why don't I come in for a bit, and we'll have a nightcap.
. . .
You don't want to spend the night alone. . . .
Fighting off the pawing. . .
As they reached Kelly's door, Mark looked at her and said,
"Do you know what I first noticed about
you, Kelly?" Kelly held her breath. Here it comes:
You have a great ass. . . .
I love your boobs. . . .
I'd like to have your long legs wrapped around my neck. .
. .
"No," Kelly said icily. "What did you first notice?"
"The pain in your eyes."
And before she could reply, Mark said, "Good night." And
Kelly watched him leave.

CHAPTER 13

WHEN MARK ARRIVED on Saturday night, he brought another
box of candy and a large paper bag. "The candy is for you.
The treats are for Angel."
Kelly took the bags. "I thank you, and Angel thanks you."
She watched Mark petting Angel and asked innocently, "Are
you looking forward to the game?"
Mark nodded and said enthusiastically, "Oh, yes."
Kelly smiled. "Good. So am I." She knew that Mark had
never even seen a soccer game.
* * *
THE PARIS SAINT-GERMAIN stadium was packed to capacity,
with sixty-seven thousand eager
fans waiting for the championship game between Lyon and
Marseille to begin.
As Kelly and Mark were ushered to their seats directly
above mid-field, Kelly said, "I'm impressed.
These seats are hard to get."
Mark smiled and said, "When you love soccer as much as I
do, nothing is impossible."
Kelly bit her lip to keep from laughing. She could not
wait for the game to begin.
* * *
AT 1400 HOURS, both teams entered the stadium, standing at
attention while the band played "La Marseillaise," the French
national anthem. As the lineups for Lyon and Marseille faced
the stands for introductions, a player for Lyon stepped
forward, wearing the Lyon logo in the team colors of blue and
white.
Kelly decided to relent and let Mark know what was
happening. She leaned toward him. "That's their goalie,"
Kelly explained. He s—
"I know," Mark said. "Gregory Coupet. He's the best goalie
in the league. He won a championship
against Bordeaux last April. He won a UEFA Cup and a
Champion League the year before that.
He's thirty-one years old, six feet tall, and weighs a
hundred and eighty pounds."
Kelly looked at Mark in astonishment.
The announcer continued. "Playing forward, Sidney Gouvou .
. ."
"Number fourteen," Mark enthused. "He's incredible. Last
week, against Auxerre, he scored a goal
in the last minute of the game."
Kelly listened in amazement as Mark knowledgably discussed
all the other players.
The game began and the crowd went wild.
It was a frenzied, exciting game, and goalies for both
teams fought hard to keep their opponents from scoring. It
was difficult for Kelly to concentrate. She kept looking at
Mark, amazed by his expertise.
How could I have been so wrong?
In the middle of a play, Mark exclaimed, "Gouvou's going
for a flick kick! He made it!"
A few minutes later, Mark said, "Watch! Carriere's going
to be fined for handling the ball."
And he was right.
When Lyon won, Mark was euphoric. "What a great team!"
As they were leaving the stadium, Kelly asked, "Mark—how
long have you been interested in soccer?"
He looked at Kelly sheepishly and said, "About three days.
I've been researching it on my computer. Since you were so
interested, I thought I should learn about it."
And Kelly was incredibly touched. It was unbelievable that
Mark had spent so much time and effort
just because she enjoyed the game.
They had made a date for the following day, after Kelly
finished a modeling assignment.
"I can pick you up at your dressing room and—"
"No!" She did not want him to meet the other models.
Mark was looking at her, puzzled.
"I mean—there's a rule that men aren't allowed in the
dressing rooms."
"Oh."
I don't want you to fall in love with—
* * *
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, please fasten your seat belts and
return your seat backs and trays to
their upright and locked positions. We're approaching
Kennedy airport and we'll be landing in just a
few minutes."
Kelly was jolted back to the present. She was in New York
to meet Tanner Kingsley, the man whom Mark had worked for.
* * *
SOMEONE HAD INFORMED the media. When the plane landed,
they were waiting for Kelly. She
was surrounded by reporters with television cameras and
microphones.
"Kelly, would you look this way?"
"Can you tell us what you think happened to your husband?"
"Is there going to be a police investigation?"
"Were you and your husband planning a divorce?"
"Are you moving back here to the States?"
"How did you feel when you heard what happened?"
The most insensitive question of all.
Kelly saw a pleasant-faced, alert-looking man standing in
the background. He smiled and waved to
Kelly and she motioned for him to come over to her.
Ben Roberts was one of the most popular and respected
talk-show hosts on network television. He
had interviewed Kelly before, and they had become friends.
She watched as Ben made his way
through the crowd of reporters. They all knew him.
"Hey, Ben! Is Kelly going to be on your show?"
"Do you think she'll talk about what happened?"
"Can I get a picture of you and Kelly?"
By this time, Ben had reached Kelly's side. The tide of
reporters was pushing against them. Ben
called out, "Let's give her a break, boys and girls. You
can talk to her later."
Reluctantly, the reporters began to give way.
Ben took Kelly's hand and said, "I can't tell you how
sorry I am. I liked Mark so much."
"That was mutual, Ben."
As Kelly and Ben made their way toward the baggage claim
area, he asked, "Off the record, what
are you doing in New York?"
"I'm here to see Tanner Kingsley."
Ben nodded. "He's a powerful man. I'm sure you'll be well
taken care of."
They had reached the baggage counter. "Kelly, if there is
anything I can do for you, you can always
reach me at the network." He looked around. "Are you being
picked up? If not, I'll—"
At that moment, a uniformed chauffeur came up to Kelly.
"Mrs. Harris? I'm Colin. The car is right outside. Mr.
Kingsley has checked you into a suite at the Peninsula Hotel.
If you'll give me your
tickets, I'll attend to your luggage."
Kelly turned to Ben. "Will you call me?"
"Of course."
* * *
TEN MINUTES LATER Kelly was on her way to the hotel. As
they weaved through traffic, Colin
said, "Mr. Kingsley's secretary will telephone you and set
up an appointment. The car will be at your disposal whenever
you need it."
"Thank you." What am I doing here? Kelly wondered.
She was about to get the answer.

CHAPTER 14

TANNER KINGSLEY WAS reading the headline of the afternoon
newspaper: "Hailstorm Batters Iran." The rest of the story
went on to call it a "freakish event." The idea of a
hailstorm happening in summer, in a hot climate, was bizarre.
Tanner buzzed for his secretary. When she came in, he said,
"Kathy, clip this article and send it to Senator Van Luven,
with a note: 'A global warming update. Sincerely
"Right away, Mr. Kingsley."
Tanner Kingsley glanced at his watch. The two detectives
were due at KIG in half an hour. He looked around his
extravagant office. He had created all of this. KIG. He
thought about the power behind those three simple initials,
and how surprised people would be if they knew the
astonishing story of KIG's humble beginnings, a mere seven
years ago. The memories of the past raced through his mind. .
. .
He remembered the day he had designed the new KIG logo.
Pretty fancy for a nothing company, someone had said, and
Tanner had single-handedly turned that nothing company into a
world powerhouse. When Tanner thought about the beginnings,
he felt as
though he had performed a miracle.
* * *
TANNER KINGSLEY HAD been born five years after his
brother, Andrew, and that had totally
shaped the direction of his life. Their parents were
divorced, and their mother had remarried and
moved away. Their father was a scientist, and the boys had
followed in his footsteps and had
grown up to be science prodigies. Their father had died of
a heart attack at age forty.
The fact that Tanner was five years younger than his
brother was a constant frustration. When
Tanner won the top award in his science class, he was
told, "Andrew was number one in his class
five years ago. It must run in the family."
When Tanner won an oratorical contest, the professor said,
"Congratulations, Tanner. You're the
second Kingsley to get this award."
On joining the tennis team: "I hope you're as good as your
brother, Andrew."
When Tanner graduated: "Your valedictorian speech was
inspiring. It reminded me so much of Andrew's."
He had grown up in the shadow of his brother, and it was
galling to know that he was considered
second best only because Andrew had gotten there first.
* * *
THERE WERE SIMILARITIES between the two brothers: they
were both handsome, intelligent, and talented, but as they
grew older, major differences became apparent. While Andrew
was altruistic and self-effacing, Tanner was an extrovert,
gregarious and ambitious. Andrew was shy around women,
while Tanner's looks and charm drew them to him like a
magnet.
But the most important difference between the brothers was
their goals in life. While Andrew was
deeply concerned with organizing charity and assisting
others, Tanner's ambition was to become rich
and powerful.
* * *
ANDREW GRADUATED FROM college summa cum laude and
immediately accepted an offer to
work at a think tank. There he learned what a significant
contribution an organization like that could make, and five
years later Andrew decided to start his own think tank, on a
modest scale.
When Andrew told Tanner about the idea, Tanner was
excited. "That's brilliant! Think tanks get government
contracts worth millions, not to mention corporations that
hire—"
Andrew interrupted. "That's not my idea, Tanner. I want to
use it to help people."
Tanner was staring at him. "Help people?"
"Yes. There are dozens of Third World countries that have
no access to modern methods of agriculture and manufacturing.
There's a saying that if you give a man a fish, he can have a
meal. If you teach him
to fish, he can eat for the rest of his life."
You could cut down an oak tree with that old saw, Tanner
thought. "Andrew, countries like that can't afford to pay
us—"
"That doesn't matter. We'll send experts to Third World
countries to teach them modern techniques
that will change their lives. I'm making you a partner.
We'll call our think tank Kingsley Group. What
do you say?"
Tanner was thoughtful for a moment. He nodded. "As a
matter of fact, it's not a bad idea. We can
start with the kind of countries you're talking about,
then go after the big money—the government contracts and—"
"Tanner, let's just concentrate on making the world a
better place." Tanner smiled. It was going to be
a compromise. They would start the way Andrew wanted to
and then they would gradually build up
the company to its real potential. "Well?"
Tanner held out his hand. "Here's to our future, partner."
Six months later, the two brothers were standing in the rain,
outside a small brick building with an unimpressive little
sign that read
"How does it look?" Andrew asked proudly.
"Beautiful." Tanner managed to keep the irony out of his
voice.
"That sign is going to bring happiness to so many people
around the world, Tanner. I've already
started hiring some experts to go to Third World
countries."
Tanner started to object and stopped. His brother could
not be rushed. He had a stubborn streak. But
the time is coming. The time is coming. Tanner looked up
at the little sign again and thought, Someday
it will read KIG, Kingsley International Group.
* * *
JOHN HIGHOLT, A college friend of Andrew's, had invested a
hundred thousand dollars to help get
the think tank started, and Andrew had raised the rest of
the money.
Half a dozen people were hired and sent to Kenya, Somalia,
and Sudan to teach the natives how to
better their lives. But no money was coming in.
It made no sense to Tanner. "Andrew, we could get
contracts from some of the big companies and—"
"That's not what we do, Tanner."
What in the hell do we do? Tanner wondered. "The Chrysler
Corporation is looking for—"
And Andrew smiled and said, "Let's do our real job."
It took all of Tanner's willpower to control himself.
Andrew and Tanner each had his own laboratory at the think
tank. They were both immersed in
their own projects. Andrew frequently worked far into the
night.
One morning, when Tanner arrived at the plant, Andrew was
still there. He saw Tanner come in,
and Andrew jumped to his feet. "I'm excited about this new
nanotechnology experiment. I'm
developing a method of ..."
Tanner's mind drifted to something more important: the hot
little redhead he had met the night before. She had joined
him at the bar, had a drink, taken him to her apartment, and
given him a wonderful
time. When she held his—
". . . and I think it's really going to make a difference.
How does that sound, Tanner?"
Caught by surprise, Tanner said, "Oh. Yes, Andrew. Great."
Andrew smiled. "I knew you would see its possibilities."
Tanner was more interested in his own secret experiment.
If mine works, he thought, I'll own
the world.
* * *
ONE EVENING, SHORTLY after his college graduation, Tanner
was at a cocktail party when a pleasant, feminine voice
behind him said, "I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Kingsley."
Tanner turned around in anticipation and then tried to
conceal his disappointment. The speaker was
an unremarkable-looking young woman. All that kept her
from being plain was a pair of intense
brown eyes and a bright, slightly cynical smile. The sine
qua non for Tanner was the physical beauty
of a woman, and it was clear that this woman didn't make
the cut.
Even as he said, "Nothing too bad, I hope," he was
thinking up an excuse to get rid of her.
"I'm Pauline Cooper. My friends call me Paula. You dated
my sister Ginny in college. She was mad
about you."
Ginny, Ginny. . . Short? Tall? Dark? Blonde? Tanner stood
there, smiling, trying to remember.
There had been so many.
"Ginny wanted to marry you."
That was no help. So did a lot of others. "Your sister was
very nice. We just didn't seem to be—"
She gave Tanner a sardonic look. "Save it. You don't even
remember her."
He was embarrassed. "Well, I—"
"It's all right. I just attended her wedding."
Tanner was relieved. "Ah. So, Ginny is married."
"Yes, she is." There was a pause. "But I'm not. Would you
like to have dinner tomorrow night?"
Tanner took a closer look at her. Even though she was not
up to his standards, she appeared to have
a nice body and seemed pleasant enough. And this was
certainly an easy lay. Tanner thought of his
dates in baseball terms. He would throw a woman one pitch.
That was it. If she didn't hit a home run,
she was out.
She was watching him. "I'll pay."
Tanner laughed. "I can handle it—if you're not a
world-class gourmand." Try me.
He looked into her eyes and said softly, "I will."
* * *
THE FOLLOWING EVENING, they dined at a trendy restaurant
uptown. Paula was dressed in a cream-colored, low-cut silk
blouse, a black skirt, and high-heeled shoes. As Tanner
watched her
stride into the restaurant, it seemed to him that she was
a lot better looking than he had remembered.
In fact, she had the bearing of a princess from some
exotic country.
Tanner stood up. "Good evening."
She took his hand. "Good evening." There was a
self-assured air about her that was almost regal.
When they were seated, she said, "Let's start over, shall
we? I have no sister."
Tanner looked at her, confused. "But you told me—?"
She smiled. "I just wanted to test your reaction, Tanner.
I've heard a lot about you from some of my friends, and I
became interested."
Was she talking about sex? He wondered whom she had spoken
to. It could have been so many—
"Don't jump to conclusions. I'm not talking about your
swordsmanship. I'm talking about your mind."
It was as though she had been reading his thoughts. "So,
you're— er—interested in minds?"
"Among other things," she said invitingly.
This is going to be an easy home run. Tanner reached over
and took her hand. "You're really
something." He stroked her arm. "You're very special.
We're going to have a good time together
tonight."
She smiled. "Are you feeling horny, darling?"
Tanner was taken aback by her bluntness. She was an eager
little thing. Tanner nodded. "Always, princess."
She smiled. "Fine. Get out your little black book and
we'll try to find someone who's available for
you tonight."
Tanner froze. He was used to making sport of women, but
none of them had ever mocked him before. Tanner stared at
her. "What are you saying?"
"That we're going to have to improve your line, love. Do
you have any idea how trite it is?"
Tanner felt his face getting red. "What makes you think
it's a line?"
She looked him in the eye. "It was probably invented by
Methuselah. When you talk to me, I want
you to say things that you've never said to any woman
before."
Tanner looked at her, trying to conceal his fury. Who does
she think she's dealing with—some high school kid? She was
too damned insolent for her own good. Strike one. The bitch
is out.

CHAPTER 15

THE WORLD HEADQUARTERS of Kingsley International Group was
located in lower Manhattan,
two blocks from the East River. The compound occupied five
acres of land and consisted of four
large concrete buildings, along with two small staff
houses, fenced in and guarded electronically.
At ten o'clock in the morning, Detectives Earl Greenburg
and Robert Praegitzer entered the lobby of the main building.
It was spacious and modern, furnished with couches and
tables, and half a dozen chairs.
Detective Greenburg glanced at the assortment of magazines
on a table: Virtual Reality, Nuclear and Radiological
Terrorism, Robotics World. . . He held up a copy of Genetic
Engineering News and
turned to Praegitzer. "Don't you get tired of reading
these in your dentist's office?"
Praegitzer grinned. "Yeah."
The two detectives approached the receptionist and
identified themselves. "We have an appointment
with Mr. Tanner Kingsley."
"He's expecting you. I'll have someone escort you to his
office." She gave them each a KIG badge. "Please turn these
in when you leave."
"No problem."
The receptionist pressed a buzzer, and a moment later, an
attractive young woman appeared.
"These gentlemen have an appointment with Mr. Tanner
Kingsley."
"Yes. I'm Retra Tyler, one of Mr. Kingsley's assistants.
Follow me, please."
The two detectives walked down a long, sterile corridor
with tightly closed office doors on each side.
At the end of the corridor was Tanner's office.
In Tanner's waiting room, Kathy Ordonez, Tanner's bright
young secretary, was seated behind a desk.
"Good morning, gentlemen. You can go right in."
She got up and opened the door to Tanner's private office.
As the detectives stepped inside, they
stopped to stare, in awe.
The huge office was crammed with arcane electronic
equipment, and the soundproof walls were lined with
wafer-thin television sets displaying live scenes from cities
around the world. Some of the views were of busy conference
rooms, offices, and laboratories, while others showed hotel
suites where meetings were taking place. Each set had its own
audio system, and even though the volume was barely audible,
it was eerie to hear snippets of sentences spoken
simultaneously in a dozen different languages.
A caption appeared at the bottom of each screen
identifying the cities: Milan . . . Johannesburg . . .
Zurich . . . Madrid . . . Athens . . . At the far wall was
an eight-tier bookshelf filled with leather-bound volumes.
Tanner Kingsley was seated behind a mahogany desk that
contained a console with half a dozen
different colored buttons. He was elegantly dressed in a
tailored gray suit with a light blue shirt and
a blue checked tie.
Tanner rose as the two detectives walked in. "Good
morning, gentlemen."
Earl Greenburg said, "Good morning. We're—"
"Yes, I know who you are. Detectives Earl Greenburg and
Robert Praegitzer." They shook hands.
"Sit down, please."
The detectives took seats.
Praegitzer was staring at the swiftly changing, worldwide
pictures on the profusion of television sets.
He shook his head in admiration. "Talk about today's state
of the art! This is—"
Tanner raised a hand. "We're not talking here about
today's state of the art, Detective. This technology won't be
on the market for another two or three years. With these,
we're able to watch teleconferences
in a dozen different countries simultaneously. The
information that pours in from our offices around
the world is automatically categorized and recorded by
these computers."
Praegitzer asked, "Mr. Kingsley, forgive a simplistic
question. What does a think tank do, exactly?"
"Bottom line? We're problem solvers. We figure out
solutions to problems that may lie ahead. Some
think tanks concentrate in only one area—the military or
economics or politics. We deal in national security,
communications, microbiology, environmental issues. KIG
functions as an independent
analyst and critic of long-range global consequences for
various governments."
"Interesting," said Praegitzer.
"Eighty-five percent of our research staff hold advanced
degrees, and more than sixty-five percent
have Ph.D.s."
"That's impressive."
"My brother, Andrew, founded this company to assist Third
World countries, so we're also heavily involved in start-up
projects there."
There was a sudden rumble of thunder and a flash of
lightning from one of the television sets. They
all turned to look.
Detective Greenburg said, "Didn't I read something about a
weather experiment you were doing?"
Tanner grimaced. "Yes, it's known around here as
Kingsley's folly. It's one of the few major failures
KIG ever had. It was the one project that I most hoped
would work. Instead, we're closing it down."
Praegitzer asked, "Is it possible to control the weather?"
Tanner shook his head. "Only to a limited degree. A lot of
people have tried. As long ago as 1900,
Nikola Tesla was doing experiments with weather. He
discovered that ionization of the atmosphere
could be altered by radio waves. In 1958, our Defense
Department experimented with dropping
copper needles into the ionosphere. Ten years later, there
was Project Popeye, where the government attempted to extend
the monsoon season in Laos, to increase the amount of mud in
the Ho Chi Minh Trail. They used a silver iodide nuclei
agent, and generators shot banks of silver iodide into the
clouds,
to become seeds for raindrops."
"Did it work?"
"Yes, but on a confined local basis. There are several
reasons why no one will ever be able to control
the weather. One problem is that El Nino creates warm
temperatures in the Pacific Ocean that disrupt
the world's ecological system, while La Nina creates cold
weather temperatures in the Pacific, and the
two of them combined completely negate any realistic
weather control planning. The Southern Hemisphere is about
eighty percent ocean, while the Northern Hemisphere is sixty
percent ocean,
causing another imbalance. In addition to that, the jet
stream determines the path of storms, and
there is no way to control that."
Greenburg nodded, then hesitated. "Do you know why we're
here, Mr. Kingsley?"
Tanner studied Greenburg a moment. "I trust that that is a
rhetorical question. Otherwise, I would find it offensive.
Kingsley International Group is a think tank. Four of my
employees have died or disappeared mysteriously within a
period of twenty-four hours. We have already started our own
investigation.
We have offices in major cities around the world, with
eighteen hundred employees, and it is obviously difficult for
me to keep in contact with all of them. But what I have
learned so far is that two of the employees who were murdered
were apparently involved in illegal activities. It cost them
their lives—
but I assure you, it is not going to cost Kingsley
International Group its reputation. I expect our people
to resolve this very quickly."
Greenburg spoke up. "Mr. Kingsley, there's something else.
We understand that six years ago a
Japanese scientist named Akira Iso committed suicide in
Tokyo. Three years ago a Swiss scientist
named Madeleine Smith committed suicide in—"
Tanner interrupted. "Zurich. Neither of them committed
suicide. They were murdered."
The two detectives looked at him in surprise. Praegitzer
asked, "How do you know that?"
There was a hardened tone in Tanner's voice. "They were
killed because of me."
"When you say—"
"Akira Iso was a brilliant scientist. He worked for a
Japanese electronics conglomerate called Tokyo
First Industrial. I met Iso at an international industry
convention in Tokyo. We got along well. I felt
that KIG could offer him a better atmosphere than the
company he was with. I made him an offer to work here, and he
accepted. In fact, he was very excited about it." Tanner was
fighting to keep his
voice steady. "We agreed to keep it confidential until he
was legally able to leave that company. But
he obviously mentioned it to someone, because there was an
item about it in a newspaper column,
and . . ." Tanner stopped again for a long moment, then
went on. "The day after the item appeared,
Iso was found dead in a hotel room."
Robert Praegitzer asked, "Mr. Kingsley, couldn't there
have been other reasons that might explain his death?"
Tanner shook his head. "No. I didn't believe he committed
suicide. I hired investigators and sent them
and some of my own people to Japan to try to learn what
had happened. They couldn't find any
evidence of foul play, and I thought that perhaps I was
wrong, that possibly there was some tragedy
in Iso's life that I knew nothing about."
"Then why are you so sure now that he was murdered?"
Green-burg wanted to know.
"As you mentioned, a scientist named Madeleine Smith
supposedly committed suicide in Zurich, three years ago. What
you don't know is that Madeleine Smith also wanted to leave
the people she worked
for and come to our company."
Greenburg frowned. "What makes you think the two deaths
are connected?"
Tanner's face was stone. "Because the company she worked
for is a branch of the same Tokyo First Industrial."
There was a stunned silence.
Praegitzer said, "There's something I don't understand.
Why would they murder an employee just because she wants to
quit? If—"
"Madeleine Smith wasn't just an employee. Neither was Iso.
They were brilliant physicists who were about to solve
problems that would have made the company a fortune larger
than you can imagine.
That's why they didn't want to lose either of them to us."
"Did the Swiss police investigate Smith's death?"
"Yes. So did we. But again, we could prove nothing. As a
matter of fact, we're still working on all the deaths that
occurred, and I expect that we will solve them. KIG has
far-reaching connections all over the world. If I get any
useful information, I will be happy to share it with you. I
hope you will reciprocate."
Greenburg said, "That's fair enough."
A gold-plated phone on Tanner's desk rang. "Excuse me." He
walked over to the desk and picked up
the phone. "Hello. . . . Yes. . . . The investigation's
coming along very satisfactorily. As a matter of fact, two
detectives are in my office at this moment, and they have
agreed to cooperate with us." He glanced over at Praegitzer
and Greenburg. "Right. . . . I'll let you know when we have
any further news." He replaced the receiver.
Greenburg asked, "Mr. Kingsley, are you working on
anything sensitive here?"
"You mean are we working on something sensitive enough to
have half a dozen people murdered? Detective Greenburg, there
are more than a hundred think tanks around the world, some of
them
working on exactly the same problems we are. We're not
building atomic bombs here. The answer
to your question is no."
The door opened, and Andrew Kingsley walked into the
office carrying a stack of papers. Andrew Kingsley bore
little resemblance to his brother. His features seemed to be
blurred. He had thinning gray hair, a lined face, and he
walked in a slightly stooped posture. Whereas Tanner Kingsley
was brimming with vitality and intelligence, Andrew Kingsley
appeared to be slow-witted and apathetic. He spoke haltingly
and seemed to have trouble putting sentences together.
"Here are those—you know—those notes you asked for,
Tanner. I'm sorry I didn't finish—finish them earlier."
"That's perfectly all right, Andrew." Tanner turned to the
two detectives. "This is my brother, Andrew. Detectives
Greenburg and Praegitzer."
Andrew looked at them uncertainly and blinked.
"Andrew, do you want to tell them about your Nobel Prize?"
Andrew looked at Tanner and said vaguely, "Yes, the Nobel
Prize . . . the Nobel Prize ..."
They watched as he turned and shuffled out of the room.
Tanner sighed. "As I mentioned, Andrew was the founder of
this company, a truly brilliant man. He
was awarded the Nobel Prize for one of his discoveries
seven years ago. Unfortunately, he became involved in an
experiment that went wrong and it—it changed him." His tone
was bitter.
"He must have been a remarkable man."
"You have no idea."
Earl Greenburg rose and held out his hand. "Well, we won't
take up any more of your time,
Mr. Kingsley. We'll keep in touch."
"Gentlemen—" Tanner's voice was steel. "Let's get these
crimes solved—fast."

CHAPTER 16

TANNER COULD NOT stop brooding about the woman he had
thought of as Princess. And the more
he thought about how insolent she had been and how she had
ridiculed him, the more incensed he became. We're going to
have to improve your line, love. Do you have any idea how
trite it is?. . .
Are you feeling horny, darling?. . . Get out your little
black book and we'll try to find someone
who's available for you tonight... It was as though he
needed to exorcise her. He decided he would
see her once more, to give her the comeuppance she
deserved, and then forget about her.
* * *
TANNER WAITED THREE days and telephoned. "Princess?"
"Who is this?" He was ready to slam down the phone. How
many goddamn men called her Princess?
He managed to keep his voice calm. "This is Tanner
Kingsley."
"Oh, yes. How are you?" Her tone was completely
indifferent. I've made a mistake, Tanner thought.
I should never have called her. "I thought we could have
dinner again sometime, but you're probably busy, so let's
forget—"
"What about this evening?"
Tanner was caught off guard again. He could not wait to
teach the bitch a lesson.
* * *
FOUR HOURS LATER, Tanner was seated across a table from
Paula Cooper at a small French restaurant east of Lexington
Avenue. He was surprised by how pleased he was to see her
again. He
had forgotten how vital and alive she was.
"I've missed you, Princess," Tanner said.
She smiled. "Oh, I've missed you, too. You're really
something. You're very special."
They were his words coming back to him, mocking him. Damn
her.
It looked like the evening was going to be a replay of
their last meeting. On Tanner's other romantic evenings, he
had always been the one who controlled the conversation. With
Princess, he had the unsettling feeling that she was always
one step ahead of him. She had a quick comeback for
everything he had to say. She was witty and swift and took
no nonsense from him.
The women Tanner dated were beautiful and willing, but for
the first time in his life, Tanner felt that perhaps
something had been missing. They had been too easy. They were
all agreeable, but they
were too agreeable. There was no challenge. Paula, on the
other hand ...
"Tell me about you," Tanner said.
She shrugged. "My father was rich and powerful and I grew
up as a spoiled brat—maids and butlers—waiters to serve us at
the swimming pool, Radcliffe, and a finishing school—the
whole bit.
Then my father lost it all and died. I've been working as
an executive assistant to a politician."
"Are you enjoying it?"
"No. He's boring." Her eyes met his. "I'm looking for
someone more interesting."
* * *
THE NEXT DAY, Tanner called again.
"Princess?"
"I was hoping you would call, Tanner." Her voice was
inviting.
Tanner felt a small frisson of pleasure. "Were you?"
"Yes. Where are you taking me to dinner tonight?"
He laughed. "Anywhere you would like to go."
"I'd like to go to Maxim's in Paris, but I'll settle for
going anywhere if I can be with you."
She had thrown him off guard again, but for some reason,
her words warmed him.
* * *
THEY HAD DINNER at La Cote Basque on Fifty-fifth Street,
and throughout dinner, Tanner kept looking at her and
wondering why he was so attracted to her. It was not her
looks; it was her mind
and personality that were dazzling. Her whole essence
blazed with intelligence and self-confidence.
She was the most independent woman he had ever known.
Their conversations ranged over myriad subjects, and
Tanner found her to be remarkably
knowledgeable.
"What do you want to do with your life, Princess?"
She studied Tanner a moment before answering. "I want
power— the power to make things happen."
Tanner smiled. "Then we're a lot alike."
"How many women have you said that to, Tanner?"
He found himself getting angry. "Will you stop doing that?
When I say you're different from any
woman I've ever—"
"Ever what?"
Tanner said, exasperated. "You frustrate me."
"Poor darling. If you're frustrated, why don't you go take
a shower—?"
The anger started again. He had had enough. He rose.
"Never mind. There's no use trying to—"
—at my place."
Tanner could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Your
place?"
"Yes, I have a little pied-a-terre on Park Avenue," she
said. "Would you like to take me home?"
They skipped dessert.
* * *
THE LITTLE PIED-A-TERRE was a sumptuous apartment,
beautifully furnished. Tanner looked around, amazed at how
luxurious it was, and how elegant. The apartment suited her:
an eclectic
collection of paintings, a refectory table, a large
chandelier, an Italian settee, and a set of six
Chippendale chairs and a couch. That was all that Tanner
had time to see before she said, "Come
see my bedroom."
The bedroom was done in white, with all-white furniture,
and a large mirrored ceiling over the bed.
Tanner looked around and said, "I'm impressed. This is the
most—"
"Shh." Paula began to undress him. "We can talk later."
When she had finished undressing Tanner, she started
slowly taking off her own clothes. She had
a body that was erotic perfection. Her arms were around
Tanner and she was pressed against him,
and she put her lips to his ear and whispered, "That's
enough foreplay."
They were in bed and she was ready for him, and when he
was inside her, she squeezed her hips and thighs tightly
together and then relaxed them, and squeezed again and
repeated it, getting Tanner more and more excited. She kept
shifting her body slightly, so that each sensation was
different for him. She gave him voluptuous gifts he had never
imagined, stimulating him to an ecstatic pitch of excitement.
Much later, they talked far into the night.
They were together every evening after that. Princess was
constantly surprising Tanner with her humor and charm, and
gradually, in his eyes, she had become beautiful.
* * *
ONE MORNING, ANDREW said to Tanner, "I've never seen you
smile so much. Is it a woman?"
Tanner nodded. "Yes."
"Is it serious? Are you going to marry her?"
"I've been thinking about it."
Andrew regarded Tanner for a moment. "Maybe you should
tell her."
Tanner squeezed Andrew's arm. "Maybe I will."
The following night, Tanner and Princess were alone in her
apartment.
Tanner began, "Princess, you once asked me to say to you
something I had never said to a woman before."
"Yes, darling?"
"Here it is. I want you to marry me."
There was a moment's hesitation, and she grinned and flew
into his arms. "Oh, Tanner!"
He looked into her eyes. "Is that a yes?"
"I want to marry you, darling, but—I'm afraid we have a
problem."
"What problem?"
"I told you. I want to do something important. I want
enough power to make things happen—to change things. And the
root of that is money. How can we have a future together if
you don't have a future?"
Tanner took her hand. "There's no problem. I own half of
an important business, Princess. One day
I'm going to make enough money to give you everything you
want."
She shook her head. "No. Your brother, Andrew, tells you
what to do. I know all about you two.
He won't let the company grow, and I need more than you
can give me now."
"You're wrong." Tanner reflected a moment. "I want you to
meet Andrew."
* * *
THE THREE OF them had lunch the following day. Paula was
charming, and it was obvious that Andrew liked her
immediately. Andrew had been worried about some of the women
his brother had
been taking out. This one was different. She was
personable and intelligent and witty. Andrew looked over at
his brother, and his nod meant "good choice."
Paula said, "I think that what Kingsley Group is doing is
wonderful, Andrew, helping so many people around the world.
Tanner's told me all about it."
"I'm grateful that we can do it. And we're going to do
even more."
"You mean the company's going to expand?"
"Not in that sense. I mean that we're going to send more
people to more countries where they can
be helpful."
Tanner said quickly, "Then we'll start to get contracts
for assignments here and—"
Andrew smiled. "Tanner is so impatient. There's no hurry.
Let's do what we were meant to do first, Tanner. Help
others."
Tanner looked over at Princess. Her expression was
noncommittal. The next day, Tanner telephoned. "Hi, Princess.
What time should I pick you up?"
There was a moment of silence. "Darling, I'm so sorry. I
can't keep our date tonight."
Tanner was caught by surprise. "Is anything wrong?"
"No. A friend of mine is in town and I have to see him."
Him? Tanner felt a pang of jealousy.
"I understand. Then tomorrow night we'll—"
"No, I can't tomorrow. Why don't we make it Monday?" She
was going to spend the weekend with whoever it was. Tanner
hung up, worried and frustrated.
* * *
MONDAY NIGHT, PRINCESS apologized. "I'm sorry about the
weekend, darling. It's just that this
is an old friend who came to town to see me."
Into Tanner's mind flashed a picture of Princess's
beautiful apartment. There was no way she could afford that
on a salary. "Who is he?"
"I'm sorry. I can't tell you his name. He's—he's too well
known and he doesn't like publicity."
"Are you in love with him?"
She took Tanner's hand and said softly, "Tanner, I'm in
love with you. And only you."
"Is he in love with you?"
She hesitated. "Yes."
Tanner thought: I have to find a way to give her
everything she wants. I can't lose her.
* * *
The NEXT DAY, at 4:58 a.m., Andrew Kingsley was awakened
by the sound of his ringing telephone.
"I have a call for you from Sweden. Hold on, please."
A moment later, a voice with a slight Swedish accent said:
"Congratulations, Mr. Kingsley. The Nobel Committee has
chosen you to receive the Nobel Prize in Physics for this
year, for your innovative
work in nanotechnology . . ."
The Nobel Prize! When the conversation was over, Andrew
hurriedly dressed and went straight to his office. The minute
Tanner arrived, Andrew rushed to tell his brother the news.
Tanner threw his arms around him. "The Nobel! That's
wonderful, Andrew! Wonderful!"
And it was. Because now all of Tanner's problems were
about to be solved.
Five minutes later, Tanner was talking to Princess. "Do
you see what this means, darling? Now that Kingsley Group has
a Nobel Prize, we can get all the business we can handle. I'm
talking about big government contracts and huge corporations.
I'll be able to give you the world."
"That's fabulous, darling."
"Will you marry me?"
"Tanner, I want to marry you more than anything in the
world."
When Tanner replaced the receiver, he was euphoric. He
hurried into his brother's office. "Andrew,
I'm getting married."
Andrew looked up and said warmly, "That's good news. When
is the wedding?"
"We'll set it up soon. The whole staff will be invited."
* * *
WHEN TANNER WENT into his office the following morning,
Andrew was waiting for him. He
was wearing a boutonniere.
"What's that for?"
Andrew grinned. "I'm getting ready for your wedding. I'm
so happy for you."
"Thank you, Andrew."
The news spread quickly. Since the wedding had not been
officially announced, no one said anything
to Tanner, but there were knowing looks and smiles.
* * *
TANNER WENT INTO his brother's office. "Andrew, with the
Nobel, everybody will be coming to
us. And with the prize money—"
Andrew interrupted. "With the prize money, we can afford
to hire more people to send to Eritrea
and Uganda."
Tanner said slowly, "But you're going to use this award to
build up this business, aren't you?"
Andrew shook his head. "We're doing just what we set out
to do, Tanner.
Tanner looked at his brother a long moment. "It's your
company, Andrew."
* * *
TANNER TELEPHONED HER as soon as he had made his decision.
"Princess, I have to go to Washington on business. You may
not hear from me for a day or two."
She said teasingly, "No blondes, brunettes, or redheads."
"No chance. You're the only woman in the world I'm in love
with."
"And I'm in love with you."
* * *
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Tanner Kingsley was at the
Pentagon, meeting with the army chief
of staff, General Alan Barton.
"I thought your proposal was very interesting," General
Barton said. "We were discussing whom we
were going to use for the test."
"Your test involves micro-nanotechnology, and my brother
just got a Nobel Prize for his work in it."
"We are well aware of that."
"He is so excited about this that he would like to do it
pro bono."
"We're flattered, Mr. Kingsley. We don't have many Nobel
laureates offering their services." He looked up to make sure
the door was closed. "This is top secret. If it works, it's
going to be one of the most important components of our
armament. Molecular nano-technology can give us control of
the physical world at the level of individual atoms. Until
now, efforts to make chips even smaller than they are have
been blocked by the electron interference called 'cross
talk,' when electrons are uncontrolled. If this experiment is
successful, it will give us significant new defense weapons
and attack weapons."
Tanner said, "There's no danger to this experiment, is
there? I don't want anything to happen to my brother."
"You need not worry. We will send over all the equipment
you need, including the safe suits and two
of our scientists to work with your brother."
"Then we have a go-ahead?"
"You have a go-ahead."
On his way back to New York, Tanner thought, Now all I
have to do is convince Andrew.

CHAPTER 17

ANDREW WAS IN his office, looking at a colorful booklet
that the Nobel Committee had sent him,
along with a note: "We're looking forward to your
arrival." There were pictures of the huge Stockholm concert
hall, with the audience applauding a Nobel laureate as he
walked across the stage to receive
his award from King Carl XVI Gustav of Sweden. And soon
I'll be up there, Andrew thought.
The door opened and Tanner walked in. "We have to talk."
Andrew set the booklet aside. "Yes, Tanner?"
Tanner took a deep breath. "I've just committed Kingsley
Group to assist the army in an experiment they're
conducting."
"You what?"
"The test involves cryogenics. They need your help."
Andrew shook his head. "No. I can't get involved in that,
Tanner. This isn't the sort of thing we're
doing here."
"This isn't about money, Andrew. This is about the defense
of the United States of America. It's
very important to the army. You'd be doing this for your
country. Pro bono. They need you."
Tanner spent another hour persuading him. Finally, Andrew
gave in. "All right. But this is the last
time we get off the track, Tanner. Agreed?"
Tanner smiled. "Agreed. I can't tell you how proud I am of
you."
* * *
HE CALLED PRINCESS and left a message on her voice mail.
"I'm back, darling. We have a very important experiment
coming up. I'll call you when it's over. I love you."
* * *
TWO ARMY TECHNICIANS arrived to brief Andrew on the
progress they had made so far. Andrew had been reluctant at
first, but as they discussed the project, Andrew became more
and more excited.
If the problems could be solved, it would be a major
breakthrough.
An hour later, Andrew watched as an army truck drove
through the gates of Kingsley Group, escorted
by two army staff cars, carrying armed soldiers. He went
out to meet the colonel in charge of the cadre.
"Here it is, Mr. Kingsley. What do we do with it?"
"I'll handle it from here," Andrew said. "Just unload it
and we'll take over."
"Yes, sir." The colonel turned to two soldiers standing at
the rear of the truck. "Let's unload it. And be careful. I
mean very careful."
The men reached inside the truck and gingerly brought out
a small, heavy-duty metallic carrying case.
Within minutes, two staff assistants were carrying the
case into a laboratory, under Andrew's supervision.
"On that table," he said, "very gently." He watched as
they set it down. "Fine."
"One of us could have carried it. It's very light."
"You wouldn't believe how heavy it is," Andrew told them.
The two assistants looked at him, puzzled. "What?"
Andrew shook his head. "Never mind."
Two expert chemists, Perry Stanford and Harvey Walker, had
been selected to work on the project
with Andrew.
The two men had already donned the heavy protective suits
that were required for the experiment.
"I'll get suited up," Andrew said. "Be right back."
He walked down the corridor to a closed door and opened
it. Inside were racks holding full chemical
gear resembling space suits, along with gas masks,
goggles, special shoes, and heavy gloves.
Andrew walked into the room to put on his suit, and Tanner
was there to wish him luck.
* * *
WHEN ANDREW RETURNED to the laboratory, Stanford and
Walker were waiting. The three
men meticulously sealed the room so that it was airtight,
then carefully secured the door. They could
all feel the excitement in the air.
"All set?"
Stanford nodded. "Ready."
Walker said, "Ready."
"Masks."
They donned their protective gas masks.
"Let's begin," Andrew said. He cautiously lifted the lid
from the metallic box. Inside were six small
vials fitted snugly into protective cushions. "Be
careful," he warned. "These genies are two hundred twenty-two
degrees below zero." His voice was muffled by the gas mask.
Stanford and Walker watched as Andrew gently lifted the
first vial and opened it. It began hissing,
and steam rising from the vial turned into a freezing
cloud that seemed to saturate the room.
"All right," Andrew said. "Now, the first thing we have to
do— the first thing—" His eyes widened.
He was choking, his face turning chalky white. He tried to
speak, but no words came out.
Stanford and Walker watched in horror as Andrew's body
tumbled to the floor. Walker hastily capped
the vial and closed the case. Stanford hurried to the wall
and pressed a button that activated a giant
fan that swept the frigid gas vapor out of the lab.
When the air was clear, the two scientists opened the door
and hurriedly carried Andrew outside.
Tanner, walking down the hallway, saw what was happening
and a panicky look came over his face.
He ran over to the two men and looked down at his brother.
"What the hell is going on?"
Stanford said, "There's been an accident and—"
"What kind of accident?" Tanner was screaming like a
madman. "What have you done to my brother?" People were
starting to gather around. "Call 911. Never mind. We haven't
time for that. We'll get him
to the hospital in one of our cars."
* * *
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Andrew was lying on a gurney in a
room of the emergency ward at
St. Vincent's Hospital in Manhattan. There was a pulsating
oxygen mask on his face and an IV in his
arm. Two doctors were hovering over him.
Tanner was frantically pacing up and down. "You've got to
take care of whatever is wrong," he yelled. "Now!"
One of the doctors said, "Mr. Kingsley, I must ask you to
leave the room."
"No," Tanner shouted. "I'm staying right here with my
brother." He walked over to the gurney where Andrew was
lying, unconscious, and took his hand and squeezed it. "Come
on, bro. Wake up. We
need you."
There was no response.
Tears filled Tanner's eyes. "You're going to be fine.
Don't worry. We're going to fly in the best
doctors in the world. You're going to get well." He turned
to the doctors. "I want a private suite
and twenty-four-hour private nurses, and I want a cot put
in his room. I'm staying with him."
"Mr. Kingsley, we'd like to finish our examination."
Tanner said defiantly, "I'll be waiting in the hall."
* * *
ANDREW WAS RUSHED downstairs for a number of MRI and CAT
scans as well as extensive
blood work. A more sophisticated scan, a PET scan, was
scheduled. Afterward, he was moved to
a suite where three doctors were tending him.
Tanner was in the hallway, sitting in a chair, waiting.
When one of the doctors finally came out of Andrew's room,
Tanner leaped to his feet. "He's going to be all right, isn't
he?"
The doctor hesitated. "We're transferring him immediately
to the Walter Reed Army Medical Center,
in Washington, for further diagnosis, but frankly, Mr.
Kingsley, we don't have much hope."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Tanner was yelling.
"Of course he's going to get well. He was
in that lab only a few minutes."
The doctor was about to reprimand him, but he looked up,
and Tanner's eyes were filled with tears.
Tanner rode to Washington in the ambulance plane with his
unconscious brother. He kept reassuring
him during the entire flight. "The doctors say you're
going to be fine. . . . They're going to give you something
to make you well. . . . All you need is a little rest."
Tanner put his arms around his brother. "You've got to get
well in time for us to go to Sweden to pick up your Nobel
Prize."
* * *
FOR THE NEXT three days, Tanner slept on a cot in Andrew's
room and stayed by his brother's side
as much as the doctors would allow it. Tanner was in the
waiting room at Walter Reed when one of the attending doctors
approached him.
"How is he doing?" Tanner asked. "Is he—?" He saw the
expression on the doctor's face. "What is it?"
"I'm afraid it's very bad. Your brother is lucky to be
alive. Whatever that experimental gas was, it was extremely
toxic."
"We can bring in doctors from—"
"It's no use. I'm afraid the toxins have already affected
your brother's brain cells."
Tanner winced. "But isn't there a cure for—for what he
has?"
The doctor said caustically, "Mr. Kingsley, the army
doesn't even have a name for it yet, and you
want to know if there's a cure? No. I'm sorry. I'm afraid
he's—he's never going to be himself again."
Tanner stood there, his fists clenched, his face white.
"Your brother's awake now. You can go in and see him, but
only for a few minutes."
When Tanner walked into Andrew's hospital room, Andrew's
eyes were open. He stared at his visitor,
a blank expression on his face.
The phone rang and Tanner moved to answer it. It was
General Barton. "I'm terribly sorry about what happened to—"
"You bastard! You told me that my brother wouldn't be in
any danger."
"I don't know what went wrong, but I assure you—"
Tanner slammed down the receiver. He heard his brother's
voice and turned.
"Where—where am I?" Andrew mumbled.
"You're at Walter Reed hospital, in Washington."
"Why? Who's sick?"
"You are, Andrew."
"What happened?"
"Something went wrong with the experiment."
"I don't remember—"
"It's all right. Don't worry. You'll be taken care of.
I'll see to it." Tanner watched Andrew's eyes close.
He took one last look at his brother lying in bed and left
the room.
* * *
PRINCESS SENT FLOWERS to the hospital. Tanner planned to
call her, but his secretary said,
"Oh, she phoned. She had to go out of town. She'll call
you as soon as she returns. She said to tell
you that she loves you."
A week later, Andrew and Tanner were back in New York.
Word about what had happened to Andrew had raced through
Kingsley Group. Without him in charge, would the think tank
continue to exist?
When the news of the accident became public, it was sure
to damage Kingsley Group's reputation.
That doesn't matter, Tanner thought. I'm going to make
this the biggest think tank in the world. Now
I can give Princess more than she ever dreamed of. In a
few years—
Tanner's secretary buzzed. "There's a limousine driver
here to see you, Mr. Kingsley."
Tanner was puzzled. "Send him in."
A uniformed chauffeur walked in, holding an envelope.
"Tanner Kingsley?"
"Yes."
"I was asked to deliver this to you personally."
He handed Tanner the envelope and left.
Tanner looked at it and grinned. He recognized Princess's
handwriting. She had planned some kind
of surprise for him. Eagerly, he opened the envelope. The
note read:
It isn't going to work, my dearest. Right now I need more
than you can give me, so I'm
marrying someone who is able to do that. I love you and
always will. I know you will find
this hard to believe, but what I am doing is for the good
of both of us.
Tanner's face had gone pale. He stared at the note for a
long time and then dropped it nervelessly
into the wastebasket. His triumph had come one day too
late.

CHAPTER 18

THE FOLLOWING DAY Tanner was sitting quietly at his desk
when his secretary buzzed.
"There's a committee here to see you, Mr. Kingsley."
"A committee?" Yes, sir.
"Send them in."
Supervisors from several Kingsley Group departments walked
into Tanner's office. "We'd like to
talk to you, Mr. Kingsley."
"Sit down."
They took seats.
"What's the problem?"
One of the foremen said, "Well, we're kind of worried.
After what's happened to your brother ...
Is Kingsley Group going to stay in business?"
Tanner shook his head. "I don't know. At this point I'm
still in shock. I can't believe what's happened
to Andrew." He was thoughtful for a moment. "I'll tell you
what I'll do. I can't predict our chances, but I'm going to
make every effort to see if we can stay afloat. That's a
promise. I'll keep you informed."
There were murmurs of "Thank you," and Tanner watched the
men depart.
* * *
THE DAY THAT Andrew got out of the hospital, Tanner set
him up in a little staff house on the property, where he
could be taken care of, and gave him an office next to his.
The employees were stunned to see what had happened to
Andrew. He had changed from a brilliant, alert scientist to
a
zombie. Most of the day Andrew sat in his chair, looking
out the window, half asleep, but he seemed happy to be back
at Kingsley Group, even though he had little idea of what was
going on. All the employees were touched by how well Tanner
treated his brother and how solicitous and caring he
was of him.
* * *
THE ATMOSPHERE AT Kingsley Group changed almost overnight.
When Andrew was running
it, it had been casual. Now suddenly it had become more
formal and was being run as a business
instead of a philanthropy. Tanner sent out agents to sign
up clients for the company. Business began
to flourish at an extraordinary pace, and Tanner changed
the company name to Kingsley International Group, just as he
had planned.
* * *
WORD ABOUT PRINCESSS'S good-bye note had spread quickly
through KIG. The employees
had been prepared for the marriage, and they wondered how
Tanner would take this blow. There
was a great deal of speculation among the staff about what
he would do after being jilted.
Two days after Tanner had received the letter, an item had
appeared in the newspapers announcing that Tanner's
bride-to-be had married Edmond Barclay, a billionaire media
tycoon. The only changes in Tanner Kingsley seemed to be an
increased moodiness and a work ethic that was even stronger
than it was before. Every morning he spent two hours alone,
working on a project that was shrouded in secrecy.
* * *
ONE EVENING, TANNER was invited to speak at MENSA, the
high-IQ society. Since many of the employees at KIG were
members, he agreed to accept.
When Tanner came into headquarters the following morning,
he was accompanied by one of the most beautiful women his
staff had ever seen. She was Latin looking, with dark eyes,
an olive complexion,
and a sensational figure.
Tanner introduced her to the staff. "This is Sebastiana
Cortez. She spoke at MENSA last night. She
was brilliant."
Tanner's whole attitude suddenly seemed lighter. Tanner
took Sebastiana into his office, and they did
not reappear for more than an hour. After they came out,
they had lunch in Tanner's private dining room.
One of the employees looked up Sebastiana Cortez on the
Internet. She was a former Miss Argentina, and her home was
in Cincinnati, where she was married to a prominent
businessman.
When Sebastiana and Tanner went back into his office after
lunch, Tanner buzzed his secretary and
told her to hold all calls. Moments later, Tanner's voice
could be heard in the reception room through
the intercom, which had been left open.
"Don't worry, darling. We'll find a way to make it work."
The secretaries started gathering around the intercom,
eagerly listening to the conversation.
"We have to be very careful. My husband is a jealous
man."
"There's no problem. I'll make arrangements for us to keep
in touch."
It did not take a genius to figure out what was happening.
The staff was amazed at how quickly he
had gotten over Princess. It was all that the secretaries
could do to keep from giggling. "I'm sorry
you have to go home just now."
"I am, too. I wish I could stay, but—it can't be helped."
* * *
WHEN TANNER AND Sebastiana left the office, they were the
picture of decorum. The staff took delight in the idea that
Tanner had no clue they were aware of what was going on.
The day after Sebastiana departed, Tanner arranged for a
phone, gilded in gold, to be installed in his office with a
digital scrambler. His secretary and assistants had orders
never to answer it.
From that time on, Tanner spoke on the gold phone almost
every day, and at the end of each month,
he went away for a long weekend and came back looking
refreshed. He never told his staff where he
had been, but they knew.
Two of Tanner's aides were talking, and one of them said
to the other, "Does the word rendezvous
ring a bell?"
Tanner's love life had started again, and the change in
him was remarkable. Everybody was happy.

CHAPTER 19

THE WORDS KEPT echoing through Diane Stevens's brain: This
is Ron Jones. I just wanted to let
you know that I received your paperwork and the change was
made, just as you requested. . . . We cremated your husbands
body one hour ago.
How could the mortuary have made such a mistake? Lost in
her grief, could she have called and
asked them to cremate Richard? Never. And she had no
secretary. None of it made any sense.
Someone at the mortuary had misunderstood, confused
Richard's name with a similar name of
another body at the mortuary.
They had delivered an urn with Richard's ashes in it.
Diane stood, staring at it. Was Richard really
in there? . . . Was his laughter in there? . . . The arms
that had held her close . . . the warm lips that
had pressed against hers . . . the mind that had been so
bright and funny . . . the voice that had said,
"I love you" . . . were all his dreams and passions and a
thousand more things in that little urn?
Diane's thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the
telephone. "Mrs. Stevens?"
"Yes. . ."
"This is Tanner Kingsley's office. Mr. Kingsley would
appreciate it if he could make an appointment
for you to come and meet with him."
* * *
THAT HAD BEEN two days ago, and now Diane was walking
through the entrance of KIG and approaching the reception
desk.
The receptionist said, "May I help you?"
"My name is Diane Stevens. I have an appointment to see
Tanner Kingsley."
"Oh, Mrs. Stevens! We're all so sorry about Mr. Stevens.
What a terrible thing to happen. Terrible."
Diane swallowed. "Yes."
* * *
TANNER WAS TALKING to Retra Tyler. "I have two meetings
coming up. Let's do a complete
scan on both of them."
"Yes, sir."
He watched his assistant leave.
The intercom buzzed. "Mrs. Stevens is here to see you, Mr.
Kingsley."
Tanner pressed one of the buttons on the electronic panel
on his desk and Diane Stevens appeared
on a wall television screen. Her blonde hair was tied back
in a knot, and she was wearing a white
and navy pinstriped skirt, and a white blouse. She looked
pale.
"Send her in, please."
He watched Diane walk in the door and rose to greet her.
"Thank you for coming, Mrs. Stevens."
Diane nodded. "Good morning."
"Please, sit down."
Diane took a chair across from his desk.
"Needless to say, all of us were shocked by your husband's
brutal murder. You can be sure that
whoever is responsible will be brought to justice as
quickly as possible."
Ashes. . .
"If you don't mind, I would like to ask you a few
questions."
"Yes?"
"Did your husband often discuss his work with you?"
Diane shook her head. "Not really. It was a separate part
of our life together because it was
so technical."
In the surveillance room down the hall, Retra Tyler had
turned on a voice recognition machine, a voice stress
analyzer, and a television recorder, and was taping the scene
taking place in Tanner's office.
"I know how difficult it must be for you to discuss this,"
Tanner said, "but how much do you know
about your husband's connection with drugs?"
Diane was staring at him, too dumbfounded to speak.
Finally, she found her voice. "What—what are
you asking? Richard never would have had anything to do
with drugs."
"Mrs. Stevens, the police found a threatening note from
the Mafia in his pocket, and—"
The idea of Richard being involved with drugs was
unthinkable. Could Richard have had a secret life
that she knew nothing about? No, no, no.
Diane's heart began to pound, and she felt the blood
rushing to her face. They killed him to punish me. "Mr.
Kingsley, Richard didn't—"
Tanner's tone was sympathetic, but at the same time
determined. "I'm so sorry to put you through this, but I
fully intend to get to the bottom of what happened to your
husband."
I'm the bottom, Diane thought, miserably. I'm the one
you're looking for. Richard died because I
testified against Altieri. She was beginning to
hyperventilate.
Tanner Kingsley was watching her. He said, "I won't keep
you, Mrs. Stevens. I can see how upset you are. We'll talk
again later. Perhaps there's something you'll remember. If
you think of anything that might be helpful, I would
appreciate it if you would call me." Tanner reached into a
drawer and pulled out an embossed business card. "This has my
private cell phone number on it. You can reach me day or
night."
Diane took the card. All that was on it was Tanner's name
and a number.
Diane rose, her legs trembling.
"I apologize for having to put you through this. In the
meantime, if there is anything that I can do for you—anything
you need, I am at your service."
Diane was barely able to speak. "Thank you. I—thank you."
She turned and walked out of the office, numb.
As Diane reached the reception room, she heard the woman
behind the desk speaking to someone else. "If I were a
superstitious person, I would think someone had put a curse
on KIG. And now your
husband, Mrs. Harris. We were all so shocked to hear about
the dreadful thing that happened to him.
To die like that is just awful."
The words sounded ominously familiar to Diane. What had
happened to the woman's husband? Diane turned to see whom the
receptionist was addressing. It was a stunning-looking, young
African-American woman, dressed in black slacks and a silk
turtle-neck sweater. On her finger was a large emerald ring
and a diamond wedding ring. Diane had a sudden feeling
that it was important that she speak to her.
As Diane started to approach her, Tanner's secretary came
in. "Mr. Kingsley will see you now."
And Diane watched Kelly Harris disappear into Tanner's
office.
Tanner rose to greet Kelly. "Thank you for coming, Mrs.
Harris. Did you have a satisfactory flight?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Would you like anything? Coffee or—?"
Kelly shook her head.
"I know what a difficult time this must be for you, Mrs.
Harris, but I need to ask you a few questions."
In the surveillance room, Retra Tyler was watching Kelly
on the television set and recording the scene.
"Did you and your husband have a close relationship?"
Tanner asked.
"Very close."
"Would you say that he was honest with you?"
Kelly looked at him, puzzled. "We had no secrets. Mark was
the most honest, open, human being
I've ever known. He—" Kelly was finding it difficult to go
on.
"Did he often discuss his work with you?"
"No. What Mark did was very—complicated. We didn't talk
much about it."
"Did you and Mark have many Russian friends?"
Kelly looked at him, confused. "Mr. Kingsley, I don't know
what these questions—"
"Did your husband tell you he had a big deal coming up and
that he was going to make a lot of money?"
Kelly was getting upset. "No. If that were so, Mark would
have told me."
"Did Mark ever discuss Olga?"
Kelly was filled with a sudden foreboding. "Mr. Kingsley,
exactly what is this all about?"
"The Paris police found a note in your husband's pocket.
It mentioned a reward for some information
and was signed 'Love, Olga.'"
Kelly sat there, stunned. "I—I don't know what—"
"But you did say he discussed everything with you?"
"Yes, but—"
"From what we have been able to learn, your husband was
apparently involved with this woman and—"
"No!" Kelly was on her feet. "This isn't my Mark we're
talking about. I told you, we had no secrets between us."
"Except whatever secret it was that caused your husband's
death."
Kelly felt suddenly faint. "You'll—you'll have to excuse
me, Mr. Kingsley. I'm not feeling well."
He was instantly apologetic. "I understand. I want to help
you in any way I can." Tanner handed her
his embossed business card. "You can reach me through this
number at any time, Mrs. Harris."
Kelly nodded, unable to speak, and blindly walked out of
the office.
* * *
KELLY'S MIND WAS churning as she exited the building. Who
was Olga? And why had Mark been involved with Russians? Why
would he—?
"Excuse me. Mrs. Harris?"
Kelly turned. "Yes?"
An attractive blonde woman was standing outside the
building. "My name is Diane Stevens. I'd like
to talk to you. There's a coffee shop across the way and
we—"
"Sorry. I—I can't talk now." Kelly started to move on.
"It's about your husband."
Kelly stopped abruptly and turned. "Mark? What about him?"
"Can we talk where it's more private?"
* * *
IN TANNER'S OFFICE, his secretary's voice came over the
intercom. "Mr. Higholt is here."
"Send him in."
A moment later, Tanner was greeting him. "Good afternoon,
John."
"Good? It's a hell of an afternoon, Tanner. It seems that
everyone in our company is being murdered. What the devil is
going on?"
"That's what we're trying to find out. I don't believe the
sudden deaths of three of our employees are
a coincidence. Someone is out to damage the reputation of
this company, but they're going to be found and stopped. The
police have agreed to cooperate with us, and I have men
tracing the movements of
the employees who were killed. I would like you to listen
to two interviews that I've just recorded.
These are the widows of Richard Stevens and Mark Harris.
Are you ready?"
"Go ahead."
"This is Diane Stevens." Tanner pressed a button and his
interview with Diane Stevens appeared on the screen. At the
right-hand corner of the screen was a graph, tracing lines up
and down as Diane spoke.
How much do you know about your husband's connection with
drugs?
What—what are you asking? Richard never would have had
anything to do with drugs.
The graphic images remained steady.
Tanner pressed the fast-forward button. "This is Mrs. Mark
Harris, whose husband was pushed or
fell from the top of the Eiffel Tower."
A picture of Kelly flashed on the television screen.
Did Mark ever discuss Olga?
Mr. Kingsley, exactly what is this all about?
The Paris police found a note in your husband's pocket. It
mentioned a reward for some information and was signed "Love,
Olga."
I—I don't know what—
But you did say he discussed everything with you?
Yes, but—
From what we have been able to learn, your husband was
apparently involved with this woman and—
No! This isn't my Mark we 're talking about. I told you,
we had no secrets between us.
The lines on the voice stress analyzer graph remained
even. Kelly's image disappeared.
"What was that line on the screen?" John Higholt asked.
"That's a voice stress analyzer, a CVSA. It registers
microtremors in the human voice. If the subject is lying, the
modulations of the audio frequencies increase. It's state of
the art. It doesn't require wires,
like a polygraph. I'm convinced that both women told the
truth. They must be protected."
John Higholt frowned. "What do you mean? Protected from
what?"
"I think they're in danger, that subconsciously, they have
more information than they realize. They
were both close to their husbands. I'm convinced that at
some point, something revealing might have
been said that slipped by them at the time, but is in
their memory banks. The chances are that as they start to
think about it, they're going to remember what it was. The
moment they do, their lives could
be at risk, because whoever killed their husbands could be
planning to kill them. I intend to see that
no harm comes to them."
"You're going to have them followed?"
"That was yesterday, John. Today it's electronic
equipment. I've put the Stevens apartment under
surveillance—cameras, telephones, microphones—everything.
We're using every bit of technology
at our disposal to guard them. The moment anyone tries to
attack her, we'll know."
John Higholt was thoughtful for a moment. "What about
Kelly Harris?"
"She's in a hotel. Unfortunately, we couldn't get into her
suite to prepare it. But I have men staking out the lobby,
and if it looks as if there might be trouble, they'll handle
it." Tanner hesitated. "I want KIG
to put up a five-million-dollar reward leading to the
arrest of—"
"Wait a minute, Tanner," John Higholt objected. "That's
not necessary. We'll get this solved and—"
"Very well. If KIG won't do it, I'll personally offer a
five-million-dollar reward. My name is identified with this
company." His voice hardened. "I want whoever is behind this
caught."

CHAPTER 20

IN THE COFFEE shop across the street from KIG
headquarters, Diane Stevens and Kelly Harris
were seated at a corner booth. Kelly was waiting for Diane
to speak.
Diane was not sure how to begin. What was the dreadful
thing that happened to your husband,
Mrs. Harris? Had he been murdered, like Richard?
Kelly said impatiently, "Well? You said you wanted to talk
to me about my husband. How well did
you know Mark?"
"I didn't know him, but—"
Kelly was furious. "You said you—"
"I said I wanted to talk about him."
Kelly rose. "I don't have time for this, lady." She
started to walk away.
"Wait! I think we might both have the same problem, and we
may be able to help each other."
Kelly stopped. "What are you talking about?"
"Please sit down."
Reluctantly, Kelly returned to her seat in the booth. "Go
ahead."
"I wanted to ask you if—"
A waiter approached the table with a menu. "What would you
ladies like?"
To be out of here, Kelly thought. "Nothing."
Diane said, "Two coffees."
Kelly looked at Diane and said defiantly, "Make mine tea."
"Yes, ma'am." The waiter left.
Diane said, "I think that you and I—"
A young girl came up to the table and said to Kelly, "Can
I have your autograph?"
Kelly looked at her. "Do you know who I am?"
"No, but my mother says you're important."
Kelly said, "I'm not."
"Oh." They watched the little girl leave.
Diane looked at Kelly, puzzled. "Should I know who you
are?"
"No." Kelly added pointedly, "And I don't like busybodies
prying into my life. What is this all about,
Mrs. Stevens?"
"Diane, please. I heard that something terrible had
happened to your husband and—"
"Yes, he was killed." Did you and Mark ever discuss Olga?
"My husband was killed, too. And they both worked for
KIG."
Kelly said impatiently, "Is that it? Well, so do thousands
of other people. If two of them caught colds, would you call
it an epidemic?"
Diane leaned forward. "Look, this is important. First of
all—"
Kelly said, "Sorry. I'm not in the mood to listen to
this." She picked up her purse.
"I'm not in the mood to talk about it," Diane snapped,
"but it could be very—"
Diane's voice suddenly echoed through the coffee shop.
"There were four men in the room."
Startled, Diane and Kelly turned toward the sound. Diane's
voice was coming from a TV set above
the counter. She was in the courtroom, on the witness
stand.
"One of them was in a chair, tied up. Mr. Altieri seemed
to be questioning him while the two other
men stood next to him. Mr. Altieri pulled out a gun,
yelled something, and shot the man in the head."
The anchorman appeared on the screen.
"That was Diane Stevens, testifying in the murder trial of
accused Mafia head Anthony Altieri. The
jury has just brought in a verdict of not guilty."
Diane sat there, stunned. "Not guilty?"
"The murder that took place almost two years ago charged
Anthony Altieri with killing one of his employees. In spite
of Diane Stevens's testimony, the jury believed other
witnesses who contradicted her."
Kelly was staring at the set, wide-eyed. A new witness
appeared on the stand.
Jake Rubenstein, Altieri's lawyer, was asking:
"Dr. Russell, do you have a practice in New York?"
"No. I'm located only in Boston."
"On the day in question, did you treat Mr. Altieri for a
heart problem?"
"Yes. About nine A.M. I kept him under observation for the
whole day."
"So he could not have been in New York on October
fourteenth?"
"No."
Another witness appeared on the screen:
"Would you tell us your occupation, sir?"
"I'm the manager of the Boston Park Hotel."
"Were you on duty last October fourteenth?"
"Yes, I was."
"Did anything unusual happen that day?"
"Yes. I received an urgent phone call from the penthouse
suite to send a doctor up there immediately."
"What happened next?"
"I called Dr. Joseph Russell and he came right over. We
went to the penthouse suite to check on the guest, Anthony
Altieri."
"What did you see when you got there?"
"Mr. Altieri, lying on the floor. I thought he was going
to die in our hotel."
Diane had turned pale. "They're lying," she said hoarsely.
"Both of them."
Anthony Altieri was being interviewed. He looked frail and
sickly.
"Do you have any plans for the immediate future, Mr.
Altieri?"
"Now that justice has been done, I'm just going to take it
easy for a while. "Altieri smiled thinly.
"Maybe clean up a few old debts."
Kelly was dumbstruck. She turned to Diane. "You testified
against him?"
"Yes. I saw him kill—"
Kelly's trembling hands spilled some tea and knocked over
a salt-shaker. "I'm getting out of here."
"What are you so nervous about?"
"What am I nervous about? You tried to have the head of
the Mafia sent to prison and he's free, and
he's going to clean up a few old debts, and you want to
know what I'm nervous about? You should
be nervous." Kelly rose and threw some money on the table.
"I'll pick up the check. You'd better
save your money for traveling expenses, Mrs. Stevens."
"Wait! We haven't talked about our husbands or—"
"Forget it." Kelly headed for the door and Diane
reluctantly pursued her.
"I think you're overreacting," Diane argued. Do you?
As they reached the exit, Kelly said, "I don't understand
how you could be so stupid as to—"
An elderly man, entering on crutches, slipped and started
to fall. For an instant, Kelly was in Paris
and it was Mark who was falling, and she reached down to
save him, and at the same time, Diane
moved to catch him. At that moment, from across the street
two loud shots rang out, the bullets
smashing into the wall where the women had been standing.
The explosion brought Kelly back to
instant reality. She was in Manhattan and had just had tea
with a crazy woman.
"My God!" Diane exclaimed. "We—"
"This is no time to pray. Let's get the hell out of here!"
Kelly propelled Diane to the curb where Colin was
standing, next to the limousine. He pulled the car
door open, and Kelly and Diane tumbled into the backseat.
"What was that noise?" Colin asked.
The two women sat there, huddled in the seat, too unnerved
to speak.
Finally, Kelly said, "It—er, must have been a backfire."
She turned to Diane, who was fighting to
regain her composure. "I hope I'm not overreacting," she
said sarcastically. "I'll drop you off. Where
do you live?"
Diane took a deep breath and gave Colin the address of her
apartment building. The two women rode there in stony
silence, shaken by what had just happened.
When the car pulled up in front of her building, Diane
turned to Kelly. "Will you come in? I'm a little jittery. I
have a feeling something more might happen."
Kelly said curtly, "I have the same feeling—but it's not
going to happen to me. Good-bye, Mrs. Stevens."
Diane looked at Kelly a moment, started to say something,
then shook her head and got out of the car.
Kelly watched as Diane walked into the foyer and entered
her apartment on the first floor. Kelly gave
a sigh of relief.
Colin said, "Where would you like to go, Mrs. Harris?"
"Back to the hotel, Colin, and—"
There was a loud scream from the apartment. Kelly
hesitated an instant, then opened the car door and raced
inside the building. Diane had left the door to her apartment
wide open. She was standing in the middle of the room,
trembling.
"What happened?"
"Someone—someone's broken in here. Richard's briefcase was
on this table and it's gone. It was filled with his papers.
They left his wedding ring in its place."
Kelly looked around nervously. "You'd better call the
police."
"Yes." Diane remembered the card that Detective Greenburg
had left on the hall table. She walked over to it and picked
it up. A minute later, she was on the phone, saying,
"Detective Earl Greenburg, please.
There was a brief delay.
"Greenburg."
"Detective Greenburg, this is Diane Stevens. Something has
happened here. I wonder if you could
come by the apartment and . . . thank you."
Diane took a deep breath and turned to Kelly. "He's
coming. If you don't mind waiting until he—"
"I do mind. This is your problem. I don't want any part of
it. And you might mention that someone
just tried to kill you. I'm leaving for Paris. Good-bye,
Mrs. Stevens."
Diane watched as Kelly walked outside and headed for the
limousine.
"Where to?" Colin asked.
"Back to the hotel, please."
Where she would be safe.

CHAPTER 21

WHEN KELLY RETURNED to her hotel room, she was still
unnerved by what had happened. The experience of coming so
close to being killed had been terrifying. The last thing I
need right now is
some blonde airhead trying to get me murdered.
Kelly sank down on the couch to calm herself and closed
her eyes. She tried to meditate and concentrate on a mantra,
but it was no use. She was too shaken. There was an empty,
lonely feeling deep inside her. Mark, I miss you so much.
People said that as time went by, I would feel better. It's
not true, my darling. Every day makes it worse.
The sound of a food cart being wheeled down the corridor
made Kelly realize that she had not eaten
all day. She was not hungry, but she knew she had to keep
up her strength.
She phoned room service. "I'd like a shrimp salad and some
hot tea, please."
"Thank you. It should be there in twenty-five to thirty
minutes, Mrs. Harris."
"Fine." Kelly replaced the receiver. She sat there,
replaying in her mind the meeting with Tanner Kingsley, and
she felt as though she had been plunged into a chilling
nightmare. What was going on?
Why had Mark never mentioned Olga? Was it a business
relationship? An affair? Mark, darling,
I want you to know that if you did have an affair, I
forgive you because I love you. I will always
love you. You taught me how to love. I was cold and you
warmed me. You gave me my pride back,
and made me feel like a woman.
She thought about Diane. That busybody put my life at
risk. She's someone to stay away from. That won't be
difficult. Tomorrow I'll be in Paris, with Angel.
Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of a knock at the
door. "Room service."
"Coming." As Kelly started toward the door, she stopped,
puzzled. She had ordered just a few minutes ago. It's too
soon. "Just a moment," she called.
"Yes, ma'am."
Kelly picked up the phone and dialed room service. "My
order is not here yet."
"We're working on it, Mrs. Harris. It should be there in
fifteen or twenty minutes."
Kelly replaced the receiver, her heart pounding. She
dialed the operator.
"There's—there's a man trying to get into my room."
"I'll send a security officer right up, Mrs. Harris."
Two minutes later, she heard another knock. Kelly walked
over to the door, wary.
"Who is it?"
"Security."
Kelly looked at her watch. Too fast. "I'll be right
there." She hurried over to the telephone and called
the operator again. "I called down about security. Is—"
"He's on his way up, Mrs. Harris. He should be up there in
a minute or two."
"What is his name?" Her voice was strangled with fear.
"Thomas."
Kelly could hear low, low whispers in the hall. She
pressed her ear against the door until the voices
faded. She stood there, filled with blind terror.
A minute later, there was a knock at the door.
"Who is it?"
"Security."
"Bill?" Kelly asked. She held her breath.
"No, Mrs. Harris. It's Thomas."
Kelly quickly opened the door and let him in.
He regarded her a moment and said, "What happened?"
"Some—some men tried to get in here."
"Did you see them?"
"No. I—I heard them. Would you walk me out to a taxi?"
"Certainly, Mrs. Harris."
Kelly was trying to force herself to stay calm. Too much
was happening too fast.
Thomas stayed close by Kelly's side as they got into the
elevator.
When they reached the lobby, Kelly glanced around, but she
could see nothing suspicious. Kelly and
the security guard walked outside, and as they reached the
taxi stand, Kelly said, "Thank you very
much. I appreciate it."
"I'll make sure that everything is all right when you come
back. Whoever tried to break into your
room is gone by now."
Kelly got into a taxi. As she glanced out the rear window,
she saw two men hurrying into a parked limousine.
"Where to?" the cabdriver asked Kelly.
The limousine had pulled up behind the taxi. Ahead, at the
corner, a policeman was directing traffic.
"Go straight ahead," Kelly told him.
"Okay."
As they approached the green light, Kelly said urgently,
"I want you to slow down and wait until the
light changes to yellow, then make a quick left turn."
The driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "What?"
"Don't go through the green light until it turns yellow."
She saw the expression on the driver's face.
Kelly forced a smile. "I'm trying to win a bet."
"Oh." Crazy damn passengers.
As the light changed from green to yellow, Kelly said,
"Now!"
The taxi made a fast left turn as the light turned red.
Behind them, the oncoming traffic was stopped
by the policeman. The men in the limousine turned to each
other, frustrated.
When the taxi had gone a block, Kelly said, "Oh, I forgot
something. I've got to get out here."
The driver pulled over to the curb and Kelly got out of
the cab and handed him some money. "Here."
He watched Kelly hurry into the entrance to a medical
building. I hope she's seeing a psychiatrist.
At the corner, the moment the light turned green, the
limousine made a left turn. The taxi was two
blocks ahead, and they raced after it.
Five minutes later, Kelly was hailing another cab.
* * *
IN DIANE STEVENS's apartment, Detective Greenburg was
saying,
"Mrs. Stevens, did you get a look at the person who took a
shot at you?
Diane shook her head. "No, it happened so fast. . . ."
"Whoever it was, was serious. Ballistics dug the bullets
out of the wall. They were forty-five calibers, capable of
piercing body armor. You were lucky." He hesitated. "We think
that whoever it was, he
was sent by Tony Altieri."
Diane swallowed. I'm just going to take it easy for a
while, clear up a few old debts.
"We're checking that out."
Diane nodded.
Greenburg studied her a moment. "About the briefcase
that's missing, do you have any idea what
was in it?"
"I'm not sure. Richard usually took it to the laboratory
with him most mornings and brought it home
at night. I saw some of the papers once and they were very
technical."
Greenburg picked up the wedding ring that was on the
table. "And you said that your husband never
took off his wedding ring?"
"That's—that's right."
"In the days before his death, did your husband act
differently than usual, as though he might be under some kind
of pressure, or be worried about something? Do you remember
anything that he said or did
on the last night you saw him?"
It was early morning. They were in bed, naked. Richard
gently stroked her thighs and said, "I'm
going to be working late tonight, but save an hour or two
for me, when I get home, honey."
She touched him where he liked being touched and said,
"Braggart."
"Mrs. Stevens—"
Diane was jolted back to reality. "No. There was nothing
unusual."
"I'll see that you have protection," Greenburg said. "And
if—"
The doorbell rang.
"Were you expecting anyone?"
"No."
Greenburg nodded. "I'll get it."
He walked over to the door and opened it. Kelly Harris
stormed in and brushed by him.
Kelly marched up to Diane. "We need to talk."
Diane looked at her in surprise. "I thought you were on
your way to Paris?"
"I took a detour."
Greenburg had joined them. "This is Detective Earl
Greenburg. Kelly Harris."
Kelly turned to Greenburg. "Someone just tried to break
into my hotel room, Detective."
"Did you report it to hotel security?"
"Yes. The men were gone. A guard escorted me out."
"Do you have any idea who they were?"
"No."
"When you say someone tried to break in, you mean they
tried to force the door?"
"No, they—they just stood out in the hall. They pretended
they were from room service."
"Had you ordered room service?"
"Yes."
Diane said, "Then you're probably imagining things because
of what happened this morning, and—"
Kelly snapped at her. "Listen, I told you, I don't want
any part of this or of you. I'm going to pack
and fly back to Paris this afternoon. You tell your Mafia
friends to leave me alone."
They watched Kelly turn and leave.
"What was that all about?" Greenburg asked.
"Her husband was—was killed. He worked for the same
company Richard worked for, Kingsley International Group."
* * *
WHEN KELLY RETURNED to the lobby of her hotel, she walked
over to the desk. "I'm checking
out," she said. "Would you please get me a reservation on
the next plane to Paris?"
"Certainly, Mrs. Harris. Any particular airline?"
"Just get me out of here."
Kelly crossed the hotel lobby, stepped into an elevator,
and pressed the button for the fourth floor. As
the elevator door started to close, two men pushed it open
and got in. Kelly studied them an instant,
then quickly backed out into the lobby. She waited until
the elevator door closed, then headed for the stairs and
started to walk up. No use taking any chances, Kelly thought.
As she reached the fourth-floor landing, a huge man was
blocking the way.
"Excuse me," Kelly said. She started to move past him.
"Shh!" He was pointing a gun with a silencer at her.
Kelly turned pale. "What are you—?"
"Shut up. I bet you got exactly the right number of holes,
lady. Unless you want an extra one, be
quiet. I mean—very quiet. You and I are going downstairs."
The man was smiling, but as Kelly looked closer, she saw
that a knife crease on his upper lip had
pulled his mouth up into a fixed grin. He had the coldest
eyes Kelly had ever seen. Let s go.
No! I'm not going to die because of that bitch. "Wait a
minute. You have the wrong—"
She felt the gun smash so hard into her ribs that she
wanted to scream.
"I told you to shut up! We'll walk down."
He was holding Kelly's arm in a painful viselike grip, the
gun concealed in his hand behind her back.
Kelly was fighting hysteria. "Please," she said softly,
"I'm not the—" The pain as he stabbed the muzzle of the gun
against her back was excruciating. He was squeezing her arm
so hard that she could feel the blood draining out.
They started down the stairs. They reached the lobby. It
was crowded, and as Kelly was debating whether to call for
help, the man said, "Don't even think about it."
And they were outside. There was an SUV waiting at the
curb. Two cars ahead, a policeman was
writing a parking ticket. Kelly's captor led her to the
back door of the SUV. "Get in," he ordered.
Kelly glanced ahead at the policeman. "All right," Kelly
said in a loud, angry voice, "I'll get in, but I
want to tell you something. What you want me to do to you
will cost an extra hundred dollars. I
think it's disgusting."
The policeman had turned to watch.
The burly man was staring at Kelly. "What the hell are
you—?"
"If you won't pay it, then forget it, you cheap bastard."
Kelly started rapidly walking toward the policeman. The
man looked after her. His lips were smiling,
but his eyes were deadly.
Kelly pointed to him. "That pervert has been bothering
me."
She glanced back to see the policeman moving toward the
thug. Kelly stepped into a waiting taxi.
As the burly man started to get into the SUV, the
policeman said, "Just a minute, mister. It's against
the law in this state to solicit prostitutes."
"I wasn't—"
"Let me see some identification. What's your name?"
"Harry Flint."
Flint watched as Kelly's taxi sped away. That whore! I'll
kill her. Slowly.

CHAPTER 22

KELLY ALIGHTED FROM a taxi in front of Diane's apartment
building, stormed up to the front
door, and pressed the bell hard.
The door was opened by Detective Greenburg. "Can I—?"
Kelly saw Diane in the living room and moved past the
detective.
"What's going on?" Diane asked. "You said you—"
"You tell me what's going on. I told you to tell your
Mafia friends to leave me alone. They tried to
grab me again. Why are your Mafia buddies trying to kill
me?"
"I—I have no idea. They wouldn't—maybe they saw us
together and thought we were friends and—"
"Well we're not friends, Mrs. Stevens. Get me out of
this."
"What are you talking about? How can I—?"
"The same way you got me into it. I want you to tell your
buddy, Altieri, that you and I just met, and
you don't know me. I'm not going to let someone murder me
because of some stupid thing you did."
Diane said, "I can't—"
"Oh, yes, you can. You're going to talk to Altieri and
you're going to talk to him now. I'm not leaving
here until you do."
Diane said, "What you're asking is impossible. I'm sorry
if I got you involved in this, but. . ." She was thoughtful
for a long moment, then turned to Greenburg. "Do you think if
I talked to Altieri he might leave us both alone?"
Greenburg said, "That's an interesting question. He
might—especially if he thinks we're watching him. Would you
like to talk to him personally?"
Diane said, "No, I—"
Kelly interrupted. "She means yes."
* * *
ANTHONY ALTIERI'S HOME was a classic stone and frame
colonial-style house, in Hunterdon County, New Jersey. The
enormous house was at the end of a cul-de-sac, on fifteen
acres of land, surrounded by a huge, high, iron fence. On the
grounds were tall shade trees, ponds, and a colorful garden.
A guard sat in a booth inside the front gate. As the car
with Greenburg, Kelly, and Diane drove up,
the guard walked out to meet it.
He recognized Greenburg. "Afternoon, Lieutenant."
"Hello, Caesar. We want to see Mr. Altieri."
"Do you have a warrant?"
"It's not that kind of visit. This is a social call."
The guard glanced at the two women. "Wait here." He walked
inside, to the booth. A few minutes
later he came out and opened the gate. "You can go in."
"Thanks." Greenburg drove up to the front of the house.
As the three of them got out of the car, a second guard
appeared. "Follow me."
He led them inside. The large living room was an eclectic
combination of antiques and modern and French furniture. In
spite of the fact that the day was warm, there was a roaring
fire in the huge stone fireplace. The trio followed the guard
through the living room into a large darkened bedroom.
Anthony Altieri was in bed, attached to a respirator. He was
pale and gaunt and seemed to have aged greatly
since the short time he had appeared in court. A priest
and a nurse were at his side.
Altieri looked at Diane, Kelly, and Greenburg, then turned
back to Diane. When he spoke, his voice
was hoarse and raspy. "What the hell do you want?"
Diane said, "Mr. Altieri, I want you to leave Mrs. Harris
and me alone. Call off your men. It's enough
that you killed my husband and—"
Altieri cut in. "What are you talking about? I never even
heard of your husband. I read about that
bullshit note found on his body." He sneered. "'He'll swim
with the fishes' Somebody's seen The Sopranos too many times.
I'll tell you something for free, lady. No Italian wrote
that. I'm not after
you. I don't give a damn whether you live or die. I'm not
after anybody. I—" He winced in pain.
"I'm busy making my peace with God. I—" He began to choke.
The priest turned to Diane. "I think it would be better if
you left now."
Detective Greenburg asked, "What is it?"
The priest said, "Cancer."
Diane looked at the man on the bed. I'm not after you. I
don't give a damn whether you live or
die. . . . I'm busy making my peace with God. He was
telling the truth.
And Diane was filled with a sudden, blinding panic.
* * *
ON THE DRIVE back from Altieri's, Detective Greenburg
looked worried. "I have to tell you,
I think Altieri meant what he said." Kelly reluctantly
nodded. "So do I. The man is dying."
"Do you know of any reason why someone would try to kill
the two of you?"
"No," Diane said. "If it isn't Altieri—" She shook her
head. "I have no idea."
Kelly swallowed. "Neither have I."
* * *
DETECTIVE GREENBURG ESCORTED Diane and Kelly back into
Diane's apartment. "I'm going
to get to work on this now," he said, "but you'll be safe
here. In fifteen minutes there will be a police cruiser
outside your apartment building for the next twenty-four
hours, and we'll see what we can
find out by then. If you need me, call."
And he was gone.
* * *
DlANE AND KELLY stared at each other. There was an awkward
silence.
"Would you like some tea?" Diane asked.
Kelly said perversely, "Coffee."
Diane looked at her a moment, irritated, and sighed.
"Right."
Diane walked into the kitchen to start the coffee. Kelly
wandered around the living room, looking
at the paintings on the walls.
When Diane came out of the kitchen, Kelly was studying one
of Diane's paintings. "Stevens." She
turned to Diane. "Did you paint this?"
Diane nodded. "Yes."
Kelly said in a dismissive tone of voice, "Pretty."
Diane's lips tightened. "Oh? Do you know a lot about art?"
"Not much, Mrs. Stevens."
"Who do you like? Grandma Moses, I suppose." one's
interesting.
"And what other primitive painters touch your heart?"
Kelly turned to face Diane. "To be honest, I prefer the
curvilinear, nonrepresentational form. There
are exceptions, of course. For instance, in Titian's Venus
of Robin, the diagonal sweep of her form
is breathtaking, and—"
From the kitchen, they could hear the coffee percolating.
Diane said curtly, "The coffee is ready."
* * *
THEY WERE SEATED across from each other in the dining
room, taciturn, letting their coffee get cold.
Diane broke the silence. "Can you think of any reason why
someone would try to kill us?"
"No." Kelly was silent for a moment. "The only connection
you and I have is that both our husbands worked at KIG. Maybe
they were involved in some top secret project. And whoever
killed them thinks they might have told us about it."
Diane paled. "Yes . . ."
They looked at each other in dismay.
* * *
IN HIS OFFICE, Tanner was watching the scene taking place
in Diane's apartment, on one of the
wall television sets. His chief security guard stood next
to him.
"No. The only connection you and I have is that both our
husbands worked at KIG. Maybe they were involved in some top
secret project. And whoever killed them thinks they might
have told us about it."
"Yes..."
* * *
THE STEVENS APARTMENT had been wired with state-of-the-art
television and sound. Just as
Tanner had told his partner, the house was filled with
cutting-edge technology. There were concealed video systems
in every room of the apartment, with a Web-based camera the
size of a button resting among the books, bent fiber-optic
wires under the doors, and a wireless picture frame camera.
In the attic, a video server the size of a laptop computer
had been installed to service six cameras. Attached
to the server was a wireless modem that allowed the
equipment to function through cellular technology.
* * *
AS TANNER LEANED forward, watching the screen intently,
Diane said, "We have to find out what
our husbands were working on."
"Right. But we're going to need help. How do we do that?"
"We'll call Tanner Kingsley. He's the only one who can
help us, and he's trying to find out who's
behind all this."
"Let's do it."
* * *
DIANE SAID, "YOU can spend the night here. Well be safe.
There's a police car stationed outside."
She walked over to the window and pulled the curtain back.
There was no car.
She stared for a long moment and felt a sudden chill.
"That's strange," Diane said. "There was
supposed to be a patrol car here. Let me make a phone
call."
Diane took Detective Greenberg's card from her purse, went
to the telephone, and called a number. "Detective Greenburg,
please." She listened a moment. "Are you sure? ... I see.
Then could I speak to Detective Praegitzer?" There was
another moment of silence. "Yes, thank you." Diane slowly
replaced the receiver.
Kelly looked at Diane. "What is it?"
Diane said, "Detectives Greenburg and Praegitzer have been
transferred to another precinct."
Kelly swallowed. "That's a real coincidence, isn't it?"
Diane said, "And I just remembered something."
"What?"
"Detective Greenburg asked me if Richard had done or said
anything out of his usual routine lately.
There was one thing I forgot to mention. Richard was going
to Washington to see somebody.
Sometimes I travel with him, but this time he insisted it
would be better if he went alone."
Kelly was watching her with a surprised expression.
"That's strange. Mark told me he had to go to Washington, and
had to go alone."
"We have to find out why."
Kelly walked over to the window and pulled back the
drapes. "There's still no car." She turned to
Diane. "Let's get out of here."
"Right," Diane said. "I know a little out-of-the-way hotel
in Chinatown called the Mandarin. No one
will ever think of looking for us there. We'll call Mr.
Kingsley from the room."
* * *
"I KNOW A little out-of-the-way hotel in Chinatown called
the Mandarin. No one will ever think
of looking for us there. We'll call Mr. Kingsley from the
room."
Tanner turned to his chief security officer, Harry Flint,
with the perpetual half smile. "Kill them."

CHAPTER 23

HARRY FLINT WILL take good care of the women, Tanner
thought with satisfaction. Flint had
never failed him.
It amused Tanner to think about how Flint had come into
his life. Years ago his brother, Andrew,
poster boy for the bleeding hearts of the world, had
started a halfway house for newly released
prisoners, to help them adjust to civilian life. Then he
would find jobs for them.
Tanner had a more useful plan for ex-felons, because he
believed that there was no such thing as an ex-felon. Through
his private sources, he would get inside information on the
backgrounds of recently released prisoners, and if they had
the qualifications that Tanner needed, they went from the
halfway house to working for Tanner directly, doing what he
called "delicate private tasks."
He had arranged for an ex-felon named Vince Carballo to
come to work for KIG. Carballo was a huge man with a scraggly
beard and blue eyes that were like daggers. He had a long
prison record. He had
been on trial for murder. The evidence against him was
overwhelming, but a member of the jury stubbornly held out
for acquittal, and it ended up in a hung jury. Only a few
people knew that the
juror's little daughter had disappeared and a note was
left behind: If you keep quiet about this, your daughter's
fate will be determined by the jury's verdict. Carballo was
the kind of man Tanner Kingsley admired.
* * *
TANNER HAD ALSO heard about an ex-felon named Harry Flint.
He had investigated Flint's life thoroughly and decided he
was perfect for his needs.
Harry Flint had been born in Detroit, into a middle-class
family. His father was a bitter, failed salesman who spent
his time sitting around the house complaining. He was a
sadistic martinet, and at his son's slightest infraction, he
enjoyed whipping him, using a ruler, a belt, or anything else
that was handy, as though he wanted to beat success into his
son to make up for his own inadequacy.
The boy's mother worked as a manicurist at a barbershop.
While Harry's father was tyrannical, his mother was devoted
and doting, and as young Harry grew up, he was emotionally
whipsawed between the two.
Doctors had told Harry's mother that she was too old to
have a child, so she considered her pregnancy
a miracle. After Harry was born, she lovingly fondled him
and was constantly hugging him, patting him, and kissing him
until eventually Harry felt smothered by her love. As he got
older, he loathed being touched.
* * *
WHEN HARRY FLINT was fourteen years old, he trapped a rat
in the basement and stomped on it.
As he stared at the rat slowly, painfully dying, Harry
Flint had an epiphany. He suddenly realized he
had the awesome power to take life, to kill. It made him
feel like God. He was omnipotent, all-powerful. He needed to
have that feeling again, and he began to stalk small animals
around the neighborhood, and they became his prey. There was
nothing personal or malicious about what Flint was doing. He
was just using his God-given talent.
Angry neighbors whose pets were being tortured and killed
complained to the authorities, and a trap was set. The police
put a Scottish terrier on the front lawn of a house with a
leash to keep her from running away. They staked out the
site, and one night, as the police watched, Harry Flint
approached the animal. He pried the dog's mouth open and
started to insert a lit firecracker. The police pounced. When
Harry Flint was frisked, he had a bloody rock and a five-inch
fillet knife in his pocket.
He was sent to Challenger Memorial Youth Center for twelve
months.
One week after Flint arrived, he attacked one of the other
boys, maiming him badly. The psychiatrist
who examined Flint diagnosed him as a paranoid
schizophrenic.
"He's psychotic," the doctor warned the guards in charge.
"Be careful. Keep him away from the others."
When Harry Flint had served his time, he was fifteen years
old and was released on probation. He returned to school.
Several of his classmates looked upon Flint as a hero. They
had become involved in petty crimes such as snatching purses,
lifting wallets, and shoplifting, and Flint soon became their
leader.
In an alley fight one night, a knife sliced a corner of
Flint's lip, giving him a permanent half-smile.
As the boys grew older, they turned to carjacking,
burglary, and robbery. One of the robberies became violent,
and a shopkeeper was killed. Harry Flint was convicted of
armed robbery and abetting a murder, and sentenced to ten
years in prison. He was the most vicious prisoner the warden
had ever seen.
There was something in Harry Flint's eyes that made other
prisoners leave him alone. He constantly terrorized them, but
no one dared report him.
One day, as a guard passed Harry Flint's cell, he stared
inside unbelievingly. Flint's cell mate was lying
on the floor, in a pool of blood. He had been beaten to
death.
The guard looked at Flint, and there was a smile of
satisfaction on his face. "All right, you bastard.
You won't get out of this one. We can start warming up the
chair for you."
Flint glared at him and slowly raised his left arm. A
bloody butcher knife was deeply imbedded in it.
Flint said coldly, "Self-defense."
The prisoner in the cell across from Flint never told
anyone that he had seen Flint savagely beat his cell mate to
death, then pull out a butcher knife from under his own
mattress and slice the knife through the flesh of his arm.
* * *
THE CHARACTERISTIC THAT Tanner most admired about Flint
was that Flint enjoyed his work
so much.
Tanner remembered the first time that Flint had proven to
him how useful he could be. It was during
an emergency trip to Tokyo . . .
* * *
"TELL THE PILOT to warm up the Challenger. We're going to
Japan. There will be two of us."
The news had come at a bad time, but it had to be taken
care of immediately, and it was too sensitive
to entrust to anyone else. Tanner had arranged for Akira
Iso to meet him in Tokyo and to take a room
at the Okura Hotel.
While the plane was crossing the Pacific Ocean, Tanner was
planning his strategy. By the time the
plane landed, he had worked out a win-win situation.
The drive from Narita airport took one hour, and Tanner
was amazed by how Tokyo never seemed to change. In boom times
and in depressions, the city always seemed to wear the same
impassive face.
* * *
AKIRA ISO WAS waiting for him at the Fumiki Mashimo
restaurant. Iso was in his fifties, with a
spare figure, gray hair, and bright brown eyes. He stood
up to greet Tanner.
"It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Kingsley. Frankly, I was
surprised to hear from you. I cannot imagine why you would
come all this way to meet me."
Tanner smiled. "I'm the bearer of good news that I thought
was too important to discuss on the
telephone. I think I'm going to make you a very happy man,
and a very rich one."
Akira Iso was looking at him curiously. "Yes?"
A white-jacketed waiter had come to the table.
"Before we talk business, why don't we order?"
"As you wish, Mr. Kingsley. Are you familiar with Japanese
dishes or shall I order for you?"
"Thank you. I can order. Do you like sushi?" Yes.
Tanner turned to the waiter. "I'll have hamachi-temaki,
kaibashira, and ama-ebi."
Akira Iso smiled. "That sounds good." He looked at the
waiter. "I'll have the same."
While they were eating, Tanner said, "You work for a very
fine company, Tokyo First Industrial."
"Thank you."
"How long have you worked there?"
"Ten years."
"That's a long time." He looked Akira Iso in the eye and
said, "In fact, it might be time to make a change."
"Why would I want to do that, Mr. Kingsley?"
"Because I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse.
I don't know how much money you make,
but I am willing to pay you twice as much to leave them
and come to work for KIG."
"Mr. Kingsley, that is not possible."
"Why not? If it's because of a contract, I can arrange—"
Akira Iso put down his chopsticks. "Mr. Kingsley, in
Japan, when we work for a company, it is like a family. And
when we can no longer work, they take care of us."
"But the money I'm offering you—"
"No. Aisha seishin."
"What?"
"It means that we put loyalty above money." Akira Iso
looked at him curiously. "Why did you choose me?"
"Because I've heard very flattering things about you."
"I'm afraid you have taken a long trip for nothing, Mr.
Kingsley. I would never leave Tokyo First Industrial."
"It was worth a try."
"There are no hard feelings?"
Tanner leaned back and laughed. "Of course not. I wish all
my employees were as loyal as you are."
He remembered something. "By the way, I brought you and
your family a little gift. An associate of
mine will bring it to you. He'll be at your hotel in an
hour. His name is Harry Flint."
* * *
A NIGHT MAID found Akira Iso's body hanging from a hook in
a wardrobe chest. The official
verdict was suicide.

CHAPTER 24

THE MANDARIN HOTEL was a seedy, two-story building in the
heart of Manhattan's Chinatown,
three blocks from Mott Street.
As Kelly and Diane got out of the taxi, Diane saw a large
billboard across the street with a picture of
Kelly in a beautiful evening gown, holding up a bottle of
perfume. Diane looked at it in surprise.
"That's who you are."
"You're wrong," Kelly said. "That's what I do, Mrs.
Stevens. It's not who I am." She turned and
walked into the lobby, and an exasperated Diane followed.
A Chinese clerk was seated behind a desk in the small
hotel lobby, reading a copy of the China Post.
"We would like a room for the night," Diane said.
The clerk glanced up at the two elegantly dressed women
and almost said aloud, Here? He rose. "Certainly." He took a
closer look at their designer clothes. "That will be a
hundred dollars a night."
Kelly looked at him, shocked. "A hun—?"
Diane said quickly, "That will be fine."
"In advance."
Diane opened her purse, took out some bills, and gave them
to the clerk. He handed her a key.
"Room ten, straight down the hall, on the left. Do you
have luggage?
"It's coming," Diane told him.
"If you need anything, just ask for Ling."
Kelly said, "Ling?"
"Yes. She's your chambermaid."
Kelly gave him a skeptical look. "Right."
The two women started down the dreary, dimly lit hallway.
"You paid too much," Kelly said.
"What's a safe roof over your head worth?"
"I'm not so sure this place is such a good idea," Kelly
said.
"It will have to do until we think of something better.
Don't worry. Mr. Kingsley will take care of us."
When they reached number ten, Diane unlocked the door and
they stepped inside. The small room
looked and smelled as though it had been unoccupied for a
long time. There were twin beds with
rumpled bedcovers and two worn chairs next to a scarred
desk.
Kelly looked around. "It may be small, but it sure is
ugly. I'll bet it's never been cleaned." She touched
a cushion and watched the dust rise. "I wonder how long
ago Ling passed away."
"It's only for tonight," Diane assured her. "I'm going to
phone Mr. Kingsley now."
Kelly watched as Diane went to the telephone and called
the number on the card that Tanner Kingsley had given her.
The call was answered immediately. "Tanner Kingsley."
Diane sighed in relief. "Mr. Kingsley, this is Diane
Stevens. I'm sorry to bother you, but Kelly Harris and I need
your help. Someone is trying to kill us and we have no idea
what's going on. We're on the run."
"I'm very glad you called, Mrs. Stevens. You can relax. We
just found out what's behind all this. You won't have any
more problems. I can assure you that from now on, both you
and Mrs. Harris will be perfectly safe."
Diane closed her eyes for an instant. Thank God. "Can you
tell me who—?"
"I'll tell you all about it when I see you. Stay where you
are. I'll have someone there to pick you up
in thirty minutes."
"That's—" The connection was broken. Diane replaced the
receiver and turned to Kelly, grinning.
"Good news! Our problems are over."
"What did he say?"
"He knows what's behind all this and he says from now on,
we're safe."
Kelly gave a deep sigh. "Great. Now I can go back to Paris
and start my life over again."
"He's sending someone to pick us up in half an hour."
Kelly looked around the dingy room. "It will sure be hard
to leave all this."
Diane turned to her and said wistfully, "It's going to be
strange."
"What is?"
"Going back to a life without Richard. I can't imagine how
I'll be able to—"
"Then don't," Kelly snapped. Don't take me there, lady, or
I'll fall apart. I can't even think about it.
Mark was my whole life, my only reason for living. . .
Diane looked at Kelly's emotionless expression and
thought, She's like a lifeless work of art—beautiful and
cold.
* * *
KELLY WAS SEATED on one of the beds, her back to Diane.
She closed her eyes against the pain inside her and slowly .
. . slowly . . . slowly. . .
* * *
She WAS WALKING along the Left Bank with Mark, chatting
about everything and nothing. Kelly
felt that she had never been so completely comfortable
with anyone before.
She said to Mark, "Tomorrow evening there's a gallery
opening if you're interested in—"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Kelly. Tomorrow night I'm busy."
Kelly felt an unexpected stab of jealousy. "Going on
another date?" She tried to keep her tone light.
"No. No. I'm going alone. It's a banquet—" He saw the look
on Kelly's face. "I—I mean it's just a
dinner for scientists. You'd be bored."
"Would I?"
"I'm afraid so. There—there will be a lot of words you've
probably never heard before and—"
"I think I've heard them all," Kelly said, piqued. "Why
don't you try me?"
"Well, I don't really think—"
"I'm a big girl. Go ahead."
He sighed. "All right. Anatripsology . . .
malacostracology . . . aneroidograph . . . term ag—"
"Oh," Kelly said, taken aback. "Those kinds of words."
"I knew you wouldn't be interested. I—"
"You were wrong. I am." Because you're interested.
* * *
THE BANQUET WAS held at the Hotel Prince de Galles and
turned out to be a major event. There were three hundred
people in the ballroom, among them some of the most important
dignitaries of
France. One of the guests at the front table where Kelly
and Mark were seated was an attractive man
with a warm, engaging personality.
"I'm Sam Meadows," he said to Kelly. "I've heard a lot
about you."
"I've heard a lot about you," Kelly replied. "Mark says
you're his mentor and best friend."
Sam Meadows smiled. "I'm honored to be his friend. Mark is
a very special person. We've worked together for a long time.
He's the most dedicated—"
Mark was listening, embarrassed. "Would you like some
wine?" he interrupted.
The master of ceremonies appeared onstage, and the
speeches began. Mark had been right about the evening being
uninteresting for Kelly. Technical scientific prizes were
being awarded, and as far as
Kelly was concerned, the speakers could all have been
talking in Swahili. But Kelly watched the enthusiasm on
Mark's face, and she was glad she was there.
When the dinner plates had been cleared, the president of
the French Academie des Sciences appeared onstage. He began
by praising the scientific accomplishments that France had
made in the past year,
and it was not until the end of his speech, when he held
up a gold statuette and called out Mark Harris's name, that
Kelly realized that Mark was the star of the evening. He had
been too modest to tell her. That's why he tried to talk me
out of coming. Kelly watched Mark get up and go onstage as
the
audience warmly applauded him.
"He never said a word to me about this," Kelly told Sam
Meadows.
Meadows smiled. "That's Mark." He studied Kelly a moment.
"You know he's madly in love with you. He wants to marry
you." He paused and said pointedly, "I hope he doesn't get
hurt."
And as Kelly listened, she felt a sudden rush of guilt. I
can't marry Mark. He's a dear friend, but I'm
not in love with him. What have I been doing? I don't want
to hurt him. It's better if I stop seeing him.
I can never give a man what he would expect from a woman.
How am I going to tell—?
* * *
"HAVE YOU HEARD a word I've said?"
Diane's angry voice shook Kelly out of her reverie. The
beautiful ballroom disappeared, and she was
in a crummy hotel room with a woman she wished she had
never met. "What?"
Diane said urgently, "Tanner Kingsley said someone's going
to pick us up here in half an hour."
"You told me that. So?"
"He didn't ask where we were."
"He probably thinks we're still at your apartment."
"No. I told him that you and I are on the run."
There was a moment of silence. Kelly's lips pursed into a
long, silent "Oh."
They turned to look at the clock on the bedside table.
* * *
THE CHINESE CLERK glanced up as Flint entered the lobby of
the Mandarin Hotel.
"Can I help you?"
He saw Flint's smile and returned it.
"My wife and her friend just checked in here. My wife is a
blonde. Her friend is a hot black chick.
What room are they in?"
"Room ten, but I'll have to announce you. You'll have to
teleph—"
As he picked up the telephone, Flint raised a .45-caliber
Ruger pistol equipped with a silencer and
put a bullet in the clerk's forehead.
Flint shoved the body behind the counter and started down
the hall, the gun at his side. When he
reached number ten, he stepped back, took two steps
forward, shouldered the door open, and
stepped into the room.
The room was empty, but through the closed bathroom door,
Flint could hear the sound of a shower running. He walked
over to the bathroom door and shoved it open. The shower was
turned on full
force, and the closed curtains were gently swaying. Flint
fired four shots into the curtains, waited a moment, then
pulled them open.
There was no one there.
* * *
IN A DINER across the street, Diane and Kelly had watched
Flint's SUV arrive and then had seen
him go into the hotel.
"My God," Kelly had said, "that's the man who tried to
kidnap me."
They waited. When Flint came out a few minutes later, his
lips were smiling, but his face was a mask
of fury.
Kelly turned to Diane. "There goes Godzilla. What's our
next false move?"
"We have to get out of here."
"And go where? They're going to be watching the airports,
train stations, bus depots. . . ."
Diane was thoughtful for a moment. "I know a place where
they can't touch us."
"Let me guess. The spaceship that brought you here."

CHAPTER 25

ALL THE MORNING newspapers were filled with the same
story. A drought in Germany had
caused at least a hundred deaths and had wiped out
millions of dollars' worth of crops.
Tanner buzzed for Kathy. "Send this article to Senator Van
Luven, with a note: 'Another global
warming update. Sincerely
* * *
THE WILTON HOTEL for Women was thirty-five minutes and a
world away from the Mandarin.
The Wilton was an attractive, modern-looking five-story
hotel. An elegant, dark green canopy
awning hung over the walkway leading to its entrance.
In the lobby, Kelly and Diane were registering under false
names. The woman behind the desk
handed Kelly a key. "Suite 424. Do you have luggage?"
"No, we—"
"It got lost," Diane cut in. "It will be here in the
morning. By the way, our husbands are picking us
up in a little while. Would you send them to our room
and—"
The clerk shook her head. "I'm sorry. Men are not allowed
upstairs."
"Oh?" Diane gave Kelly a complacent smile.
"If you wish to meet them down here—"
"Never mind. They'll just have to suffer without us."
* * *
SUITE 424 WAS beautifully appointed, with a living room
containing a couch, chairs, tables, and an armoire, and in
the bedroom two comfortable-looking double beds.
Diane looked around. "This is pleasant, isn't it?"
Kelly said acidly, "What are we doing—going for the
Guinness Book of World Records—a different
hotel every half hour?"
"Do you have a better plan?"
"This is no plan," Kelly said scornfully. "This is a game
of cat and mice, and we're the mice."
"Right. When you think about it, the head of the biggest
think tank in the world is out to murder us," Diane said.
"Then don't think about it."
"Easier said than done. There are enough eggheads at KIG
to make an omelet the size of Kansas."
"Well, we'll just have to out-think them."
Kelly frowned. "We need some kind of weapon. Do you know
how to use a gun?"
"No."
"Damn. Neither do I."
"It doesn't matter. We don't have one."
"How about karate?"
"No, but I was on the debating team in college," Diane
said dryly. "Maybe I can argue them out of
killing us."
"Sure."
Diane walked over to the window and looked out at the
traffic on Thirty-fourth Street. Suddenly,
her eyes widened and she gasped, "Oh!"
Kelly rushed to her side. "What is it? What did you see?"
Diane's throat was dry. "A—a man walked by. He looked just
like Richard. For a moment, I—"
She turned away from the window.
Kelly said contemptuously, "Would you like me to send for
the ghost catchers?"
Diane started to retort but stopped. What's the use? I'll
be rid of her soon.
Kelly looked at Diane and thought: Why don't you shut up
and go paint something.
* * *
FLINT WAS SPEAKING on his cell phone to a furious Tanner.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Kingsley. They
weren't in their room at the Mandarin. They were gone.
They must have known I was coming."
Tanner was apoplectic. "Those bitches want to play mind
games with me? With me? I'll call
you back." He slammed down the receiver.
* * *
ANDREW WAS LYING on the couch in his office, and his mind
drifted to the huge stage of the Stockholm concert hall. The
audience was cheering enthusiastically and shouting,
"Andrew!
Andrew!" The hall echoed with the sound of his name.
He could hear the audience applauding as he walked across
the stage to receive his award from King
Carl XVI Gustav of Sweden. As he reached for the Nobel
Prize, someone started cursing him.
"Andrew, you son of a bitch—get in here."
The Stockholm concert hall shimmered away and Andrew was
in his office. Tanner was calling him.
He needs me, Andrew thought happily. He slowly rose and
walked into his brother's office.
"I'm here," Andrew said.
"Yes, I see that," Tanner snapped. "Sit down."
Andrew took a chair.
"I have a few things to teach you, big brother. Divide and
conquer." There was a note of satisfaction
in Tanner's voice. "I have Diane Stevens thinking that the
Mafia killed her husband, and Kelly Harris
is worried about a nonexistent Olga. Understand?"
Andrew said vaguely, "Yes, Tanner."
Tanner patted his brother on the shoulder. "You're a
perfect sounding board for me, Andrew. There
are things I want to talk about that I can't discuss with
anyone else. But I can tell you anything, because you're too
stupid to understand." He looked into Andrew's vacant eyes.
"See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil." Tanner was
suddenly all-business. "We have a problem to solve. Two women
have disappeared. They know we're looking for them, to kill
them, and they're trying to stay out of sight. Where would
they go to hide, Andrew?"
Andrew looked at his brother for a moment. "I—I don't
know."
"There are two ways to find out. First, we'll try the
Cartesian method, logic, building our solution one
step at a time. Let's reason it out."
Andrew looked at him and said vacuously, "Whatever you
say. . ."
Tanner began to pace. "They won't return to the Stevens
apartment because that's too dangerous—
we're having it watched. We know that Kelly Harris doesn't
have any close friends in the States
because she's lived in Paris for so long, so she wouldn't
trust anyone here to protect her." He looked
at his brother. "Are you following me?"
Andrew blinked. "I—yes, Tanner."
"Now, would Diane Stevens go to friends for help? I don't
think so. It might jeopardize them. Another alternative is
for them to go to the police with their story, but they know
they would be laughed at. So, what could their next step be?"
He closed his eyes for a few seconds, then went on.
"Obviously they would have considered the airports and train
stations and bus stations, but they would know we're
having them watched. So where does that leave us?"
"I—I—whatever you say, Tanner."
"It leaves us with a hotel, Andrew. They need a hotel to
hide in. But what kind of hotel? These are
two terrified women running for their lives. You see, no
matter which one they choose, they'll figure
we might have connections there, and they'll be exposed.
They won't feel safe. Do you remember
Sonja Verbrugge in Berlin? We finessed her with that
instant message on her computer. She went to
the Artemisia Hotel because it was for women only, so she
thought she would be safe. Well, I think Mesdames Stevens and
Harris would feel the same way. So where would that leave
us?"
He turned to look at his brother again. Andrew's eyes were
closed. He was asleep. Furious, Tanner walked over to him and
slapped him hard across his face.
Andrew jerked awake. "What—?"
"Pay attention when I'm talking to you, you cretin."
"I—I'm sorry, Tanner. I was just—"
Tanner turned to a computer. "Now, let's see what women's
hotels there are in Manhattan."
Tanner did a quick search on the Internet and printed out
the results. He read the names aloud.
"The El Carmelo Residence on West Fourteenth Street. . .
Centro Maria Residence on West
Fifty-fourth Street. . . The Parkside Evangeline on
Gramercy South, and the Wilton Hotel for
Women." He looked up and smiled. "That's where Cartesian
logic tells us they might be, Andrew.
Now let's see what technology tells us."
Tanner walked over to the painting of a landscape on the
wall, reached behind it, and pressed a
concealed button. A section of the wall slid open,
revealing a television screen with a computerized
map of Manhattan.
"Do you remember what this is, Andrew? You used to operate
this equipment. In fact, you were so
good at it, I was jealous of you. It's a Global
Positioning System. With this, we can locate anyone in
the world. Remember?"
Andrew nodded, fighting to stay awake.
"When the ladies left my office, I gave each of them my
business card. The cards have microdot computer chips about
the size of a grain of sand imbedded in them. That signal is
picked up by satellite, and when the Global Positioning
System is activated, it pinpoints their exact location." He
turned to his brother. "Do you understand?"
Andrew swallowed. "I—I—yes, Tanner."
Tanner turned back to the screen. He pressed a second
button. Tiny lights began to flash on the map
and started downward. It slowed at a small area, then
flowed ahead again. A moving pinpoint of red
light swept along a street, going so slowly that the names
of businesses were clearly visible.
Tanner pointed. "That's West Fourteenth Street." The red
light kept moving. "There's the Tequila Restaurant... a
pharmacy. . . Saint Vincent's Hospital. . . Banana Republic .
. . Our Lady of Guadalupe Church." The light stopped. A note
of victory came into Tanner's voice. "And there's the Wilton
Hotel
for Women. That confirms my logic. I was right, you see."
Andrew licked his lips. "Yes. You were right. . ."
Tanner looked at Andrew. "You may go now." He picked up
his cell phone and dialed. "Mr. Flint,
they're at the Wilton Hotel on West Thirty-fourth Street."
He turned off the phone. He looked up
and saw Andrew standing in the doorway. "What is it?"
Tanner asked impatiently.
"Will I be going to—you know—Sweden, to pick up my Nobel
Prize they just gave me?"
"No, Andrew. That was seven years ago." "Oh." Andrew
turned and shuffled back to his office.
Tanner thought about his own urgent trip to Sweden, three
years earlier. . . .
* * *
HE HAD BEEN involved in a complicated logistics mishap
when his secretary's voice came over the intercom. "Zurich is
on the line for you, Mr. Kingsley."
"I'm too busy for—never mind. I'll talk to them." He
picked up the phone. "Yes?" As Tanner listened,
his face became grim. He said impatiently, "I see. . . .
Are you sure? She— No, never mind. I'll handle this myself."
He pressed down the intercom button. "Miss Ordonez, tell
the pilot to have the Challenger ready.
We're flying to Zurich. There will be two passengers."
* * *
MADELEINE SMITH WAS seated in a booth at La Rotonde, one
of the finest restaurants in Zurich.
She was in her early thirties, with a lovely oval face,
bobbed hair, and a beautiful complexion. She was visibly
pregnant.
Tanner walked over to the table, and Madeleine Smith stood
up.
Tanner Kingsley held out his hand. "Please, sit down." He
sat down opposite her.
"I am happy to meet you." She had a lilting Swiss accent.
"At first, when I got the call, I thought it
was a joke."
"Why?"
"Well, you are such an important man and when they said
you were coming to Zurich just to see me,
I could not imagine—"
Tanner smiled. "I'll tell you why I'm here. Because I've
heard that you are a brilliant scientist,
Madeleine. May I call you Madeleine?"
"Oh, please, Mr. Kingsley."
"At KIG, we treasure talent. You're the kind of person who
should be working for us, Madeleine.
How long have you been with Tokyo First Industrial?"
"Seven years."
"Well, seven is your lucky number, because I'm offering
you a job at KIG at twice what you're making now, and you'll
be in charge of your own department and—"
"Oh, Mr. Kingsley!" She was beaming.
"Are you interested, Madeleine?"
"Oh, yes! I am very interested. Of course I could not
start right now."
Tanner's expression changed. "What do you mean?"
"Well, I am having a baby and getting married. . . ."
Tanner smiled. "That's no problem. We'll handle
everything."
Madeleine Smith said, "But there is another reason I
cannot leave right now. I am working on a project
at our laboratory and we are just getting—we are almost at
the end of it."
"Madeleine, I don't know what your project is and I don't
care. But the fact is that the offer I just made must be
accepted immediately. In fact, I was hoping to fly you and
your fiance"—he smiled— "or
should I say your future husband—back to America with me."
"I could come as soon as the project is finished. Six
months, maybe a year."
Tanner was silent for a moment. "Are you sure there is no
way you can come now?"
"No. I am in charge of this project. It would be unfair
for me to walk out." She brightened.
"Next year—?"
Tanner smiled. "Absolutely."
"I am so sorry that you had to make this journey for
nothing."
Tanner said warmly, "It wasn't for nothing, Madeleine. I
got to meet you."
She blushed. "You are very kind."
"Oh, by the way, I brought you a gift. My associate will
bring it to your apartment tonight at six o'clock. His name
is Harry Flint."
* * *
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, the body of Madeleine Smith was
found on her kitchen floor. The
stove had been left on and the apartment was filled with
gas.
* * *
TANNER'S THOUGHTS CAME back to the present. Flint never
failed him. In a little while, Diane Stevens and Kelly Harris
would be disposed of, and with them out of the way, the
project could
ontinue.

CHAPTER 26

HARRY FLINT WALKED up to the reception desk of the Wilton
Hotel. "Hello."
"Hello." The clerk noticed the smile on his face. "Can I
help you?"
"Yes. My wife and her friend, an African-American, checked
in here a little while ago. I want to go
up and surprise them. What's their room number?"
The clerk said, "I'm sorry. This is a hotel for women,
sir. Men are not allowed upstairs. If you'd like
to phone—"
Flint glanced around the lobby. Unfortunately, it was
crowded. "Never mind," he said. "I'm sure
they'll be down soon."
Flint walked outside and dialed his cell phone. "They're
upstairs in their room, Mr. Kingsley. I can't
go up."
Tanner stood still a moment, concentrating. "Mr. Flint,
logic tells me that they will decide to separate.
I'm sending Carballo over to help you.
* * *
UPSTAIRS IN THEIR suite, Kelly turned the radio on to a
pop station, and the room was suddenly
filled with loud rap music.
"How can you listen to that?" Diane asked irritably.
"You don't like rap music?"
"That's not music. That's noise."
"You don't like Eminem? And what about LL Cool J and R.
Kelly and Ludacris?"
"Is that all you listen to?"
"No," Kelly said tartly. "I enjoy Berlioz's Symphonie
Fantastique, Chopin's etudes, and Handel's
Almira. I'm particularly fond of—"
Kelly watched Diane walk over to the radio and turn it
off. "What are we going to do when we run
out of hotels, Mrs. Stevens? Do you know anyone who can
help us?"
Diane shook her head. "Most of Richard's friends worked at
KIG, and our other friends—I can't get
any of them involved in this." She looked at Kelly. "What
about you?"
Kelly shrugged. "Mark and I lived in Paris for the past
three years. I don't know anyone here except
the people at the model agency, and I have a feeling they
wouldn't be a lot of help."
"Did Mark say why he was going to Washington?"
"No."
"Neither did Richard. I have a feeling that somehow that's
the key to why they were murdered."
"Great. We have the key. Where's the door?"
"We'll find it." Diane was thoughtful for a moment, then
her face lit up. "Wait a minute! I know
someone who might be able to help us." She went over to
the phone.
"Who are you calling?"
"Richard's secretary. She'll know what's been going on."
A voice at the other end of the phone said, "KIG."
"I'd like to speak to Betty Barker, please."
* * *
IN HIS OFFICE, Tanner watched the voice identification
blue light flash on. He pressed a switch
and heard the operator say, "Miss Barker is not at her
desk right now."
"Can you tell me how to reach her?"
"I'm sorry. If you'll give me your name and phone number,
I'll have her—"
"Never mind." Diane replaced the receiver.
The blue light went out.
* * *
DIANE TURNED TO Kelly. "I have a feeling Betty Barker
might be the door we're looking for.
I have to find a way to get to her." She frowned. "It's so
strange."
"What is?"
"A fortune-teller predicted this. She told me she saw
death around me, and—"
Kelly exclaimed, "No! And you didn't report it to the FBI
and the CIA?"
Diane glared at her a moment. "Never mind." More and more,
Kelly was getting on her nerves.
"Let's have dinner."
Kelly said, "I have to make a call first." She picked up
the telephone and dialed the hotel operator.
"I want to place a call to Paris." She gave the operator a
number and waited. After a few minutes,
Kelly's face brightened. "Hello, Philippe. How are you? .
. . Everything's fine here." She glanced
over at Diane. "Yes. ... I should be home in a day or two.
. . . How is Angel? . . . Oh, that's
wonderful. Does she miss me? . . . Would you put her on?"
Her voice changed to the tone adults use when talking to a
small child. "Angel, how are you, darling? . . . It's your
mama. Philippe says you
miss me. ... I miss you, too. I'll be home soon, and I'll
hold you and cuddle you, sweetheart."
Diane had turned to listen, puzzled.
"Good-bye, baby. All right, Philippe. . . . Thanks. I'll
see you soon. Au revoir."
Kelly saw Diane's bewildered expression. "I was talking to
my dog."
"Right. What did he have to say?"
"She. She's a bitch."
"That figures."
* * *
IT WAS TIME for dinner, but they were afraid to leave the
safety of their room. They ordered something from room
service.
The talk was desultory. Diane tried to make conversation
with Kelly, but it was hopeless.
"So, you've been living in Paris?"
"At."
"Yes."
"Was Mark French?"
"No."
"Were you married long?"
"No."
"How did you two meet?"
None of your damned business. "I don't really remember.
I've met so many men."
Diane studied Kelly. "Why don't you get rid of that wall
you've built around yourself?"
Kelly said tightly, "Did anyone ever tell you that walls
are to keep people out?"
"Sometimes they keep people locked in, and—"
"Look, Mrs. Stevens. Mind your own business. I was doing
fine until I met you. Let's drop it."
"Right." She's the coldest person I've ever met.
* * *
WHEN THEY HAD finished a silent dinner, Kelly announced,
"I'm going to take a shower."
Diane did not respond.
In the bathroom, Kelly shed her clothes, stepped into the
shower, and turned it on. The warm water against her
nakedness felt wonderful. She closed her eyes and let her
mind drift. . . .
She could hear Sam Meadows's words. You know, Mark s madly
in love with you. He wants to marry you. I hope he doesn't
get hurt. And Kelly knew that Sam Meadows was right. Kelly
enjoyed being
with Mark. He was fun, and thoughtful, and caring, and a
great friend. That was the catch. I think of
him only as a friend. That's not fair to him. I must stop
seeing him.
Mark had called the morning after the banquet. "Hello,
Kelly. What would you like to do tonight?"
Mark's voice was filled with anticipation. "Dinner and the
theater? Or there are some stores open
at night, and then there's—"
"I'm sorry, Mark. I'm—I'm busy tonight."
There was a brief silence. "Oh. I thought you and I had
a—"
"Well, we don't." And Kelly stood there, hating herself
for what she was doing to him. It's my fault
for letting it go this far.
"Oh, all right. I'll call you tomorrow."
* * *
HE CALLED THE next day. "Kelly, if I've offended you in
any way—
And Kelly had to steel herself to say, "I'm sorry, Mark.
I've— I've fallen in love with someone." She waited. The long
silence was unbearable.
"Oh." Mark's voice was shaky. "I understand. I—I should
have realized that we— Con—
congratulations. I really hope you'll be happy, Kelly.
Please say good-bye to Angel for me."
Mark hung up. Kelly stood there, holding the dead phone in
her hand, feeling miserable. He'll forget
me soon, Kelly thought, and find someone who can give him
the happiness he deserves.
* * *
KELLY WORKED EVERY day, smiling her way across runways and
hearing the applause of the crowds, but inside she was
saddened. Life was not the same without her friend. She was
constantly tempted to call him, but she resisted. I can't.
I've hurt him enough.
Several weeks went by, and Kelly did not hear from Mark.
He's out of my life. He's probably found someone else by now.
I'm glad. And she tried to mean it.
* * *
ON A SATURDAY afternoon, Kelly was working a fashion show
in an elegant room crowded with
the elite of Paris. She walked out onto the runway, and as
soon as she appeared, there was the usual acclaim. Kelly was
following a model wearing an afternoon suit and carrying a
pair of gloves. One of
the gloves slipped out of her hand and dropped onto the
runway. When Kelly saw it, it was too late.
She tripped on it and plummeted to the floor, falling on
her face. There was a gasp from the audience. Kelly lay
there, humiliated. Steeling herself not to cry, she took a
deep, shuddering breath, raised
herself up, and fled from the runway.
When Kelly reached the dressing room, the wardrobe
mistress said, "I have the evening gown ready
for you. You had better—"
Kelly was sobbing. "No. I—I can't go out there in front of
those people. They'll laugh at me." She was becoming
hysterical. "I'm through. I'm never going to go out there
again. Never!"
"Of course you are."
Kelly spun around. Mark was standing in the doorway.
"Mark! What—what are you doing here?"
"Oh, I—I've kind of been hanging around lately."
"You—you saw—what happened out there?"
Mark smiled. "It was wonderful. I'm glad it happened."
Kelly was staring at him. "Wh—what?"
He stepped close to her and took out a handkerchief to dry
her tears. "Kelly, before you walked out
there, the audience thought you were just a beautiful,
untouchable dream, a fantasy, out of reach.
When you tripped and fell, it showed them that you're
human, and they adored you for it. Now you
Go back out there and make them happy."
She looked into Mark's compassionate eyes, and that was
the moment Kelly realized she was in love
with him.
The wardrobe woman was putting the evening gown back on a
clothes rack.
"Give me that," Kelly said. She looked at Mark and smiled
through her tears.
Five minutes later, when Kelly confidently walked out on
the runway, there was a wave of thunderous applause and a
standing ovation from the audience. Kelly stood there facing
them, overwhelmed by emotion.
It was so wonderful to have Mark in her life again. She
remembered how nervous she had been in the beginning. ...
* * *
KELLY HAD BEEN tense, waiting for Mark to make a pass at
her, but he was always the perfect gentleman. His shyness
made her feel more confident. It was Kelly who began most of
the
conversations, and no matter what the subject was, she
found that Mark was knowledgeable and amusing.
One evening, Kelly said, "Mark, there's a great symphony
orchestra opening tomorrow night. Do
you like classical music?"
He nodded. "I grew up with it."
"Good. We'll go."
* * *
THE CONCERT WAS brilliant, and the audience enthusiastic.
On the way back to Kelly's apartment, Mark said, "Kelly,
I—I lied to you."
I should have known, Kelly thought. He's just like the
rest of them. It's over. She steeled herself for
his answer. "Did you?"
"Yes. I—I don't really like classical music."
Kelly bit her lip to keep from bursting out laughing.
On their next date, Kelly said, "I want to thank you for
Angel. She's great company." And so are you, Kelly thought.
Mark had the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen, and an
endearing, crooked, little
smile. She enjoyed his company tremendously and . . .
* * *
THE WATER WAS getting cold. Kelly turned off the shower,
toweled herself off, put on the hotel's
terry cloth robe, and went into the bedroom.
"It s all yours."
"Thanks."
Diane got up and stepped into the bathroom. It looked like
a storm had struck. Water had spilled onto
the floor, and towels were strewn all over the floor.
Angrily, Diane walked back into the bedroom. "The bathroom
is a mess. Are you used to having people pick up after you?"
Kelly smiled sweetly. "Yes, Mrs. Stevens. As a matter of
fact, I grew up with a lot of maids taking care
of me."
"Well, I'm not one of them."
You wouldn't qualify.
Diane took a deep breath. "I think it would be better if
we—"
"There's no 'we,' Mrs. Stevens. There's you and there's
me."
They stared at each other for a long moment. Then, without
another word, Diane turned and went
back into the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, when she
emerged, Kelly was in bed. Diane reached
for the switch to turn off the overhead light.
"No, don't touch that!" It was a scream.
Diane looked at Kelly, startled. "What?"
"Leave the lights on."
Diane asked scornfully, "Are you afraid of the dark?"
"Yes. I'm—I'm afraid of the dark."
Diane said patronizingly, "Why? Did your parents tell you
scary bogeyman stories when you were
a little girl?"
There was a long silence. "That's it."
Diane went to her own bed. She lay there for a minute,
then closed her eyes.
Richard, darling, I never believed that someone could die
of a broken heart. I believe it now. I need you so much. I
need you to guide me. I need your warmth and your love.
You're here somewhere, I know you are. I can feel you. You
're a gift that God loaned me, but not for long enough. Good
night, my guardian angel. Please don't ever leave me. Please.
In her bed, Kelly could hear Diane quietly sobbing.
Kelly's lips tightened. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
And tears began to roll down her cheeks.

CHAPTER 27

WHEN DIANE AWAKENED in the morning, Kelly was sitting in a
chair, facing a wall.
"Morning," Diane said. "Did you get some sleep?"
There was no response.
"We have to figure out what our next move is. We can't
stay here forever."
No response.
Exasperated, Diane said loudly, "Kelly, can you hear me?"
Kelly spun around in her chair. "Do you mind? I'm in the
middle of a mantra."
"Oh, sorry. I didn't—"
"Forget it." Kelly rose. "Did anyone ever tell you you
snore?"
Diane felt a small shock. She could hear Richard's voice
saying, on the first night they had slept together, Darling,
did you know you snore? Let me put it another way. It's not
really a snore. Your nose sings
delicious little melodies through the night like the music
of angels. And he had taken her in his arms and—
"Well, you do," Kelly said. She walked over to the
television set and turned it on. "Let's see what's happening
in the world." She began to channel surf and suddenly
stopped. A news show was on the
air, and the host was Ben Roberts. "It's Ben!" Kelly
exclaimed.
"Who's Ben?" Diane asked indifferently.
"Ben Roberts. He does the news and interview shows. He's
the only interviewer I really enjoy. He
and Mark became great friends. One day—" She suddenly
stopped.
Ben Roberts was saying:
". . . and in a bulletin just in, Anthony Altieri, the
purported Mafia head who was recently acquitted
in his murder trial, died this morning, of cancer. He
was.."
Kelly turned to Diane. "Did you hear that? Altieri's
dead."
Diane felt nothing. It was news from another world,
another time.
Diane looked at Kelly and said, "I think it would be
better if you and I split up. The two of us together
are too easy to spot."
"Right," Kelly said dryly. "We're the same height."
"I meant—"
"I know what you meant. But I could put on whiteface and—"
Diane was looking at her, puzzled.
"What?"
"Just kidding," Kelly said. "Splitting up is a great idea.
It's almost a plan, isn't it?"
"Kelly—"
"It's certainly been interesting knowing you, Mrs.
Stevens." Diane said curtly, "Let's check out of here."
* * *
THE LOBBY was crowded with a convention of women checking
in and half a dozen guests checking out. Kelly and Diane
waited in line.
Out on the street, looking into the lobby, Harry Flint saw
them and moved out of sight. He picked up
his cellular phone. "They just came down to the lobby."
"Good. Did Carballo get there, Mr. Flint?"
"Yes."
"Do exactly as I told you. Cover the entrance to the hotel
from both corners, so that no matter which
way they go, they're trapped. I want them to disappear
without a trace."
* * *
KELLY AND DIANE had finally reached the cashier's desk.
The cashier smiled. "I hope you've had
a pleasant stay here."
"Very pleasant, thank you," Diane said. We're still alive.
* * *
AS THEY WALKED to the lobby door, Kelly asked, "Do you
know where you're going now,
Mrs. Stevens?"
"No. I just want to get away from Manhattan. What about
you?"
I just want to get away from you. "Back to Paris."
The two of them stepped outside and carefully looked
around. There was the usual pedestrian traffic
and everything seemed normal.
"Good-bye, Mrs. Stevens," Kelly said, a note of relief in
her voice.
"Good-bye, Kelly."
Kelly turned to the left and started walking toward the
corner. Diane looked after her a moment, then turned to the
right and began walking in the other direction. They had
taken no more than half a dozen steps when Harry Flint and
Vince Carballo suddenly appeared at opposite ends of the
block. The expression on Carballo's face was vicious. Flint's
lips were turned up in a half-smile.
The two men began closing in on the women, pushing their
way through the pedestrians. Diane and
Kelly turned to look at each other, panicky. They had been
ambushed. They both hurried back toward the entrance of the
hotel, but the doorway was so crowded that there was no way
for them to get back inside. There was nowhere to go. The two
men were getting closer.
Kelly turned to Diane, and as she watched, stunned, Diane
smiled and waved cheerily at Flint and then
at Carballo.
"Have you gone crazy?" Kelly whispered.
Diane, still smiling, took out her cell phone and spoke
into it rapidly. "We're in front of the hotel
now. . . . Oh, good. You're around the corner?" She
grinned and gave a victory sign to Kelly.
"They'll be here in a minute," she said loudly. She looked
at Flint and Carballo and said into the phone, "No, there are
only two of them." Diane listened and then laughed. "Right. .
. . They're here? Okay."
As Kelly and the two men looked on, Diane stepped off the
curb into the street, scanning the oncoming cars. Diane
started signaling to an approaching car in the distance and
excitedly waved it over. Flint and Carballo had stopped,
puzzled by what was happening.
Diane pointed to the two men. "Over here," she shouted
into the oncoming traffic, waving wildly.
"Over here."
Flint and Carballo looked at each other and made a quick
decision. They turned back to where they
had come from and disappeared around the corners.
Kelly was staring at Diane, her heart pounding wildly.
"They're gone," she said. "Who—who were
you talking to?"
Diane took a deep breath to steady herself. "Nobody. My
battery is dead."

CHAPTER 28

KELLY WAS staring at Diane, dumbfounded. "That was great.
I wish I had thought of that."
Diane said dryly, "You will."
"What are you going to do now?"
"Get out of Manhattan."
"How?" Kelly asked. "They're going to be watching all the
train stations—airports, bus stations,
car rental—"
Diane thought for a moment. "We can go to Brooklyn. They
won't be looking there."
"Fine," Kelly said. "Go ahead."
"What?"
"I'm not going with you."
Diane started to say something and then changed her mind.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, Mrs. Stevens."
Diane said, "Well, then, we— Good-bye."
"Good-bye."
Kelly watched as Diane hailed a taxi and started to enter
it. Kelly stood there, hesitant, trying to make
a decision. She was standing alone on an unfamiliar
street, with nowhere to go, and no one to go to.
The taxi door closed, and the cab started to move.
"Wait!" Kelly shouted.
The taxi stopped. Kelly hurried up to it.
Diane opened the door, and Kelly stepped in and settled
back in her seat.
"What made you change your mind?"
"I just realized I've never seen Brooklyn."
Diane looked at Kelly a moment and shook her head.
The driver asked, "Where to?"
"Take us to Brooklyn, please," Diane said.
The taxi started. "Anyplace special?"
"Just drive around."
Kelly looked at Diane incredulously. "You don't know where
we're going?"
"I'll know when we get there."
Why did I come back? Kelly was asking herself.
During the ride, the two of them sat silent, side by side.
In twenty minutes, they were crossing the Brooklyn Bridge.
"We're looking for a hotel," Diane told the driver. "I'm
not sure which—"
"You want a nice hotel, lady? I know just the one. It's
called the Adams. You'll like it."
* * *
THE ADAMS HOTEL was a five-story brick building with a
canopy in front and a doorman in attendance.
When the taxi pulled up at the curb, the driver asked,
"Does this look okay?"
Diane said, "This looks fine."
Kelly said nothing.
They got out of the taxi, and the doorman greeted them.
"Good day, ladies. Are you checking in?"
Diane nodded. "Yes."
"Do you have luggage?"
Diane said glibly, "The airline lost our bags. Is there
anyplace around here where we can shop and
pick up some clothes?"
"There's a very nice ladies' shop at the end of the block.
Perhaps you would like to check in here first. Then we can
have your things sent directly to your room."
"Fine. Are you sure they'll have a room for us here?"
"This time of the year, there's no problem."
* * *
THE CLERK BEHIND the hotel desk proffered registration
forms. As Kelly signed hers, she said
aloud, "Emily Bronte."
Diane glanced at the clerk to see if there was any
recognition on his face. Nothing.
Diane wrote: Mary Cassatt.
The clerk took their registration cards. "And do you wish
to pay by credit card?"
"Yes, we—"
"No," Diane interrupted quickly.
Kelly looked at her and reluctantly nodded.
"Luggage?"
"It's coming. We'll be back."
"You'll have suite 515."
The clerk watched them walk out the door. Two real
beauties. And alone. What a waste.
* * *
THE FOR MADAME shop was a cornucopia. There were women's
clothes of every description,
and a leather section with handbags and suitcases.
Kelly looked around and said, "It looks like we've lucked
out."
A saleslady walked up to them. "May I help you?"
"We're just browsing," Diane told her.
The saleslady watched as they started walking through the
store.
"Look!" said Kelly. "Stockings." She grabbed half a dozen
pairs. Diane followed suit.
"Panty hose ..." Bras, blips.
Soon their arms were laden with lingerie.
The saleslady hurried over. "Let me help you."
"Thank you."
The saleswoman relieved them of their burdens.
Diane and Kelly began to move down the aisles.
Kelly was examining a rack of slacks. She selected four
pairs and turned to Diane. "No telling when
we're going to be able to shop again."
Diane picked out some slacks and a striped summer dress.
"You can't wear that," Kelly said. "Stripes will make you
look fat."
Diane started to put it back, then looked at Kelly and
handed the dress to the saleslady. "I'll take this."
* * *
THE SALESWOMAN WATCHED in amazement as Kelly and Diane
went through the rest of the
racks. By the time they had finished, their selections
filled four suitcases.
Kelly looked at them and grinned. "That should hold us for
a while."
When they went to the cashier, she asked, "Will that be
cash or credit card?"
"Credit—"
"Cash," Diane said.
Kelly and Diane opened their purses and divided the bill.
They both had the same thought: Cash is running low.
Kelly said to the cashier, "We're staying at the Adams. I
wonder if you could—"
"Have your things delivered? Certainly. Your names?"
Kelly hesitated a moment. "Charlotte Bronte."
Diane looked at her and said quickly, "Emily. Emily
Bronte."
Kelly remembered. "Right."
The cashier was watching them, a confused expression on
her face. She turned to Diane. "And your name?"
"I—er—" Diane's mind was spinning. What name had she
signed? Georgia O'Keeffe . . . Frida
Kahlo . . . Joan Mitchell?
"Her name is Mary Cassatt," Kelly said.
The cashier swallowed. "Of course."
* * *
NEXT TO THE For Madame shop was a drugstore. "We're in
luck again." Diane smiled.
They hurried inside and began a second shopping spree.
"Mascara."
"Blush."
"Toothbrushes."
"Toothpaste."
"Tampons and panty liners."
"Lipstick."
"Hair clips."
"Powder."
* * *
BY THE TIME Diane and Kelly arrived back at their hotel,
the four suitcases had already been
delivered to their room.
Kelly stared at them. "I wonder which are yours and which
are mine?'
"It doesn't matter," Diane assured her. "We're going to be
here for maybe a week or more, so we
might as well just put everything away."
"I suppose so."
They began busily hanging up dresses and slacks, putting
their lingerie in drawers, and placing their
toilet articles in the bathroom.
When the suitcases were emptied and everything had been
put in place, Diane took off her shoes and dress and
gratefully sank down on one of the beds.
"This feels wonderful." She sighed contentedly. "I don't
know about you, but I'm having dinner in bed. Then I'm going
to take a nice, long, hot bath. I'm not moving from here."
A pleasant-faced, uniformed maid knocked and came into the
suite, carrying an armful of fresh towels.
Two minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom. "If
there's anything you need, please ring for me. Have a good
evening."
"Thank you." Kelly watched her leave.
Diane was browsing through a house magazine she had picked
up at her bedside. "Do you know what year this hotel was
built?"
"Get dressed," Kelly said. "We're leaving."
"It was built in—"
"Get dressed. We're getting out of here."
Diane looked up at her. "Is this some kind of joke?"
"No. Something terrible is going to happen." There was
panic in her voice.
Diane sat up, alarmed. "What's going to happen?"
"I don't know. But we have to get out of here, or we're
both going to die."
Her fear was contagious, but it made no sense.
"Kelly, you're not being reasonable. If—"
"I'm begging you, Diane."
Thinking about it later, Diane never knew whether she gave
in because of the urgency in Kelly's voice
or because it was the first time Kelly had called her
Diane.
"All right." Diane got up. "We'll pack our clothes and—"
"No! Leave everything."
Diane looked at Kelly in disbelief. "Leave everything? We
just bought—"
"Hurry! Now!"
"All right." As Diane was reluctantly dressing, she
thought, I hope she knows what she's doing. If—
"Quick!" It was a strangled scream.
Diane hurriedly finished dressing.
"Faster!"
They grabbed their purses and hurried out the door.
I must be as crazy as she is, Diane thought resentfully.
When they reached the lobby, Diane found herself running
to keep up with Kelly. "Would you mind telling me where we're
going?"
Outside, Kelly looked around. "There's a park across the
street from the hotel. I—I need to sit down."
Exasperated, Diane followed Kelly into the park. They took
seats on a bench.
Diane said, "What are we doing?"
At that instant, there was a tremendous explosion inside
the hotel, and from where they sat, Diane and Kelly could see
windows being blown out of the room they had been occupying,
with debris flying through the air.
In stunned disbelief, Diane watched what was happening.
"That—that was a bomb"—terror crept into her voice—"in our
room." She turned to Kelly.
"How—how did you know?"
"The maid."
Diane looked at her, puzzled. "What about her?"
Kelly said quietly, "Hotel maids don't wear
four-hundred-dollar Manolo Blahnik shoes."
Diane was finding it difficult to breathe. "How—how could
they have found us?"
"I don't know," Kelly said. "But remember who we're
dealing with."
They both sat there, filled with dread.
"Did Tanner Kingsley give you anything when you were in
his office?" Diane asked.
Kelly shook her head. "No. Did he give you anything?"
"No."
They realized it at the same instant.
"His card!"
They opened their purses and took out the business cards
Tanner Kingsley had given them.
Diane tried to break hers in half. It would not bend.
"There's some kind of chip inside," she said, furious.
Kelly tried to bend her card. "In mine, too. That's how
the bastards have been tracking us."
Diane took Kelly's card and said angrily, "Not anymore."
Kelly watched as Diane stepped out onto the road and threw
the cards down on the street. Within minutes, they had been
run over by a dozen cars and trucks.
In the distance, the sounds of approaching sirens were
filling the air.
Kelly stood up. "We'd better get away from here, Diane.
Now that they can't track us anymore,
we'll be all right. I'm going back to Paris. What will you
do?"
"Try to figure out why this is happening."
"Be careful."
"You, too." Diane hesitated a moment. "Kelly—thanks. You
saved my life."
Embarrassed, Kelly said, "I feel bad about something. I
lied to you.
"You did?"
"You know what I said about your painting?"
"Yes."
"I really liked it—a lot. You're good."
Diane smiled. "Thanks. I'm afraid I've been pretty rude to
you."
"Diane?"
"Yes?"
"I never grew up with maids."
Diane laughed, and the two of them embraced.
"I'm glad we met," Diane said warmly. So am I.
They stood there, looking at each other, finding it
difficult to say good-bye.
"I have an idea," Diane said. "If you need me, here's my
cell phone number." She wrote it on a
piece of paper.
"Here's mine," Kelly replied, and gave it to Diane.
"Well, good-bye again."
Diane said haltingly, "Yeah. I— Good-bye, Kelly."
Diane watched Kelly walk away. At the corner, she turned
and waved. Diane waved back. As Kelly disappeared, Diane
looked up at the blackened hole that was to have been their
tomb, and she felt
a chill.

CHAPTER 29

KATHY ORDONEZ WALKED into Tanner Kingsley's office with
the morning newspapers and
said, "It's happening again." She handed him the
newspapers. They all had banner headlines:
FOG DISRUPTS MAJOR GERMAN CITIES
ALL SWISS AIRPORTS CLOSED BY FOG
DEATH TOLL RISES FROM FOG IN ROME
Kathy said, "Shall I send these to Senator Van Luven?"
"Yes. Right away," Tanner said grimly. Kathy hurried out
of his office.
Tanner looked at his wristwatch and smiled. The bomb must
have gone off by now. The two bitches
have finally been disposed of.
His secretary's voice came over the intercom. "Mr.
Kingsley, Senator Van Luven is on the line for
you. Do you wish to take it?"
"Yes." Tanner picked up the phone. "Tanner Kingsley."
"Hello, Mr. Kingsley. This is Senator Van Luven."
"Good afternoon, Senator."
"My assistants and I happen to be near your headquarters,
and I wondered if it would be convenient
for you if we dropped in for a visit."
"Absolutely," Tanner said enthusiastically. "I would be
very happy to show you around, Senator."
"Fine. We'll be there shortly."
Tanner pressed the intercom button. "I'm expecting some
visitors in a few minutes. Hold all my calls."
He thought about the obituary he had seen in the
newspapers a few weeks earlier. Senator Van Luven's husband
had died of a heart attack. I'll offer my condolences.
* * *
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Senator Van Luven and her two
attractive young assistants arrived.
Tanner rose to greet them. "I'm delighted you decided to
come."
Senator Van Luven nodded. "You remember Corinne Murphy and
Karolee Trost."
Tanner smiled. "Yes. It's nice to see you both again." He
turned to the senator. "I heard about your husband's passing
away. I'm terribly sorry."
Senator Van Luven nodded. "Thank you. He had been ill for
a long time, and finally, a few weeks
ago . . ." She forced a smile. "By the way, the
information on global warming that you've been
sending me is very impressive."
"Thank you."
"Would you like to show us what you're doing here?"
"Of course. How much of a tour would you like? We have a
five-hour tour, a four-hour tour, and
an hour-and-a-half tour."
Corinne Murphy grinned. "It would be nice to take the
five—"
Senator Van Luven interrupted. "We'll settle for the
hour-and-a-half tour."
"My pleasure."
"How many people work at KIG?" Senator Van Luven asked.
"Approximately two thousand. KIG has offices in a dozen
major countries all over the world."
Corinne Murphy and Karolee Trost looked impressed.
"We have five hundred employees in these buildings. The
staff members and the research fellows
have separate quarters. Every scientist employed here has
a minimum IQ of one hundred sixty."
Corinne Murphy gushed, "They're geniuses."
Senator Van Luven gave her a disapproving look.
"Follow me, please," Tanner said.
* * *
THE SENATOR AND Murphy and Trost followed Tanner through a
side door into one of the
adjoining buildings. He led them into a room crammed with
esoteric-looking equipment.
Senator Van Luven walked up to one of the odd-looking
machines and asked, "What does this do?"
"That's a sound spectrograph, Senator. It converts the
sound of a voice into a voiceprint. It can
recognize thousands of different voices."
Trost frowned. "How does it do that?"
"Think of it this way. When a friend calls you on the
telephone, you instantly recognize the voice
because that sound pattern is etched in your brain
circuit. We program this machine the same way.
An electronic filter allows only a certain band of
frequencies to get through to the recorder, so that
we have only the distinguishable features of that person's
voice."
The rest of the tour became a fascinating montage of giant
machines and miniature electronic
microscopes and chemical laboratories; rooms with
blackboards filled with mysterious symbols, labs
with a dozen scientists working together, and offices
where a single scientist was absorbed in trying
to solve some arcane problem.
They passed a redbrick building with a double set of locks
on the door.
Senator Van Luven asked, "What's in there?"
"Some secret government research. Sorry, it's out of
bounds, Senator."
The tour took two hours. When it was over, Tanner escorted
the three women back to his office.
"I hope you enjoyed it," Tanner said.
Senator Van Luven nodded. "It was interesting."
"Very interesting." Corinne Murphy smiled. Her eyes were
on Tanner.
"I loved it!" exclaimed Karolee Trost.
Tanner turned to Senator Van Luven. "By the way, have you
had a chance to discuss with your colleagues the
environmental problem we talked about?"
The senator's voice was noncommittal. "Yes." "Would you
tell me what you think the chances are, Senator?" "This is
not a guessing game, Mr. Kingsley. There will be more
discussions. I'll let you
know when it's been decided."
Tanner managed a smile. "Thank you. Thank you all for
dropping by."
He watched them leave.
* * *
AS THE DOOR closed behind them, Kathy Ordonez's voice came
over the intercom. "Mr. Kingsley, Saida Hernandez has been
trying to reach you. She said it was urgent, but you told me
to hold your
calls."
"Get her for me," Tanner said.
Saida Hernandez was the woman he had sent to the Adams
Hotel to plant the bomb. Line one.
Tanner picked up the phone, anticipating the good news.
"All went well, Saida?"
"No. I'm sorry, Mr. Kingsley." He could hear the fear in
her voice. "They got away."
Tanner's body went stiff. "They what?"
"Yes, sir. They left before the bomb went off. A bellman
saw them rush out of the hotel lobby."
Tanner slammed the phone down. He buzzed his secretary.
"Send Flint and Carballo in here."
A minute later, Harry Flint and Vince Carballo walked into
Tanner's office.
Tanner turned to the two men. He was in a towering rage.
"The bitches got away again. That's the
last time I will allow that to happen. Do you understand?
I'm going to tell you where they are, and
you're going to take care of them. Any questions?"
Flint and Carballo looked at each other. "No, sir."
Tanner pressed a button that revealed the electronic city
map. "As long as they have the cards that
I gave them, we can track them down."
They watched the electronic lights appear on the
television screen map. Tanner pressed a button.
The lights did not move.
Tanner gritted his teeth. "They've gotten rid of their
cards." His face got redder. He turned to Flint
and Carballo. "I want them killed today."
Flint looked at Tanner, puzzled. "If we don't know where
they are, how can we—?"
Tanner cut in. "Do you think I'd let a woman outwit me
that easily? As long as they have their cell phones, they're
not going anywhere without telling us."
"You could get hold of their cell phone numbers?" Flint
asked, surprised.
Tanner did not bother to reply. He was examining the map.
"By now they've probably separated."
He pressed another switch. "Let's try Diane Stevens
first." Tanner punched in a number.
The lights on the map started to move and began to slowly
focus on Manhattan streets, panning
across hotels, shops, and banks. Finally, the moving
lights stopped at a building with a sign that
read NELSON GALLERY.
"Diane Stevens is in a gallery." Tanner pressed another
button. "Let's see where Kelly Harris is."
Tanner began to repeat the same procedure. The lights
started moving again, this time focusing
on a different part of the city.
The men watched as the lighted area narrowed down to a
street with a clothing store, a restaurant,
a drugstore, and a bus station. The lights scanned the
area and suddenly stopped in front of a large,
open building.
"Kelly Harris is at a bus station." Tanner's voice was
grim. "We've got to catch them both, fast."
"How?" Carballo asked. "They're at opposite ends of town.
By the time we got there, they'd be gone."
Tanner turned. "Come with me." He headed for an adjoining
room, Flint and Carballo close behind
him. The room they entered had an array of monitors,
computers, and electronic keyboards with color-coded keys. On
a shelf was a small squat machine, with dozens of compact
discs and DVDs. Tanner looked through them and slipped one
labeled diane stevens inside the machine.
He explained to the men: "This is a voice synthesizer. The
voices of Diane Stevens and Kelly Harris
were digitized earlier.
The patterns of their speech have been recorded and
analyzed. With the press of a button, every word
I say is calibrated to duplicate their voices." Tanner
picked up a cell phone and pressed some numbers.
There was a cautious "Hello?" It was Kelly Harris's voice.
"Kelly! I'm so glad I found you." It was Tanner speaking,
but it was Diane Stevens's voice that they heard.
"Diane! You caught me just in time. I'm on my way out of
here."
Flint and Carballo were listening in wonder.
"Where are you going, Kelly?"
"To Chicago. I'm taking a plane home, out of O'Hare."
"Kelly, you can't leave now."
There was a moment of silence. "Why?"
"Because I found out what's really happening. I know who
killed our husbands and why."
"Oh, my God! How did— Are you sure?"
"Positive. I have all the proof we need."
"Diane, that's—that's wonderful."
"I have the proof with me. I'm at the Delmont Hotel, in
penthouse A. From here I'm going to the FBI.
I wanted you to go with me, but if you have to go home, I
understand."
"No, no! I—I want to help finish what Mark was trying to
do."
Flint and Carballo were listening to every word, riveted.
In the background, they could hear the station announcement
for the bus to Chicago.
"I'll go with you, Diane. You said the Delmont Hotel?"
"Yes, on Eighty-sixth Street. Penthouse A."
"I'm on my way. See you in a little while."
The connection was broken.
Tanner turned to Flint and Carballo. "Half the problem is
solved. Now we'll take care of the other half."
Flint and Carballo watched as Tanner inserted another
compact disc labeled kelly Harris into the synthesizer.
Tanner moved a switch on the phone and pressed some numbers.
Diane's voice came on almost immediately. "Hello . . ."
Tanner spoke into the phone, but it was Kelly's voice they
heard.
"Diane—"
"Kelly! Are you all right?"
"I'm wonderful. I have some exciting news. I found out who
killed our husbands and why."
"What? Who—who—?"
"We can't discuss this on the phone, Diane. I'm at the
Delmont Hotel, on Eighty-sixth Street,
penthouse A. Can you meet me here?"
"Of course. I'll come right over."
"Wonderful, Diane. I'll be waiting."
Tanner clicked off the set and turned to Flint. "You'll be
waiting." He handed Flint a key. "This is the
key to penthouse A. It's our company suite. Get there
right away and wait for them. I want you to
kill them as soon as they walk in the door. I'll see to it
that the bodies are taken care of."
Carballo and Tanner watched Flint turn and hurry out the
door.
Carballo said, "What would you like me to do, Mr.
Kingsley?"
"Take care of Saida Hernandez."
* * *
WAITING INSIDE PENTHOUSE A, Flint was determined that this
time nothing would go wrong.
He had heard of bunglers that Tanner had disposed of. Not
me, Flint thought. He took out his gun, checked the barrel,
and screwed on the silencer. All he had to do now was wait.
In a taxi six blocks from the Delmont Hotel, Kelly
Harris's mind was racing with excitement over what Diane had
told her. I know who killed our husbands and why. . . . I
have all the proof we need. Mark, I'm going to make them pay
for what they did to you.
* * *
DIANE WAS IN a fever of impatience. The nightmare was at
an end. Somehow Kelly had discovered who was behind the plot
to kill them and she had proof. I'm going to make you proud
of me, Richard.
I feel you near me, and—
Diane's thoughts were interrupted by the taxi driver.
"We're here, lady. Delmont Hotel."

CHAPTER 30

AS DIANE WALKED through the Delmont Hotel lobby, toward
the elevators, her heart began to
beat faster. She could not wait to hear what Kelly had
learned.
An elevator door opened and the passengers moved out.
"Going up?"
"Yes." Diane stepped inside. "The penthouse, please." Her
mind was racing. What project could our husbands have been
working on that was so secret that they were murdered? And
how had Kelly
found the answer?
People began to crowd in. The elevator door closed and it
started to rise. Diane had seen Kelly
only a few hours ago, and to her surprise, she found that
she missed her.
Finally, after half a dozen stops, the elevator operator
opened the door and said, "Penthouse floor."
* * *
INSIDE THE LIVING room of penthouse A, Flint waited close
to the door, trying to listen for sounds
in the hallway. The problem was that the door was
unusually thick, and Flint knew why. It was not to keep
sounds out. It was to keep them in.
Boardroom meetings were held in the penthouse suite, but
Flint liked to joke that no one was ever
bored. Three times a year, Tanner invited KIG managers
from a dozen countries. When the business meetings were
adjourned, a bevy of beautiful girls was brought in to
entertain the men. Flint had been
a guard at several of the orgies, and now, as he stood
there, thinking about the sea of naked, nubile
bodies moaning and thrashing about on the beds and
couches, he began to get an erection. Flint
grinned. The ladies would take care of it soon.
Harry Flint did not consider himself a necrophiliac. He
had never killed a woman in order to have
sex with her. But if she were already dead . . .
* * *
AS DIANE STEPPED out of the elevator, she asked, "Which
way is penthouse A?"
"It's to the left, at the end of the corridor. But there's
no one there."
Diane turned. "What?"
"That penthouse is only used for board meetings, and the
next one isn't until September."
Diane smiled. "I'm not going to a board meeting. I'm
seeing a friend who's waiting for me."
The elevator operator watched as Diane turned left and
walked toward penthouse A. He shrugged,
closed the elevator door, and started down.
As Diane was approaching the door to the penthouse, she
began to walk faster, her excitement
starting to build.
* * *
INSIDE PENTHOUSE A, Flint was waiting for the knock on the
door. Which one of them will get
here first—the blonde or the black chick? It doesn't
matter. I'm not prejudiced.
Flint thought he heard someone approaching the door, and
he tightened his grip on the gun.
* * *
KELLY WAS FIGHTING to control her impatience. Getting to
the Delmont Hotel had been a series
of delays: traffic . . . red lights . . . road repairs . .
. She was late. She hurried through the lobby of the hotel
and got into an elevator. "Penthouse, please."
* * *
ON THE FIFTIETH floor, as Diane approached penthouse A,
the door to the neighboring suite
opened and a bellman came out, backing into the corridor,
pulling a large cart filled with luggage,
blocking Diane's passage.
"I'll have this out of your way in a minute," he
apologized.
The bellman returned to the suite and came out with two
more suitcases. Diane tried to squeeze by,
but there was no room.
The bellman said, "All set. Sorry for the delay." He moved
the luggage cart out of the way.
Diane walked over to penthouse A and raised her hand to
knock on the door when a voice down
the hall said, "Diane!"
Diane turned. Kelly had just stepped out of an elevator.
"Kelly—!"
Diane hurried back down the hall to meet her.
* * *
INSIDE THE PENTHOUSE, Harry Flint was listening. Was
someone out there? He could have opened the door to see, but
that would have ruined the plan. Kill them as soon as they
walk in the door.
In the corridor, Kelly and Diane were hugging, delighted
to see each other.
Kelly said, "Sorry I'm late, Diane, but the traffic was
terrible. You caught me just as my bus was
leaving for Chicago."
Diane looked at Kelly, puzzled. "I caught you—?"
"I was just getting on my bus when you called."
There was a momentary silence. "Kelly—I didn't call you.
You called me. To tell me that you had
the evidence we needed to—" She saw the stricken look on
Kelly's face.
"I didn't—"
They both turned to look at penthouse A.
Diane took a deep breath. "Let's—"
"Right."
They raced down one flight of stairs, got into an
elevator, and were out of the hotel in three minutes.
Inside the penthouse, Harry Flint was looking at his
watch. What's keeping the bitches?
* * *
DlANE AND KELLY were seated in a crowded subway car.
"I don't know how they did it," Diane said. "It was your
voice."
"And it was your voice. They're not going to stop until
they kill us. They're like octopi with a thousand bloody arms
that they want to wrap around our necks."
"They have to catch us before they can kill us," Diane
said.
"How could they have found us this time? We got rid of
Kingsley's business cards, and we have
nothing else that they—"
They looked at each other, then looked at their cell
phones.
Kelly said wonderingly, "But how could they have found out
our phone numbers?"
"Don't ask. Anyway, this is probably the safest place in
New York. We can stay on the subway
until—" Diane glanced across the aisle and her face paled.
"We're getting out of here," she said
urgently. "Next stop."
"What? You just said—?"
Kelly followed Diane's eyes. On the advertising strip that
ran above the windows was a photograph
of a smiling Kelly, holding up a beautiful ladies' watch.
"Oh, my God!"
They rose and hurried to the door, waiting for the next
stop. Two uniformed marines, seated nearby, were ogling them.
Kelly smiled at the men as she took Diane's cell phone and
her own and handed one to each marine. "We'll call you."
And the women were gone.
* * *
IN PENTHOUSE A, the telephone rang. Flint snatched it up.
Tanner said, "It's been over an hour. What's going on, Mr.
Flint?"
"They never showed up."
"What?"
"I've been here all the time, waiting."
"Get back to the office." Tanner slammed the receiver
down.
* * *
IN THE BEGINNING, this had been a routine bit of business
that Tanner had to dispose of. Now it
had become personal. Tanner picked up his cell phone and
dialed Diane's cell number.
One of the marines to whom Kelly had given their cell
phones answered. "There you are, baby.
How would you two like to have a big treat tonight?"
The bitches have gotten rid of their phones.
* * *
IT WAS A cheap-looking boardinghouse on a small street on
the West Side. When the taxi started
to pass it and Diane and Kelly saw the sign vacancy, Diane
said, "You can stop here, driver."
The women got out and walked up to the front door of the
house.
The landlady, who opened the door, was a pleasant,
middle-aged woman named Alexandra Upshaw.
"I can give you a very nice room for forty dollars a
night, with breakfast."
Diane said, "That will be fine." She looked at Kelly's
expression. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing." Kelly closed her eyes for an instant. This
boarding-house had nothing to do with the boardinghouse she
had been brought up in, cleaning toilets and cooking for
strangers and listening to
the sounds of her drunken stepfather beating her mother.
She managed a smile. "It's okay."
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Tanner was in a meeting with Flint and
Carballo. "They've disposed of my business cards," Tanner
said, "and they've gotten rid of their phones."
Flint said, "So, we've lost them."
Tanner said, "No, Mr. Flint, not while I'm alive. We're
not going after them. They're coming to us."
The two men looked at each other, then back at Tanner.
"What?"
"Diane Stevens and Kelly Harris will be here at KIG Monday
morning at eleven-fifteen."

CHAPTER 31

KELLY AND DIANE awakened at the same time. Kelly sat up in
bed and looked over at Diane.
"Good morning. How did you sleep?"
"I had some crazy dreams."
"So did I." Diane hesitated. "Kelly—when you got off the
elevator at the hotel, just as I started to
knock at the door of the penthouse—do you think that was a
coincidence?"
"Of course. And lucky for both of us that—" Kelly looked
at Diane's face. "What do you mean?"
Diane said carefully, "We've been very lucky so far. I
mean, very lucky. It's as though—as though someone, or
something, is helping us, guiding us."
Kelly's eyes were fastened on her. "You mean—like a
guardian angel?"
"Yes."
Kelly said patiently, "Diane, I know that you believe in
those things, but I don't. I know I don't have
an angel on my shoulder."
Diane said, "You just don't see it yet."
Kelly rolled her eyes. "Right."
"Let's get some breakfast," Diane suggested. "It's safe
here. I think we're out of danger."
Kelly grunted. "If you think we're out of danger, you
don't know anything about boardinghouse breakfasts. Let's get
dressed and eat out. I think I saw a diner at the corner."
"All right. I have to make a call." Diane walked over to
the telephone and called a number.
An operator came on. "KIG."
"I'd like to speak to Betty Barker."
"Just a moment, please."
Tanner had seen the blue light and was listening in on the
conference line.
"Miss Barker is not at her desk. Can I take a message?"
"Oh. No, thanks."
Tanner frowned. Too quick to put out a trace.
* * *
DIANE TURNED TO Kelly. "Betty Barker is still working at
KIG, so we'll just have to find a way
to get to her."
"Maybe her home number is listed in the telephone
directory."
Diane said, "It could be, and the line could be tapped."
She picked up the directory next to the
telephone and skimmed to the letter she was looking for.
"She is listed."
Diane dialed a number, listened, and slowly replaced the
receiver.
Kelly walked over to her. "What's the matter?"
It took Diane a moment to answer. "Her phone has been
disconnected."
Kelly took a deep breath. "I think I want a shower."
* * *
AS KELLY FINISHED her shower and started to leave the
bathroom, she realized that she had left towels on the floor.
She hesitated a moment, then picked them up and put them
neatly on the rack.
She walked into the bedroom. "All yours."
Diane nodded absently. "Thanks."
The first thing Diane noticed when she walked into the
bathroom was that all the used towels had
been placed back on the rack. Diane smiled.
She stepped into the shower and let the warm water soothe
her. She remembered how she used to shower with Richard, and
how good their bodies felt touching each other. . . . Never
again. But the memories would always be there. Always . . .
* * *
THERE WERE THE flowers.
"They're beautiful, darling. Thank you. What are we
celebrating?"
"Saint Swithin's Day."
And more flowers.
"Washington Crossing the Delaware Day."
"National Parakeet Day."
"Celery Lovers' Day."
When the note with the roses said "Leaping Lizards' Day,"
Diane had laughed and said,
"Sweetheart, lizards don't leap."
And Richard had put his head in his hands and said, "Damn
it! I was misinformed."
And he loved to write love poems to her. When Diane was
getting dressed, she would find one in
her shoes, or in a bra, or in a jacket. . . .
And there was the time he had come home from work and she
was standing inside the door, completely naked, except for a
pair of high-heeled shoes. And she had said, "Darling, do you
like these shoes?"
And his clothes had dropped to the floor and dinner was
delayed. They—
Kelly's voice called out, "Are we going to have breakfast
or dinner?"
* * *
THEY WERE WALKING to the restaurant. The day was cool and
clear, and the sky was a
translucent blue.
"Blue skies," Diane said. "A good omen."
Kelly bit her lip to keep from laughing. Somehow, Diane's
superstitions seemed endearing.
A few doors from the diner, Diane and Kelly passed a small
boutique. They looked at each other, grinned, and walked
inside.
A saleslady approached them. "May I help you?"
Kelly said enthusiastically, "Yes."
Diane warned, "Let's take it easy. Remember what happened
the last time."
"Right. No spree."
The two of them went through the store, picking out a
modest number of necessities. They left their
old clothes in the dressing room.
"Don't you want to take these?" the saleslady asked.
Diane smiled. "No. Give them to Goodwill."
* * *
ON THE CORNER was a convenience store. "Look," Kelly said,
"disposable cell phones."
Kelly and Diane went inside and purchased two of them,
each equipped with a thousand prepaid
minutes.
Kelly said, "Let's exchange phone numbers again."
Diane smiled. "Right." It only took a few seconds.
On their way out, as Diane was paying the cashier, she
looked into her purse. "I'm really beginning to
run out of cash."
"So am I," Kelly said.
"We may have to start using our credit cards," Diane said.
"Not until we find the magic rabbit hole."
"What?"
"Never mind."
* * *
WHEN THEY WERE seated at a table in the diner, the
waitress asked, "What can I get you, ladies?"
Kelly turned to Diane. "You first."
"I'm going to have some orange juice, bacon and eggs, and
toast and coffee."
The waitress turned to Kelly. "And you, miss?"
"Half a grapefruit."
"That's it?" Diane asked.
"Yes."
The waitress left.
"You can't live on half a grapefruit."
"Habit. I've been on a strict diet for years. Some models
eat Kleenex to curb their appetites."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously. But it doesn't matter anymore. I'm never going
to model again."
Diane studied her a moment. "Why not?"
"It's not important now. Mark taught me what's really
important, and—" She stopped, fighting tears.
"I wish you could have met him."
"So do I. But, Kelly, you have to start your life again."
Kelly said, "What about you? Are you going to start
painting again?'
There was a long silence. "I tried . . . No."
* * *
WHEN KELLY AND Diane had finished their breakfasts and
were starting out the door, Kelly
noticed that the morning newspapers were being put into
the news racks.
Diane started to walk on when Kelly said, "Wait a minute."
She turned back and picked up one
of the newspapers. "Look!"
The story was an article at the top of the front page.
Kingsley International Group is holding a memorial service
to honor all their employees
whose recent deaths have been the cause of much
speculation. The tribute will take place
at KIG headquarters, in Manhattan, on Monday, at 11:15
A.M.
"That's tomorrow." Kelly looked at Diane for a moment.
"Why do you think they're doing this?"
"I think they're setting a trap for us."
Kelly nodded. "So do I. Does Kingsley believe we would be
stupid enough to fall for—?" Kelly
looked at Diane's expression and said with dismay, "We're
going?"
Diane nodded.
"We can't!
"We have to. I'm sure Betty Barker will be there. I must
talk to her."
"I don't want to be picky, but how do you expect to get
out of there alive?"
"I'll think of a way." She looked at Kelly and smiled.
"Trust me."
Kelly shook her head. "There's nothing that makes me more
nervous than hearing someone say 'Trust me.'" She thought for
a moment, and her face lit up. "I have an idea. I know how to
handle this."
"What's your idea?" It s a surprise.
Diane looked at Kelly, worried. "You really think you can
get us out of there?"
"Trust me."
* * *
WHEN THEY RETURNED to the boardinghouse, Kelly made a
telephone call.
They both slept badly that night. Kelly was lying in bed,
worrying. If my plan fails, we're both going
to die. As she was falling asleep, she seemed to see
Tanner Kingsley's face looking down on her. He
was grinning.
Diane was praying, her eyes tightly closed. Darling, this
may be the last time I speak to you. I'm not
sure whether to say good-bye or hello. Tomorrow, Kelly and
I are going to KIG, to your memorial.
I don't think our chances of getting away are very good,
but I have to go, to try to help you. I just
wanted to tell you once more, before it may be too late,
that I love you. Goodnight, my dearest.

CHAPTER 32

THE MEMORIAL SERVICE was being held in KIG Park, an area
that had been set aside in back
of the Kingsley International Group complex, as a
recreation facility for its employees. There were
a hundred people gathered in the park, which was
accessible only through two gated paths leading
in and out.
In the center of the grounds, a dais had been erected, and
half a dozen KIG executives were seated
there. At the end of the row sat Richard Stevens's
secretary, Betty Barker. She was an attractive
patrician-looking woman in her thirties.
Tanner was at the microphone. "... and this company was
built by the dedication and loyalty of its employees. We
appreciate and salute them. I have always liked to think of
our company as a family,
all working together toward the same objective." As Tanner
spoke, he was scanning the crowd.
"Here, at KIG, we have solved problems and executed ideas
that have made the world a better place
to live in, and there is no greater satisfaction than—"
At the far end of the park, Diane and Kelly had entered.
Tanner glanced at his watch. It was
eleven-forty. There was a satisfied smile on his face. He
continued speaking: "... knowing that
whatever success this company has had is due to you."
Diane looked up at the platform and nudged Kelly,
excitedly. "There's Betty Barker. I have to
get to her."
"Be careful."
Diane glanced around and said uneasily, "This is too
simple. I have a feeling we've been—" She
turned to look back and gasped. Harry Flint and two of his
men had appeared at one of the gates.
Diane's eyes turned toward the second gate. It was blocked
by Carballo and two more men.
"Look!" Diane's throat was dry.
Kelly turned to see the six men blocking the exits. "Is
there any other way out of here?"
"I don't think so."
Tanner was saying, "Regrettably, recent misfortunes have
come to several members of our family.
And when a tragedy befalls someone in the family, it
affects us all. KIG is offering a five-million-dollar reward
to anyone who can prove who or what is behind all of this."
"Five million dollars from one of his pockets into the
other," Kelly said softly.
Tanner looked out over the crowd at Kelly and Diane, and
his eyes were cold. "We have two bereaved members here today,
Mrs. Mark Harris and Mrs. Richard Stevens. I'm going to ask
them to please
come up here on the podium."
"We can't let him get us up there," Kelly said, horrified.
"We have to stay with the crowd. What do
we do now?"
Diane looked at Kelly, surprised. "What do you mean?
You're the one who's going to get us out of
here, remember? Start your plan."
Kelly swallowed. "It didn't work."
Diane said nervously, "Then go to plan B."
"Diane ..."
"Yes?"
"There is no plan B."
Diane's eyes widened. "You mean you—you got us here with
no way to get us out?"
"I thought—"
Tanner's voice boomed over the loudspeaker. "Would Mrs.
Stevens and Mrs. Harris come up here
now, please?"
Kelly turned to Diane and said miserably, "I'm—I'm so
sorry."
"It's my fault. I should never have let us come."
The people in the crowd were turning to watch them. They
were trapped.
"Mrs. Stevens and Mrs. Harris . . ."
Kelly whispered, "What are we going to do?"
Diane said, "We have no choice. We're going up there." She
took a deep breath. "Let's go."
Reluctantly, the two women started slowly toward the
podium.
Diane was looking up at Betty Barker, whose eyes were
fastened on her, a panicky look on her face.
Diane and Kelly neared the podium, their hearts pounding.
Diane was thinking, Richard, darling, I tried. No matter
what happens, I want you to know that I—
There was a sudden loud commotion at the back of the park.
People were craning their necks to see
what was happening.
Ben Roberts was making an entrance, accompanied by a large
crew of cameramen and assistants.
The two women turned to look. Kelly grabbed Diane's arm,
beaming. "Plan A has arrived!
Ben is here."
And Diane looked up and said softly, "Thank you, Richard."
Kelly said, "What?" She suddenly realized what Diane
meant. She said cynically, "Right. Come on.
Ben is waiting for us."
* * *
TANNER WAS WATCHING the scene, his face stiff. He called
out, "Excuse me. I'm sorry,
Mr. Roberts. This is a private memorial ceremony. I will
have to ask you and your crew to leave."
Ben Roberts said, "Good morning, Mr. Kingsley. My show is
doing a television segment with
Mrs. Harris and Mrs. Stevens at the studio, but while we
were here, I thought you might like to
have us do a piece on the memorial service."
Tanner shook his head. "No, I can't permit you to stay
here."
"Too bad. Then I'll just take Mrs. Harris and Mrs. Stevens
over to the studio now."
"You can't," Tanner said harshly.
Ben looked at him. "I can't what?"
Tanner was almost trembling with fury. "I—I mean—you—
nothing."
The women had reached Ben.
He said softly, "Sorry I'm late. There was a breaking news
story about a murder and—"
"There was almost a breaking news story about two more,"
Kelly said. "Let's get out of here."
Tanner watched, frustrated, as Kelly, Diane, Ben Roberts,
and his crew pushed past Tanner's men
and walked out of the park.
Harry Flint looked over to Tanner for instructions. As
Tanner slowly shook his head no, he was
thinking, It's not over yet, bitches.
* * *
DIANE AND KELLY got into the car with Ben Roberts. His
crew was following in two vans.
Roberts looked at Kelly. "Now, can you tell me what that
was all about?"
"I wish I could, Ben. But not yet. I will when I know what
I'm talking about. I promise."
"Kelly, I'm a reporter. I need to know—"
"Today you came as a friend."
Roberts sighed. "Right. Where would you like me to take
you?"
Diane said, "Would you drop us off at Forty-second Street
and Times Square?"
"You ve got it."
* * *
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Kelly and Diane were getting out of
the car.
Kelly kissed Ben Roberts on the cheek. "Thanks, Ben. I
won't forget this. We'll stay in touch."
"Be safe."
They turned to wave as they walked away.
Kelly said, "I feel naked."
"Why?"
"Diane, we don't have any weapons. Nothing. I wish we had
a gun."
"We have our brains."
"I wish we had a gun. Why are we here? What are we going
to do now?"
"We're going to stop running. From now on, we're on the
offensive.
Kelly looked at her curiously. "What does that mean?"
"It means I'm sick and tired of us being the target of the
day. We're going after them, Kelly."
Kelly looked at Diane a moment. "We're going after KIG?"
"That's right."
"You've been reading too many mysteries. How do you think
the two of us can bring down the
biggest think tank in the world?"
"We're going to start by getting the names of all their
employees who have died in the past few weeks."
"What makes you think there were more than Mark and
Richard?"
"Because the newspaper announcement said all their
employees, so there were more than two people."
"Oh. And who's going to give us those names?"
"I'll show you," Diane said.
* * *
THE EASY ACCESS Internet Cafe was a vast computer hall
containing more than a dozen rows of cubicles equipped with
four hundred personal computers, nearly all of them in use.
It was part of a
chain that was springing up all over the world.
When they walked in, Diane went to the card vending
machine, to purchase an hour of Internet access.
When she came back, Kelly said, "Where do we start?"
"Let's ask the computer."
They found an empty cubicle and sat down.
Kelly watched as Diane logged on to the Internet. "What
happens now?"
"First we do a Google search to find the names of the
other victims who were employees of KIG."
Diane typed "www.google.com" and then typed in her search
criteria: "obituary" and "KIG."
A long list of search hits appeared. Diane looked
specifically for items in newspapers that were
available online and found several. She clicked on those
links, which led her to a series of recent obituaries and
other articles. One article led her to KIG Berlin, and she
accessed its Web site.
"This is interesting . . . Franz Verbrugge."
"Who's he?"
"The question is, where is he? He seems to have
disappeared. He worked for KIG in Berlin, and
his wife, Sonja, died mysteriously."
Diane clicked onto another link. She hesitated and looked
up at Kelly. "In France—Mark Harris."
Kelly took a deep breath and nodded. "Go on."
Diane pressed more keys. "Denver, Gary Reynolds, and in
Manhattan"—Diane's voice broke—"Richard." Diane stood up.
"That's it."
Kelly said, "What now?"
"We're going to figure out how to put all this together.
Let's go."
* * *
HALFWAY DOWN THE block, Kelly and Diane passed a computer
store.
"Just a minute," Kelly said.
Diane followed as Kelly walked into the store and
approached the manager.
"Excuse me. My name is Kelly Harris. I'm Tanner Kingsley's
assistant. We need three dozen of your
very best and most expensive computers by this afternoon.
Is that possible?"
The manager beamed. "Why—why certainly, Mrs. Harris. For
Mr. Kingsley, anything. We don't
have them all here, of course, but we'll get them from our
warehouses. I'll take care of it personally.
Will that be cash or charge?"
"COD," Kelly said.
As the manager hurried away, Diane said, "I wish I had
thought of that."
Kelly grinned. "You will."
* * *
"I THOUGHT YOU would like to see these, Mr. Kingsley."
Kathy Ordonez handed him several newspapers. The headlines
told the story:
AUSTRALIA HAS FREAK TORNADO
THE FIRST TORNADO TO EVER HIT AUSTRALIA HAS
DESTROYED A DOZEN VILLAGES. DEATH TOLL IS
UNKNOWN.
METEOROLOGISTS ARE BAFFLED BY NEW
WORLD WEATHER PATTERNS. OZONE LAYER
BLAMED.
Tanner said, "Send these to Senator Van Luven with a note:
'Dear Senator Van Luven, I think time
is running out. Best wishes, Tanner Kingsley."
"Yes, sir."
Tanner looked up at a computer screen when he heard the
sound telling him he had received an
alert from the security division of his Information
Technology department.
Tanner had arranged for his IT department to have
"spiders" installed—high-tech software that
constantly combed the Internet, searching for information.
Tanner had privately set the spiders to
look for people searching for sensitive information
relating to the deaths of Richard Stevens and
Mark Harris, and he now stared with interest at the alert
on the computer monitor.
He pressed a buzzer. "Andrew, get in here."
Andrew was in his office, daydreaming about his accident,
and remembering. He was in the wardrobe room to get his
spacesuit that the army had sent. He started to take one from
the rack, but Tanner
was there, and Tanner handed him a suit and gas mask. Wear
this one. It will bring you luck.
Tanner was—
"Andrew! Get in here!"
* * *
ANDREW HEARD THE command, got up, and slowly walked into
Tanner's office.
"Sit down."
"Yes, Tanner." He took a seat.
"The bitches just hit our Web site in Berlin. Do you know
what that means?"
"Yes. . . I—no."
Tanner's secretary buzzed. "The computers are here, Mr.
Kingsley."
"What computers?"
"The ones you ordered."
Puzzled, Tanner rose and walked out the door into the
reception room. Three dozen computers
were piled up on dollies. The store manager and three men
in overalls were standing next to them.
The manager's face lit up when he saw Tanner approaching.
"I have just what you asked for,
Mr. Kingsley. State of the art. And we'll be happy to help
you with any more—"
Tanner was staring at the pile of computers. "Who ordered
these?"
"Your assistant, Kelly Harris. She said you needed them
right away, so—"
"Take them back," Tanner said softly. "Where she's going,
they won't be needed."
He turned and walked back into his office. "Andrew, do you
have any idea why they accessed our
Web site? Well, I'll tell you. They're going to try to
track down the victims and look for the motives
behind their deaths." Tanner sat down. "To do that, they
would have to go to Europe. Only they're
not going to get there."
Andrew said sleepily, "No . . ."
"How are we going to stop them, Andrew?"
Andrew nodded. "Stop them . . ."
Tanner looked at his brother and said contemptuously, "I
wish there was someone with a brain that
I could talk to."
Andrew watched as Tanner walked over to a computer and sat
at the keyboard. "We're going to start
by wiping out all their assets. We have their Social
Security numbers." He kept typing as he talked. "Diane
Stevens. . . ," he mused as he used the back-door software
KIG installed when they were
hired to make Experian's systems Y2K-compliant. This
back-door software gave Tanner access that
not even the highest of Experian management could have.
"Look. Experian has all her bank account information, an
IRA retirement account, her line of credit
at the bank. See?"
Andrew swallowed. "Yes, Tanner. Yes."
Tanner turned back to the computer. "We'll enter her
credit cards as stolen. . . . Now we're going to
do the same with Kelly Harris. . . . Our next step is
going to Diane's bank's Web site." He accessed
the bank's Web site and then clicked onto a link that said
"Manage Your Accounts."
Next, Tanner entered Diane Stevens's account number and
the last four digits of her Social Security number and was
granted access. Once inside, he transferred all her balances
to the line of credit,
then returned to Experian's credit data base and canceled
her line of credit under "In Collection."
"Andrew—"
"Yes, Tanner?"
"Do you see what I've done? I've transferred all of Diane
Stevens's assets as debts to be collected
by their collection department." His tone filled with
self-satisfaction. "Now we'll do the same thing
for Kelly Harris."
When Tanner was through, he got up and walked over to
Andrew. "It's done. They have no money
and no credit. There's no way they can get out of the
country. We have them trapped. What do you
think of your kid brother?"
Andrew nodded. "On television last night, I saw a movie
about a—"
Furious, Tanner clenched his fist and slammed it into his
brother's face so hard that Andrew fell out
of the chair and crashed into a wall, making a loud
racket. "You son of a bitch! Listen to me when
I'm talking to you."
The door flew open and Tanner's secretary, Kathy Ordonez,
rushed in. "Is everything all right,
Mr. Kingsley?"
Tanner turned to her. "Yes. Poor Andrew fell down."
"Oh, dear."
The two of them lifted Andrew to his feet.
"Did I fall down?"
Tanner said gently, "Yes, Andrew, but you're all right
now."
Kathy Ordonez whispered, "Mr. Kingsley, don't you think
your brother might be better off in a home?"
"Of course he would," Tanner answered. "But it would break
his heart. This is his real home, and
I can take care of him here."
Kathy Ordonez looked at Tanner admiringly. "You're a
wonderful man, Mr. Kingsley."
He shrugged modestly. "We all have to do what we can."
* * *
TEN MINUTES LATER, Tanner's secretary was back.
"Good news, Mr. Kingsley. This fax just came in from
Senator Van Luven's office."
"Let me see it." Tanner snatched it from her hand.
Dear Mr. Kingsley:
This is to inform you that the Senate Select Committee on
the Environment has decided to
appropriate funds to immediately increase our
investigation of global warming and how to
combat it.
Sincerely, Senator Van Luven

CHAPTER 33

YOU HAVE a passport?" Diane asked.
"I always carry it with me in a strange country." And
Kelly added, "And lately this has become one
hell of a strange country."
Diane nodded. "My passport is in a bank vault. I'll get
it. And we'll need some money."
* * *
WHEN THEY ENTERED the bank, Diane went downstairs to the
vault and opened her safetydeposit
box. She removed her passport, put it in her
purse, and walked back upstairs to a teller's desk.
"I would like to close my account."
"Certainly. Your name, please?"
"Diane Stevens."
The teller nodded. "Just a moment, please." He walked back
to a row of filing cabinets, opened a
drawer, and started riffling through the cards. He pulled
one out, looked at it a moment, then walked
back to Diane. "Your account has already been closed out,
Mrs. Stevens."
Diane shook her head. "No. There must be some mistake. I
have—"
The teller put the card in front of Diane. It read
"Account closed. Reason: Deceased."
Diane stared at it unbelievingly, then looked up at the
teller. "Do I look like I'm deceased?"
"Of course not. I'm sorry. If you'd like me to call the
manager, can—
"No!" She suddenly realized what had happened and felt a
small shiver. "No, thanks."
Diane hurried over to the entrance, where Kelly was
waiting.
"Did you get the passport and money?"
"I got the passport. The bastards closed my bank account."
"How could they—?"
"It's very simple. They're KIG and we're not." Diane was
thoughtful for a moment. "Oh, my God."
"What now?"
"I have to make a quick phone call." Diane hurried over to
a telephone cubicle, dialed a number, and pulled out a credit
card. A few moments later, she was speaking to a clerk. "The
account is under the name of Diane Stevens. It's a valid—"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Stevens. Our records show that your card
has been reported stolen. If you want to
make out a report, we can issue a new card to you in a day
or two and—"
Diane said, "Never mind." She slammed down the receiver
and walked back to Kelly. "They've
canceled my credit cards."
Kelly took a deep breath. "Now I'd better make a call or
two."
Kelly was on the telephone for almost half an hour. When
she came back to Diane, she was furious.
"The octopus strikes again. But I still have a bank
account in Paris, so I can—"
"We don't have time for that, Kelly. We have to get out of
here now. How much money do you
have with you?"
"Enough to get us back to Brooklyn. What about you?"
"I could get us to New Jersey."
"Then we're trapped. You know why they're doing this,
don't you? To keep us from going to Europe
and finding out the truth."
"It looks like they've succeeded."
Kelly said thoughtfully, "No, they haven't. We're going."
Diane said skeptically, "How? My spaceship?"
"Mine."
* * *
JOSEPH BERRY, THE manager of the Fifth Avenue jewelry
store, watched Kelly and Diane approach and gave them his
best professional smile. "May I help you?"
Kelly said, "Yes. I'd like to sell my ring. It—"
His smile faded. "I'm sorry. We don't buy jewelry."
"Oh. That's too bad."
Joseph Berry started to turn away. Kelly opened her hand.
In it was a large emerald ring.
"This is a seven-carat emerald surrounded by three carats
of diamonds, set in platinum."
Joseph Berry stared at the ring, impressed. He picked up a
jeweler's loupe and put it to his eye.
"It's really beautiful, but we have a firm rule here
that—"
"I want twenty thousand dollars for it."
"Did you say twenty thousand dollars?"
"Yes, in cash."
Diane was staring at her. "Kelly—"
Berry looked at the ring again and nodded. "I—er—think we
can arrange that. Just a moment."
He disappeared into the back office.
Diane said, "Are you crazy? You're being robbed!"
"Am I? If we stay here, we'll be killed. Tell me how much
our lives are worth."
Diane had no answer.
Joseph Berry came out of the back office, smiling. "I'll
have someone go across the street to the
bank and get the cash for you right away."
Diane turned to Kelly. "I wish you wouldn't do this."
Kelly shrugged. "It's only a piece of jewelry. . . ." She
closed her eyes.
* * *
IT'S ONLY A piece of jewelry. . . .
It was her birthday. The phone rang.
"Good morning, darling." It was Mark.
"Good morning."
She waited for him to say "Happy birthday."
Instead he said, "You're not working today. Do you like
hiking?"
That was not what Kelly had expected to hear. She felt a
sharp sense of disappointment. They
had talked about birthdays a week earlier. Mark had
forgotten. Yes.
"How would you like to go for a hike this morning?"
"All right."
"I'll pick you up in half an hour."
"I'll be ready."
* * *
"WHERE ARE WE going?" Kelly asked, when they were in the
car. They were both dressed in
hiking outfits. "There are some wonderful trails outside
of Fontainebleau."
"Oh? Do you go there often?"
"I used to go there when I wanted to escape."
Kelly looked at him, puzzled. "Escape from what?" He
hesitated. "Loneliness. I felt less lonely there."
He glanced at Kelly and smiled. "I haven't been there
since I met you."
* * *
FONTAINEBLEAU IS A magnificent royal palace, surrounded by
sylvan forests, located southeast
of Paris.
As the beautiful, regal estate loomed up in the distance,
Mark said, "A lot of kings named Louis have
lived here, starting with Louis IV."
"Oh, really?" Kelly looked at him and thought, I wonder if
they had birthday cards in those days.
I wish he had given me a birthday card. I'm acting like a
schoolgirl.
They had reached the palace grounds. Mark pulled into one
of the parking lots.
As they got out of the car and headed for the woods, Mark
said, "Can you handle a mile?"
Kelly laughed. "I handle more than that every day on the
runway."
Mark took her hand. "Good. Let's go."
"I'm with you."
They passed a series of majestic buildings and started
into the woodland. They were completely alone, wrapped in a
greenery of ancient fields and storied old trees. It was a
sun-kissed summer day filled
with itself. The wind was warm and caressing, and there
was a cloudless sky above.
"Isn't this beautiful?" Mark asked.
"It's lovely, Mark."
"I'm glad you were free."
Kelly remembered something. "Aren't you supposed to be
working today?"
"I decided to take the day off."
"Oh."
They were walking deeper and deeper into the mysterious
forest.
After fifteen minutes, Kelly asked, "How far do you want
to go?"
"There's a spot up ahead that I like. We're almost there."
A few minutes later, they emerged into a glade with an
enormous oak tree in the center.
"Here we are," Mark said.
"It's so peaceful."
There seemed to be something lightly carved on the tree.
Kelly went up to it. It read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KELLY.
She stared at Mark a moment, speechless. "Oh, Mark,
darling. Thank you."
So he had not forgotten.
"I think there might be something in the tree."
"In the tree?" Kelly moved closer to it. There was a
hollow place at eye level. She put her hand inside
and felt a small package, and pulled it out. It was a gift
box. "What—?" Open it.
Kelly opened it and her eyes widened. In the box was a
seven-carat emerald ring, surrounded by three carats of
diamonds, set in platinum. Kelly stared at it, unbelievingly.
She turned and threw her arms around Mark. "This is much too
generous."
"I would give you the moon if you asked for it. Kelly, I'm
in love with you."
She held him close, lost in a euphoria she had never
known. And then she said something that she
thought she would never, ever say. "I'm in love with you,
darling."
He was beaming. "Let's get married right away. We—"
"No." It was like a whiplash.
Mark was looking at her in surprise. "Why?"
"We can't."
"Kelly—don't you believe that I'm in love with you?"
"Yes."
"Are you in love with me?"
"Yes."
"But you don't want to marry me?"
"I do want to—but I—I can't."
"I don't understand. What is it?"
He was studying her, confused. And Kelly knew that the
moment she told Mark about the traumatic experience she had
had, he would never want to see her again. "I—I could never
be a real wife to you."
"What do you mean?"
This was the most difficult thing Kelly had ever had to
say. "Mark, we could never have sex together. When I was
eight years old, I was raped." She was looking out at the
uncaring trees, telling her sordid story to the first man she
had ever loved. "I'm not interested in sex. I'm disgusted by
the idea of it. It frightens me. I'm— I'm half a woman. I'm a
freak." She was breathing hard, trying not to cry.
Kelly felt Mark's hand on hers. "I'm so sorry, Kelly. That
must have been devastating."
Kelly was silent.
"Sex is very important in a marriage," Mark said.
Kelly nodded, biting her lip. She knew what he was going
to say next. "Of course. So I understand
why you wouldn't want to—"
"But that's not what marriage is about. Marriage is about
spending your life with someone you love—having someone to
talk to, someone to share all the good times and the bad
times."
She was listening, stunned, afraid to believe what she was
hearing.
"Sex finally goes away, Kelly, but real love doesn't. I
love you for your heart and your soul. I want
to spend the rest of my life with you. I can do without
the sex."
Kelly tried to keep her voice steady. "No, Mark—I can't
let you."
"Why?"
"Because one day you would regret it. You'd fall in love
with someone else who could give you . . .
what I can't, and you would leave me . . . and that would
break my heart."
Mark reached out and took Kelly in his arms and held her
close. "Do you know why I could never
leave you? Because you're the best part of me. We're
getting married."
Kelly looked into his eyes. "Mark—do you realize what
you're getting into?"
Mark smiled and said, "I think you might rephrase that."
Kelly laughed and hugged him. "Oh, baby, are you sure
you—?"
He was beaming. "I'm sure. What do you say?"
She felt the tears on her cheeks. "I say ... yes."
Mark slipped the emerald ring on her finger. They held
each other for a long time.
Kelly said, "I want you to take me to the salon tomorrow
morning and meet some of the models
I work with."
"I thought there was a rule against—"
"The rules have been changed."
Mark was beaming. "I'll arrange for a judge I know to
marry us Sunday."
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, when Kelly and Mark arrived at the
salon, Kelly pointed up to the sky.
"It looks like it's going to rain. Everyone talks about
the weather, but no one does anything about it."
Mark turned and gave her a strange look.
Kelly saw the expression on Mark's face. "Oh, I'm sorry.
That's a cliche, isn't it?"
Mark did not answer.
* * *
THERE WERE half a dozen models in the dressing room when
Kelly walked in.
"I have an announcement to make. I'm getting married
Sunday, and you're all invited."
The room was instantly filled with chatter.
"Is this the mysterious beau you wouldn't let us meet?"
"Do we know him?"
"What does he look like?"
Kelly said proudly, "Like a young Cary Grant."
"Ooh! When can we meet him?"
"Now. He's here." Kelly opened the door wide. "Come in,
darling."
Mark stepped into the room, and the room became instantly
quiet. One of the models looked at
Mark and said under her breath, "Is this some kind of
joke?"
"It must be."
Mark Harris was a foot shorter than Kelly, a plain,
ordinary-looking man, with a thinning mop of
gray hair.
When the first shock was over, the models stepped up to
congratulate the soon-to-be bride and groom.
"That's wonderful news."
"We're thrilled for you."
"I'm sure you'll be very happy together."
When the congratulations were over, Kelly and Mark left.
As they were walking down the hall,
Mark asked, "Do you think they liked me?"
Kelly smiled. "Of course they did. How could anyone not
like you?" She stopped. "Oh!"
"What is it?"
"I'm on the cover of a fashion magazine that just came in.
I want you to see it. Be right back."
Kelly started toward the models' dressing room. As she
reached the door, she heard a voice say,
"Is Kelly really marrying him?"
Kelly stopped and listened.
"She must have gone crazy."
"I've seen her turn down some of the handsomest men in the
world, and the richest. What does
she see in him?"
One of the models who had been quiet spoke up. "It's very
simple," she said.
"What is?"
"You'll laugh." She hesitated.
"Go ahead."
"Did you ever hear the phrase 'seeing someone through the
eyes of love'?"
No one laughed.
* * *
THE WEDDING TOOK place at the Ministry of Justice, in
Paris, and all the models were there as bridesmaids. Outside
on the street, there was a large crowd that had heard about
the marriage of the model Kelly. The paparazzi were there in
full force.
Sam Meadows was Mark's best man. "Where are you going on
your honeymoon?" Meadows asked.
Mark and Kelly looked at each other. They had not even
thought about a honeymoon.
Mark said, "Er—" He picked a place at random. "Saint
Moritz."
Kelly smiled uneasily. "Yes. Saint Moritz."
* * *
NEITHER OF them had been to Saint Moritz before, and the
view was breathtaking, an endless
vista of majestic mountains and lush valleys.
Badrutt's Palace Hotel nested high on a hill. Mark had
called ahead for reservations, and when they arrived, the
manager welcomed them. "Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Harris.
I have the honeymoon
suite all ready for you."
Mark stalled for a moment. "Could—could we have twin beds
put in the suite?"
The manager asked tonelessly, "Twin beds?"
"Er—yes, please."
"Why—certainly."
"Thank you." Mark turned to Kelly. "There are a lot of
interesting things to see here." He pulled a list from his
pocket. "The Engadine Museum, the Druid stone, St. Mauritius
fountain, the leaning tower. . ."
* * *
WHEN MARK AND Kelly were alone in their suite, Mark said,
"Darling, I don't want the situation to make you
uncomfortable. We're just doing this to stop any gossip.
We're going to spend the rest of our lives together. And what
we're going to share is much more important than anything
physical. I just
want to be with you and I want you to be with me."
Kelly threw her arms around him and hugged him. "I—I don't
know what to say."
Mark smiled. "You don't have to say anything."
* * *
THEY HAD DINNER downstairs and then went back to their
suite.
Twin beds had been put in the master bedroom. "Should we
toss a coin?"
Kelly smiled. "No, you take whichever one you like." When
Kelly came out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later,
Mark was in bed.
Kelly walked over to him and sat on the edge of his bed.
"Mark, are you sure this is going to work
for you?"
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life. Good
night, my beautiful darling."
"Good night."
Kelly got into her bed and lay there, thinking. Reliving
the night that had changed her life. Shhh! Don't make a
sound. . . . If you tell your mother about this, I'll come
back and kill her. What that monster
had done to her had taken over her whole life. He had
killed something in her, and made her afraid of
the dark . . . afraid of men . . . afraid of love. She had
given him power over her. I'm not going to let
him. Not anymore. All the emotions she had repressed over
the years, all the passion that had been building up in her,
exploded like a dam bursting. Kelly looked over at Mark and
suddenly wanted him desperately. She threw back the covers
and walked over to his bed. "Move over," she whispered.
Mark sat up, surprised. "You said you—you didn't want me
in your bed, and I—"
Kelly looked at him and said softly, "But I didn't say I
couldn't be in your bed." She watched the
look on his face as she took off her nightgown and slid
into bed beside him. "Make love to me,"
she whispered.
"Oh, Kelly! Yes!"
He started softly and gently. Too softly. Too gently. The
floodgates had opened, and Kelly needed
him urgently. She made violent love to him, and she had
never felt anything so wonderful in her life.
When they were lying in each other's arms, resting, Kelly
said, "You know that list you showed me?"
"Yes."
She said softly, "You can throw it away."
Mark grinned.
"What a fool I've been," Kelly said. She held Mark close,
and they talked, and made love again, and finally they were
both exhausted.
"I'll turn out the lights," Mark said.
She tensed and squeezed her eyes shut. She started to say
no, but as she felt his warm body close
to her, protecting her, she said nothing.
When Mark turned out the lights, Kelly opened her eyes.
Kelly was no longer afraid of the dark. She—
* * *
"KELLY? KELLY!"
She was jolted out of her reverie. She looked up, and she
was back in the Fifth Avenue jewelry shop
in New York, and Joseph Berry was holding out a thick
envelope to her.
"Here you are. Twenty thousand dollars, in hundred-dollar
bills, just as you requested."
It took Kelly a moment to get her bearings. "Thank you."
Kelly opened the envelope, extracted ten thousand dollars,
and handed it to Diane.
Diane looked at her, puzzled. "What's this?"
"This is your half."
"For what? I can't—"
"You can pay me back later." Kelly shrugged. "If we're
still around. If we're not around, I won't
need it anyway. Now let's see if we can get out of here."

CHAPTER 34

AT LEXINGTON AVENUE, Diane hailed a cab.
"Where are we going?"
"To La Guardia airport."
Kelly looked at Diane in surprise. "Don't you know they'll
be watching all the airports?"
"I hope so."
"What are you—?" Kelly groaned. "You have a plan, right?"
Diane patted Kelly's hand and smiled. "Right."
* * *
AT LA GUARDIA, Kelly followed Diane inside the terminal to
the US Airways ticket counter.
The agent behind the counter said, "Good morning. Can I
help you?"
Diane smiled. "Yes, we'd like two coach tickets to Los
Angeles."
"When would you like to leave?"
"On the first available flight. Our names are Diane
Stevens and Kelly Harris."
Kelly winced.
The ticket agent was consulting a schedule. "The next
plane will be boarding at two-fifteen."
"Perfect." Diane looked at Kelly.
Kelly managed a weak smile. "Perfect."
"Will that be cash or credit card?"
"Cash." Diane handed him the money.
As they walked away, Kelly said, "Why don't we just put up
a neon sign telling Kingsley where
we are?"
Diane said, "You worry too much."
They started to pass the American Airlines booth. Diane
stopped and walked up to the ticket agent.
"We'd like two coach tickets to Miami on the next flight
out of here."
"Certainly." The ticket agent checked the schedule. "That
flight will be boarding in three hours."
"Fine. Our names are Diane Stevens and Kelly Harris."
Kelly closed her eyes for an instant.
"Credit card or cash?"
"Cash."
Diane paid the clerk and he handed her their tickets.
Kelly said, "Is this how we're going to outwit these
geniuses? This wouldn't fool a ten-year-old."
Diane started walking toward the airport exit.
Kelly hurried after her. "Where are you going?" We re
going to—
"Never mind. I don't think I want to know."
* * *
THERE WAS A row of taxis in front of the airport. When the
two women walked out of the terminal, one of the taxis pulled
out of line and drove up in front of the entrance. Kelly and
Diane got into the cab.
"Where to, please?"
"Kennedy airport."
Kelly said, "I don't know if they're going to be confused,
but I sure am. I still wish we had some kind
of weapon to protect ourselves."
"I don't know where we could find a Howitzer."
The taxi went into gear. Diane leaned forward to examine
the driver's photo ID: MARIO SILVA.
"Mr. Silva, do you think that you can get us to Kennedy
without being followed?"
They could see his grin in the mirror. "You came to the
right party, lady."
He pressed down on the accelerator and made a sudden
U-turn. At the first corner, he drove halfway down the
street, then sped into an alley.
The women looked through the rear window. There were no
cars behind them.
Mario Silva's grin widened. "Okay?"
"Okay," Kelly said.
For the next thirty minutes, Mario Silva kept making
unexpected turns and going down small side
streets, to make sure no one could follow them. Finally,
the taxi pulled up in front of the main
entrance to Kennedy airport.
"We're here," Mario Silva announced triumphantly.
Diane took some bills from her purse. "There's something
extra for you."
The driver took the money and smiled. "Thanks." He sat in
his cab, watching his two passengers walk into the Kennedy
terminal. When they were out of sight, he picked up his cell
phone.
"Tanner Kingsley."
* * *
AT THE DELTA Airlines counter, the ticket agent glanced up
at the board. "Yes, we do have two
tickets available on the flight you want. It leaves at
five-fifty p.m. There's a one-hour layover in
Madrid, and the plane arrives in Barcelona at nine-twenty
a.m."
"That will be fine," Diane said.
"Will that be credit card or cash?"
"Cash."
Diane handed the ticket agent the money and turned to
Kelly.
"Let's wait in the lounge."
* * *
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Harry Flint was on his cell phone
talking to Tanner.
"I got the information you asked for. They're flying Delta
to Barcelona. Their plane leaves Kennedy
at five-fifty this evening, with a one-hour layover in
Madrid. They'll arrive in Barcelona at nine-twenty
in the morning."
"Good. You'll take a company jet to Barcelona, Mr. Flint,
and meet them there when they arrive.
I'm counting on you to give them a warm welcome."
As Tanner hung up, Andrew walked in. He was wearing a
bou-tonniere in his lapel. "Here are the schedules for the—"
"What the hell is that?"
Andrew was confused. "You asked me to bring—"
"I'm not talking about those. I'm talking about that
stupid flower you have on."
Andrew's face lit up. "I'm wearing it to your wedding. I'm
your best man."
Tanner frowned. "What the hell are you—?" And the
realization suddenly struck him. "That was
seven years ago, you cretin, and there was no wedding. Now
get your ass out of here!"
Andrew stood there, stunned, trying to understand what was
happening.
"Out!"
Tanner watched his brother leave the office. I should have
put him away somewhere, he thought.
The time is coming.
* * *
THE TAKEOFF ON the flight to Barcelona was smooth and
uneventful.
Kelly looked out the window at New York fading into the
distance. "Do you think we got away
with it?"
Diane shook her head. "No. Sooner or later they'll find a
way to track us down. But at least we'll be
over there." She pulled the i' computer printout from her
purse and studied it. "Sonja Verbrugge, in Berlin, who's dead
and whose husband is missing . . . Gary Reynolds, in Denver.
. ." She hesitated. "Mark and Richard ..."
Kelly looked at the printout. "So, we're going to Paris,
Berlin, Denver, and back to New York."
"Right. We'll cross the border into France at San
Sebastian."
* * *
KELLY WAS LOOKING forward to getting back to Paris. She
wanted to talk to Sam Meadows.
She had a feeling he was going to be helpful. And Angel
would be waiting for her.
"Have you ever been to Spain?"
"Mark took me there once. It was the most—" Kelly was
silent for a long time. "Do you know the problem I'm going to
have for the rest of my life, Diane? There's no one in the
whole wide world
like Mark. You know, when you're a kid, you read about
people falling in love, and suddenly the
world's a magical place. That's the kind of marriage Mark
and I had." She looked at Diane.
"You probably felt that way about Richard."
Diane said quietly, "Yes."
"What was Mark like?" Diane asked.
Kelly smiled. "There was something wonderfully childlike
about him. I always felt that he had the
mind of a child and the brain of a genius." She gave a
little chuckle.
"What?"
"The way he used to dress. On our first date, he wore a
badly fitting gray suit, with brown shoes, a
green shirt, and a bright red tie. After we were married,
I saw to it that he was dressed properly." She
was silent. When she spoke, her voice was choked. "Do you
know something? I would give anything
to see Mark again, wearing that gray suit, with brown
shoes, a green shirt, and a bright red tie." Her
eyes were moist. "Mark enjoyed surprising me with gifts.
But his greatest gift was that he taught me
how to love." She dried her eyes with a handkerchief.
"Tell me about Richard."
Diane smiled. "He was a romantic. When we got into bed at
night, he would say, 'Press my secret button,' and I would
laugh and say, 'I'm glad no one is taping this.'" She looked
at Kelly and said,
"His secret button was the 'do not disturb' key on the
telephone. Richard told me that we were in a
castle, all alone, and the key on the phone was the moat
that kept the world at bay." Diane thought
of something and laughed. "He was a brilliant scientist
and he enjoyed repairing things around the
house. He would fix leaky faucets or electrical shorts,
and I always had to call experts in to fix what Richard had
repaired. I never told him."
They talked until almost midnight.
Diane realized that it was the first time they had spoken
about their husbands. It was as though
some invisible barrier between them had evaporated.
Kelly yawned. "We'd better get some sleep. I have a
feeling tomorrow's going to be an exciting day."
She had no idea how exciting.
* * *
HARRY FLINT ELBOWED his way through the crowd at El Prat
airport in Barcelona and walked up
to the large plate glass window that overlooked the
runway. He turned his head to scan the board that listed the
arrivals and departures. The plane from New York was on
schedule, due to arrive in thirty minutes. Everything was
moving according to plan. Flint sat down and waited.
Half an hour later the plane landed and the New York
flight began to disembark. The passengers all seemed
excited—a typical planeload of carefree tourists, traveling
salesmen, children, and couples on
their honeymoons. Flint was careful to stay out of sight
of the exit ramp as he watched the stream of travelers pour
into the terminal, and then finally trickle to a stop. He
frowned. There was no sign of
Diane or Kelly. Flint waited another five minutes, then
started to go through the boarding gate.
"Sir, you can't go through here."
Flint snapped, "FAA. We have national security information
about a package that is hidden in the
lavatory of this plane. I was ordered to inspect it
immediately."
Flint was already moving toward the tarmac. As he reached
the plane, the crew was beginning to depart.
A flight attendant asked, "May I help you?"
"FAA inspection," Flint said.
He walked up the steps into the plane. There were no
passengers in sight.
The flight attendant asked, "Is there a problem?"
"Yes. A possible bomb."
She watched as Flint strode to the end of the cabin and
pulled open the rest-room doors. The rooms
were empty. The women had disappeared.
* * *
"THEY WEREN'T ON the plane, Mr. Kingsley."
Tanner's voice was dangerously soft. "Mr. Flint, did you
see them board the plane?"
"Yes, sir."
"And were they still aboard when the plane took off?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then I think we can safely reason that they either jumped
out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean without parachutes or
that they disembarked in Madrid. Do you agree with that?"
"Of course, Mr. Kingsley. But—"
"Thank you. So, that means they intend to go from Madrid
to France by way of San Sebastian." He paused. "They have
four choices: they can take a different flight to Barcelona
or get there by train,
bus, or car." Tanner was thoughtful for a moment. "They
will probably feel that buses, planes, and
trains are too confining. Logic tells me that they will
drive to the San Sebastian border to get into
France."
"If— "
"Do not interrupt me, Mr. Flint. It should take them about
five hours to drive from Madrid to San Sebastian. Here's what
I want you to do. Fly to Madrid. Check all the airport
rental-car places. Find
out what kind of car they rented—color, make,
everything."
"Yes, sir."
"Then I want you to fly back to Barcelona and rent a car—a
large one. Lie in wait for them along the highway to San
Sebastian. I don't want them to reach the border. And Mr.
Flint—"
"Yes, sir."
"Remember—make it look like an accident."

CHAPTER 35

DIANE AND KELLY were at Barajas, the Madrid airport. They
had their choice of renting a car
from Hertz, Europe Car, Avis, and others, but they chose
Alesa, a more obscure rental agency.
"What is the quickest way to get to San Sebastian?" Diane
asked.
"It is very simple, señora. Take the N-l to the French
border at Hondarribia, then right to San
Sebastian. It is just a four- or five-hour drive."
"Gracias."
And Kelly and Diane were on their way.
* * *
WHEN THE KIG private jet arrived in Madrid, one hour
later, Harry Flint hurried from one rental
car booth to another.
"I was supposed to meet my sister and her girlfriend
here—the girlfriend is a stunning African-American—and I
missed them. They arrived on the Delta nine-twenty from New
York.
Did they rent a car here?"
"No, señor. . . ." No, señor. . . .
"No, señor. . . ."
At the Alesa booth, Flint was in luck.
"Oh, yes, señor. I remember them well. They—"
"Do you remember what they rented?"
"It was a Peugeot."
"What color?"
"Red. It was our only—"
"Do you have the number of the license plate?"
"Of course. Just a moment."
Flint watched the clerk open a book to look it up.
He gave Flint the number. "I hope you find them."
"I will."
Ten minutes later, Flint was flying back to Barcelona. He
would rent a car, watch for their red
Peugeot, follow them to a place in the road where there
was no traffic, run them off the road,
and make certain that they were dead.
* * *
DIANE AND KELLY were only thirty minutes away from San
Sebastian, driving along in a
comfortable silence. The highway was un-crowded, and they
were making good time. The
countryside was beautiful. Ripe fields and orchards filled
the air with the smells of pomegranate,
apricot, and orange trees, and off the road were old
houses, with walls covered with jasmine vines.
A few minutes out of the little medieval town of Burgos,
the scenery began to erupt into the foothills
of the Pyrenees.
"We're almost there," Diane said. She looked ahead,
frowned, and started to slam on the brakes.
Two hundred feet in front of them was a burning car with a
crowd gathered around it. The highway
was blocked off by men in uniform.
Diane was puzzled. "What's going on?"
"We're in Basque country," Kelly said. "It's a war. The
Basques have been fighting the Spanish government for the
last fifty years."
A man in a green uniform with gold and red trim and a
black belt, black shoes, and black beret
stepped onto the highway in front of the car and held up
his hand. He pointed to the side of the road.
Kelly said under her breath, "It's the ETA. We can't stop,
because God knows how long they'll keep
us here."
The officer walked to the side of the car and approached
them. "I am Captain Iradi. You will please
get out of the car."
Diane looked at him and smiled. "I really would love to
help you with your war, but we're busy
fighting our own war." She slammed her foot down on the
accelerator, drove around the burning
car, and sped ahead, the car weaving through the screaming
crowd.
Kelly's eyes were closed. "Did we hit anybody yet?"
"We're fine."
As Kelly opened her eyes, she looked in the side-view
mirror and froze. A black Citroen Berlingo
was behind them and she could see the man behind the
wheel.
"It's Godzilla!" Kelly gasped. "He's following us."
"What? How could he have found us so quickly?" Diane
pressed the accelerator all the way to the
floor. The Citroen was gaining on them. Diane looked at
the double-faced speedometer. One dial
read: 175 kilometers an hour. The other dial read: 110
miles an hour.
Nervously, Kelly said, "I'll bet you're too fast to drive
at the Indianapolis racetrack."
A mile ahead Diane saw the customs checkpoint between
Spain and France.
"Hit me," Diane said.
Kelly laughed. "I was only kidding, I just—"
"Hit me." Diane's voice was urgent.
The Citroen was getting closer.
"What are you—?" Do it now!"
Reluctantly, Kelly slapped Diane across the face.
"No. Punch me hard."
There were now only two cars between them and the Citroen.
"Hurry," Diane shouted.
Wincing, Kelly punched Diane on the cheek.
"Harder."
Kelly hit her again. This time, her diamond wedding ring
made a gash in Diane's cheek, and blood
started flowing.
Kelly was looking at Diane, horrified. "I'm so sorry,
Diane. I didn't mean to—"
They had reached the customs checkpoint. Diane braked to a
stop.
The border guard approached the car. "Good afternoon,
ladies."
"Good afternoon." Diane turned her head so that the guard
could see the blood running down her
cheek.
He looked at it, aghast. "Señora, what happened?"
Diane bit her lip. "It's my ex-husband. He enjoys hitting
me. I got a restraining order against him,
but I—I can't stop him. He keeps following me. He's back
there now. I know there's no use asking
for your help. No one can stop him."
When the guard turned around to scan the line of
approaching cars, his face was grim. "Which car
is he in?"
"The black Citroen, two cars back. I think he plans to
kill me."
"He does, does he?" the guard growled. "You ladies go on.
You won't have to worry about him anymore."
Diane looked at him tearfully and said, "Oh, thank you.
Thank you."
A moment later, they had crossed the border and were
driving into France.
"Diane—"
"Yes?"
Kelly put her hand on Diane's shoulder. "I'm so sorry
about—" She pointed to Diane's cheek.
Diane grinned. "It got rid of Godzilla, didn't it?" She
glanced at Kelly. "You're crying."
"No, I'm not." Kelly sniffed. "It's the damn mascara. What
you did was—you're not just a pretty
face, are you?" Kelly asked as she dabbed at Diane's wound
with a tissue.
Diane looked in the rearview mirror and grimaced. "Not
anymore, I'm not."
* * *
WHEN HARRY FLINT reached the border checkpoint, the patrol
H guard was waiting.
"Step out of the car, please."
"I haven't time for that," Flint said. "I'm in a hurry. I
have to—"
"Step out of the car."
Flint looked at him. "Why? What's the problem?"
"We have a report that a car with this license number has
been smuggling drugs. We're going to have
to take the car apart."
Flint glared at him. "Are you crazy? I told you, I'm in a
hurry. Drugs were never smuggled—?" He stopped and smiled. "I
get it." He reached in his pocket and handed the guard a
hundred-dollar bill.
"Here you are. Take this and forget about it."
The border guard called out, "Jose!"
A uniformed captain approached. The border guard handed
him the hundred-dollar bill.
"This is an attempted bribe."
The captain said to Flint, "Remove yourself from the car.
You are under arrest for bribery. Pull
over to that lot—"
"No. You can't arrest me now. I'm in the middle of—"
"And resisting arrest." He turned to the guard. "Call for
a backup."
Flint looked ahead at the highway and took a deep breath.
The Peugeot was out of sight.
Flint turned to the captain. "I have to make a phone
call."
* * *
AS DIANE AND Kelly sped through the French countryside,
the flat central plateau of the Castilian meseta began to
break up into the foothills of the Pyrenees and the Sierra de
Urbasa.
Diane spoke. "You said you had a friend in Paris?"
"Yes. Sam Meadows. He worked with Mark. I have a feeling
he can help us." Kelly reached into
her purse, took out her new cell phone, and dialed a
number in Paris.
An operator said, "KIG."
"Could I speak to Sam Meadows, please?"
A minute later, Kelly heard his voice.
"Hello."
"Sam, it's Kelly. I'm on my way to Paris."
"My God! I've been worried sick about you. Are you all
right?"
Kelly hesitated. "I think so."
"This is a nightmare," Sam Meadows said. "I still can't
believe it."
Neither can I, Kelly thought. "Sam, I have to tell you
something. I believe Mark was murdered."
Sam Meadows's answer sent a chill through her. "So do I."
Kelly was finding it difficult to speak. "I have to know
what happened. Can you help me?"
"I don't think it's something we should discuss on the
phone, Kelly." He was trying to make his
voice sound very casual.
"I—I understand."
"Why don't we talk about it tonight? We can have dinner at
my place.
"Fine."
"Seven o'clock?"
"I'll be there," Kelly said.
Kelly ended the call. "I'm going to get some answers
tonight."
"While you're doing that, I'm going to fly to Berlin and
talk to people who worked with
Franz Verbrugge."
Kelly was suddenly silent.
Diane glanced at her. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing. It's just that we're—we're such a great team. I
hate for us to split up. Why don't we go
to Paris together and then—?"
Diane smiled. "We're not splitting up, Kelly. When you're
through talking to Sam Meadows, you call
me. We can meet in Berlin. I should have some information
by then. We have our cell phones. We
can stay in touch. I'm eager to hear what you're going to
learn tonight."
They had reached Paris.
Diane glanced in the rearview mirror. "No Citroen. We've
finally lost him. Where do you want me
to take you?"
Kelly looked out the window. They were nearing la Place de
la Concorde.
"Diane, why don't you turn the car in and be on your way?
I can get a taxi here."
"Are you sure, partner?"
"I'm sure, partner."
"Be careful." You,too.
* * *
TWO MINUTES LATER, Kelly was in a taxi, on the way to her
apartment, eagerly looking forward
to going home again. In a short while, she would meet Sam
Meadows at his apartment for dinner.
When the taxi pulled up in front of Kelly's apartment
building, she felt a deep sense of relief. She
was home. The doorman opened the door.
Kelly looked up and started to say, "I'm back, Martin—"
and stopped. The doorman was a complete stranger.
"Good evening, madame."
"Good evening. Where is Martin?"
"Martin no longer works here. He quit."
Kelly was taken aback. "Oh. I'm sorry."
"Please, madame, allow me to introduce myself. I am Jerome
Malo."
Kelly nodded.
She walked into the lobby. A tall, thin stranger was
standing behind the reception desk, next to
Nicole Paradis.
The stranger smiled. "Good evening, Madame Harris. We have
been expecting you. I am Alphonse Girouard, the concierge."
Kelly looked around, puzzled. "Where's Philippe Cendre?"
"Ah. Philippe and his family moved to somewhere in Spain."
He shrugged. "Some business deal,
I believe."
Kelly felt a growing sudden sense of alarm. "And their
daughter?"
"She left with them."
Did I tell you that my daughter has been accepted at the
Sorbonne? It's a dream come true.
Kelly tried to keep her voice steady. "When did they
leave?"
"A few days ago, but please, do not worry, madame. You
will be taken good care of. Your apartment
is all ready for you."
Nicole Paradis, sitting at her desk, looked up. "Welcome
home." But her eyes were saying something
else.
"Where is Angel?"
"Oh, your little dog? Philippe took her with him."
Kelly was fighting a wave of panic. She was having trouble
breathing.
"Shall we go now, madame? We have a little surprise for
you in your apartment."
I'll bet you have. Kelly's mind was racing. "Yes, just one
minute," Kelly said. "There's something
I forgot to pick up."
Before Girouard could say anything, Kelly was outside,
hurrying down the street.
Jerome Malo and Alphonse Girouard stood on the sidewalk,
looking after her. Caught off guard,
it was too late to stop her. They watched her get into a
taxi.
My God! What have they done with Philippe and his family,
and with Angel? Kelly wondered.
"Where to, mademoiselle?"
"Just drive!" Tonight I'm going to find out what's behind
all this, Kelly thought.
* * *
IN HIS APARTMENT, Sam Meadows was finishing a phone
conversation. "Yes, I understand
how important it is. It will be taken care of. ... I'm
expecting her in a few minutes for dinner. . . .
Yes. . . .I've already arranged for someone to dispose of
her body. . . . Thank you. That's very
generous of you, Mr. Kingsley."
As Sam Meadows replaced the receiver, he looked at his
watch.
His dinner guest was due to arrive any minute.

CHAPTER 36

WHEN DIANE ARRIVED in Berlin at the Tempelhof airport,
there was a fifteen-minute waiting
line for a taxi. Finally, it was Diane's turn.
The driver smiled. "Wohin."
"Do you speak English?"
"Of course, fraulein."
"Kempinski Hotel, please."
"Ja wohl."
* * *
TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, Diane was checking into the
hotel. "I would like to hire a car
and driver."
"Certainly, fräulein." He looked down. "Your baggage?"
"It's coming."
* * *
WHEN THE CAR arrived, the driver asked, "Where do you wish
to go, fräulein?"
She needed time to think. "Just drive around for a while,
please."
"Gut. There is much to see in Berlin."
* * *
BERLIN WAS A surprise to Diane. She knew that it had been
bombed almost out of existence in
World War II, but what she saw now was a bustling city
with attractive, modern buildings and a
brisk air of success.
The street names seemed so odd to her: Windscheidstrasse,
Regensburgerstrasse, Lützowufer . . .
As they drove, the driver explained the history of the
parks and buildings, but Diane was not listening.
She had to speak to the people where Frau Verbrugge had
worked and find out what they knew. According to the
Internet, Franz Verbrugge's wife had been murdered and Franz
had disappeared.
Diane leaned forward and said to the driver, "Do you know
where a computer cafe is?"
"Certainly, fraulein."
"Would you take me there, please?"
"It is excellent. Very popular. You can get any
information you want there."
I hope so, Diane thought.
* * *
THE CYBERLIN CAFE was not as large as its counterpart in
Manhattan, but it seemed just as busy.
As Diane walked in the door, a woman came from behind the
desk. "We will have a computer
available in ten minutes."
"I want to speak to the manager," Diane said.
"I am the manager."
"Oh."
"And what did you want to see me about?"
"I wanted to talk to you about Sonja Verbrugge."
The woman shook her head. "Frau Verbrugge is not here."
"I know," Diane said. "She's dead. I'm trying to find out
how she died."
The woman was regarding Diane intently. "It was an
accident. When the police confiscated her
computer, they found—" A sly expression came over her
face. "If you will wait right here, fraulein,
I will call someone who can help you. I will return
quickly."
As Diane watched her hurry around the back, she was filled
with a sudden sense of unease. When
the woman was out of sight, Diane rushed outside and got
into the car. There was going to be no
help there. I have to talk to Franz Verbrugge's secretary.
At a telephone kiosk, Diane got the number of KIG and
dialed.
"KIG Berlin."
Diane said, "Could I speak to Franz Verbrugge's secretary,
please?"
"Who is calling?"
"This is Susan Stratford."
"One moment, please."
In Tanner's office, the blue light had flashed on. Tanner
smiled at his brother. "That's Diane Stevens calling. Let's
see if we can help her." He put the call on speakerphone.
The voice of the KIG operator said, "His secretary is not
here. Would you like to speak to
his assistant?"
"Yes, please."
"Just a moment."
A female voice came on. "This is Heidi Fronk. May I help
you?"
Diane's heart began to beat faster. "This is Susan
Stratford. I'm a reporter with the Wall Street Journal. We're
doing a story on the recent tragedies that have happened to
some employees at KIG. I wonder
if I could have an interview with you?"
"I don't know—"
"Just for some background information."
Tanner was listening intently.
"What about lunch? Are you free today?"
"I'm sorry, no."
"Dinner, then."
There was hesitation in her voice. "Yes, I suppose I could
do that."
"Where would you like to meet?"
"There is a fine restaurant called Rockendorf's. We could
meet there."
"Thank you."
"Eight-thirty?"
"Eight-thirty."
Diane replaced the receiver, smiling.
Tanner turned to Andrew. "I've decided to do what I should
have done in the first place. I'm calling
Greg Holliday to handle the matter. He's never failed me."
He looked at Andrew. "He has an inflated
ego. He charges an arm and a leg, but"—he smiled
thinly—"he'll deliver an arm and a leg."

CHAPTER 37

AS KELLY APPROACHED the door of Sam Meadows 's apartment
at 14 Rue du Bourg-Tibourg,
in the Fourth Ar-rondissement, she hesitated. Now that the
chase was drawing to a conclusion, she
was finally going to get some answers. She found herself
drawing back, afraid to hear them.
Kelly rang the doorbell. The moment the door opened and
she saw Sam Meadows, her fears went
away. All she felt was pleasure and relief at seeing this
man who had been so close to Mark.
"Kelly!" He cradled her in a warm bear hug.
"Oh, Sam."
He took her hand. "Come on in."
Kelly stepped inside. It was a charming two-bedroom
apartment, in a building that had once belonged
to a member of the French nobility.
The drawing room was spacious and luxuriously appointed
with French furniture, and in a small
alcove, there was a curiously carved oak bar. On the wall
was a Man Ray, and Adolf Wolfli drawings.
"I can't tell you how devastated I am about Mark," Sam
said awkwardly.
Kelly patted his arm. "I know," she whispered.
"It's unbelievable."
"I'm trying to find out what happened," Kelly said.
"That's why I'm here. I hope you can help me."
She took a seat on the couch, filled with a sense of
anticipation and apprehension.
Sam's face darkened. "No one seems to know the full story.
Mark was working on a secret project.
He was apparently collaborating with two or three other
employees at KIG. They say he committed suicide."
"I don't believe it," Kelly said vehemently.
"I don't either." His voice softened. "And do you know the
main reason? Because of you."
Kelly looked at Sam, puzzled. "I don't understand. . . ."
"How could Mark ever leave someone as lovely as you? How
could anyone ever leave someone as
lovely as you?" He was moving closer. "What happened is a
great tragedy, Kelly, but life has to go
on, doesn't it?" He put her hand in his. "We all need
someone, don't we? He's gone, but I'm here.
Your kind of woman needs a man."
"My kind of—?"
"Mark told me how passionate you are. He says you love
it."
Kelly turned to him in surprise. Mark would never have
said that. He would never have discussed
her like that with anyone.
Sam put one arm around her shoulders. "Yes. Mark told me
you really had to have it. He used to
tell me how great you were in bed."
Kelly was suddenly panic-stricken.
Sam said, "And Kelly, if it makes you feel any better,
Mark didn't suffer at all."
And she looked into Sam Meadows's eyes and she knew.
"We'll be having dinner in a few minutes," Sam said. "Why
don't we work up an appetite in bed?"
Kelly felt suddenly faint. She managed to force a smile.
"That sounds great." Her mind was working furiously. He was
too big for her to fight, and she had nothing to fight him
with. He began fondling
her. "You know you've got a great ass, baby. I go for
that,"
Kelly smiled. "Do you?" She sniffed. "I'm hungry.
Something smells good."
"Our dinner."
Before he could stop her, Kelly got up and moved toward
the kitchen. As she passed the dinner
table, she got a shock. The table had been set for one.
Kelly turned. In the drawing room, Sam was walking over to
the door and turning the key in the
lock. She watched him put the key in the drawer of an
armoire.
Kelly looked around the kitchen for a weapon. She had no
way of knowing which drawer held the
knives. On the counter was a box of angel hair pasta. On
the stove was a pot of boiling water, and
next to it, a smaller pot with a red sauce that was
cooking.
Sam walked into the kitchen and put his arms around Kelly.
She pretended not to pay any attention. She looked at the
sauce on the stove. "Looks wonderful."
He was stroking her body. "It is. What do you like to do
in bed, baby?"
Kelly's mind was racing. She said softly, "Everything. I
used to do something kinky to Mark that
drove him crazy."
Sam's face lit up. "What was that?"
"I would take a warm, wet washcloth and—" She picked up a
soft cloth on the sink. "I'll show you.
Drop your pants."
Sam Meadows grinned. "Yeah." He loosened his trousers and
dropped them to the floor. He was
wearing boxer shorts.
"Now your shorts."
He dropped his shorts, and his organ was engorged.
Kelly said admiringly, "My, my . . ." She picked up the
soft cloth with her left hand and moved toward him. With her
right hand, she picked up the pot of boiling water and hurled
the contents onto his genitals.
Kelly could still hear his screams as she took the key out
of the armoire, unlocked the door, and fled.

CHAPTER 38

ROCKENDORF'S IS ONE of the outstanding restaurants in
Germany, its art nouveau decor long
serving as a symbol of Berlin's prosperity.
When Diane walked in, she was greeted by the maitre d'.
"May I help you?"
"I have a reservation. Stevens. Miss Fronk is going to
meet me here."
"This way, please."
The maitre d' seated her at a corner table. Diane looked
around carefully. There were about forty customers in the
restaurant, most of them businessmen. Across from Diane's
table, an attractive well-dressed man was dining alone.
Diane sat there, thinking about her conversation with
Heidi Fronk. How much would she know?
The waiter handed Diane a menu. "Bitte."
"Thank you."
Diane glanced at the menu. Leberkds, Haxen, Labskaus. . .
She had no idea what any of the dishes
were. Heidi Fronk could explain them.
Diane glanced at her watch. Heidi was twenty minutes late.
The waiter came to the table. "Would you like to order
now, fräulein?"
"No. I'll wait for my guest. Thank you."
The minutes were ticking by. Diane was beginning to wonder
whether something had gone wrong.
Fifteen minutes later, the waiter came back to the table.
"May I bring you anything?"
"No, thanks. My guest should be here any minute."
At nine o'clock, Heidi Fronk still had not appeared. With
a sinking feeling, Diane realized that she
was not coming.
As Diane glanced up, she saw two men sitting down at a
table near the entrance. They were ill dressed and mean
looking, and the word that came to Diane's mind was thugs.
She watched as the waiter went
to their table, and they rudely waved him away. They were
not interested in food. They turned back to stare at Diane,
and with a feeling of dismay, she realized she had walked
into a trap. Heidi Fronk had
set her up. Diane could feel the blood rush to her head.
She looked around for a means of escape.
There was none. She could keep sitting there, but
eventually she was going to have to leave, and they would
grab her. She thought about using her cell phone, but there
was no one who could help her.
Diane thought desperately, I've got to get out of here,
but how?
As she looked around the room, her gaze fell on the
attractive man sitting alone at the table across
from hers. He was sipping his coffee.
Diane smiled at him and said, "Good evening."
He looked up, surprised, and said pleasantly, "Good
evening."
Diane gave him a warm, inviting smile, pleased that he
spoke English. "I see we're both alone."
"Yes."
"Would you like to join me?"
He hesitated a moment and smiled. "Certainly." He rose and
walked over to Diane's table.
"It's no fun eating alone, is it?" Diane said lightly.
"You're quite right. It's not."
She held out a hand. "I'm Diane Stevens."
"Greg Holliday."
* * *
KELLY HARRIS HAD been stunned by her terrifying experience
with Sam Meadows. After her
escape, she had spent the night walking the streets of
Montmartre, constantly looking behind her,
in fear that she was being followed. But I can't leave
Paris without finding out what's going on,
Kelly thought.
At dawn, she stopped at a small cafe and had a cup of
coffee. The answer to her problem came to
her unexpectedly: Mark's secretary. She had adored Mark.
Kelly was sure she would do anything
to be helpful.
At nine o'clock, Kelly made the call from a telephone
kiosk. She dialed the familiar number, and
a female operator with a heavy French accent said,
"Kingsley International Group."
"I'd like to talk to Yvonne Renais."
"Un moment, s'ilvousplait."
A moment later, Kelly heard Yvonne's voice.
"Yvonne Renais. May I help you?"
"Yvonne, this is Kelly Harris."
There was a startled exclamation. "Oh! Mrs. Harris—"
In Tanner Kingsley's office a blue light flashed.
Tanner picked up the telephone. It was three a.m. in New
York, but he had resolved not to leave his office until the
troublesome problem was disposed of. Now, as Tanner listened
on the phone, he
heard the conversation that was taking place in Paris.
"I'm so sorry about what happened to Mr. Harris. It was so
awful."
"Thank you, Yvonne. I need to talk to you. Can we meet
somewhere? Are you free for lunch?"
"Yes."
"Someplace public."
"Do you know Le Ciel de Paris? It's in La Tour
Montparnasse."
"Yes."
In his office, Tanner Kingsley made a mental note.
"Twelve o'clock?"
"That's fine. I'll see you there."
Tanner Kingsley's lips puckered into a thin smile. Enjoy
your last lunch. He unlocked the drawer,
opened it, and picked up the gold telephone.
When a voice at the other end answered, Tanner said, "Good
news. It's over. We have them both."
He listened a moment, then nodded. "I know. It took a
little longer than we expected, but we're ready
to go forward now. ... I feel the same way. . . .
Good-bye."
* * *
LA TOUR MONTPARNASSE is a 685-foot tower, built of steel
and glass. The building was abuzz
with activity. The offices in the building were fully
occupied. The bar and restaurant were located
on the fifty-sixth floor.
Kelly was the first to arrive. Yvonne came in fifteen
minutes later, apologizing profusely.
Kelly had only met her a few times, but she remembered her
well. Yvonne was a tiny, sweet-faced
lady. Mark had often told Kelly how efficient Yvonne was.
"Thank you for coming," Kelly said.
"I would do anything I could to—Mr. Harris was such a
wonderful man. Everyone at the office
adored him. None of us could believe what—what happened."
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Yvonne. You
were with my husband five years?"
"Yes."
"So you got to know him pretty well?"
"Uh, yes."
"Did you notice anything in the last few months that
seemed strange? I mean, any change in the
way he acted or what he said?"
Yvonne avoided her eyes. "I'm not sure ... I mean . . ."
Kelly said earnestly, "Whatever you say now can't hurt
him. And it might help me understand what happened." Kelly
steeled herself to ask the next question. "Did he ever talk
about Olga?"
Yvonne looked at her, puzzled. "Olga? No."
"You don't know who she was?"
"I have no idea."
Kelly felt a sense of relief. She leaned forward. "Yvonne,
is there something you're not telling me?"
"Well. . ."
The waiter came up to their table. "Bonjour, mesdames.
Bienvenue au Ciel de Paris. Je m'appelle Jacques Brion. Notre
chef de cuisine a prepare quelques specialites pour le
dejeuner d'aujourd'hui. Avez-vous fait votre choix?"
"Oui, monsieur. Nous avons choisi le Chateaubriand pour
deux."
When the waiter left, Kelly looked at Yvonne. "You were
saying . . . ?"
"Well, in the last few days before—before he died, Mr.
Harris seemed very nervous. He asked me
to get him a plane ticket to Washington, D.C."
"I know about that. I thought it was just a routine
business trip."
"No. I think it was something very unusual—something
urgent."
"Do you have any idea what it was about?"
"No. Everything suddenly became very secret. That's all I
know."
Kelly quizzed Yvonne for the next hour, but there was
nothing Yvonne could add.
When they had finished their lunch, Kelly said, "I would
like you to keep this meeting confidential, Yvonne."
"You don't have to worry about that, Mrs. Harris. I won't
tell a soul." Yvonne stood up. "I have to
get back to work." Her lips trembled. "But it won't be the
same."
"Thank you, Yvonne."
Who was Mark going to see in Washington? And there had
been the strange phone calls from
Germany and Denver and New York.
* * *
KELLY TOOK THE elevator down to the lobby. I'll give Diane
a call and see what she's found
out. Maybe—
As Kelly reached the front entrance of the building, she
saw them. There were two large men, one
on each side of the door. They looked at her, then grinned
at each other. As far as Kelly knew,
there was no other nearby exit. Could Yvonne have betrayed
me?
The men started moving toward Kelly, roughly pushing past
the people coming in and out of the
building.
Kelly looked around frantically and pressed against the
wall. Her arm was bumping something hard.
She looked at it, and as the two men moved closer, Kelly
picked up the little hammer attached to the
fire alarm unit on the wall, broke the glass, and the fire
alarm clanged throughout the building.
Kelly yelled, "Fire! Fire!"
There was instant panic. People came running out of
offices, shops, and restaurants, headed for the exit door.
Within seconds, the hall was jammed, with everyone fighting
to get out. The two men were trying to find Kelly in the
crowd. When they finally got to where they had last seen her,
Kelly had disappeared.
* * *
ROCKENDORF'S RESTAURANT WAS getting crowded.
"I was waiting for a friend," Diane explained to Greg
Holliday, the attractive man she had invited
to her table. "It looks like she wasn't able to make it."
"Too bad. Are you in Berlin on a visit?" Yes.
"It is a beautiful city. I am a happily married man, or I
would offer to be your escort. But there are
some excellent tours in Berlin that I can recommend."
"That would be nice," Diane said absently. She glanced
toward the entrance. The two men were
walking out the door. They would be waiting for her
outside. It was time to make her move.
"As a matter of fact," Diane said, "I'm here with a
group." She looked at her watch. "They're waiting
for me now. If you wouldn't mind walking me out to a
taxi—"
"Not at all."
A few moments later, they were heading out the exit.
Diane felt a deep sense of relief. The two men might
attack her alone, but she did not think they
would attack her with a man at her side. It would attract
too much attention.
When Diane and Greg Holliday stepped outside, the two men
were nowhere in sight. A taxi was in
front of the restaurant, a Mercedes parked behind it.
Diane said, "It was nice meeting you, Mr. Holliday. I
hope—"
Holliday smiled and took her arm, gripping it so tightly
that Diane felt an agonizing pain.
She looked at him, startled. "What—?"
"Why don't we take the car?" he said softly. He was
pulling Diane toward the Mercedes. His grip tightened.
"No, I don't want to—"
As they reached the car, Diane saw the men from the
restaurant sitting inside, on the front seat.
Horrified, Diane suddenly understood how she had been
trapped, and she was filled with an overwhelming terror.
"Please," she said. "Don't. I—" She felt herself being
shoved into the car.
Greg Holliday moved in beside Diane and closed the door.
"Schnell!"
As the car pulled into the heavy traffic, Diane found
herself becoming hysterical. "Please—"
Greg Holliday turned to her and smiled reassuringly. "You
can relax. I am not going to hurt you.
I promise you that by tomorrow, you will be on your way
home."
He reached into a cloth pocket attached to the back of the
driver's seat and took out a hypodermic
needle.
"I'm going to give you a shot. It's harmless. It will put
you to sleep for an hour or two."
He reached for Diane's wrist.
"Scheisse!" the driver yelled. A pedestrian had suddenly
darted in front of the Mercedes, and the
driver jammed on the brakes to avoid hitting him. Caught
unaware, Holliday's head slammed
against the metal framework of the driver's headrest.
He tried to sit up, groggy. He yelled at the driver,
"What—?"
Instinctively, Diane grabbed Holliday's hand that was
holding the hypodermic needle, twisted his
wrist, and plunged the needle into his flesh.
Holliday turned to her in shock. "No!" It was a scream.
With growing horror, Diane watched Holliday's body go into
spasms and then stiffen and collapse.
He was dead within seconds. The two men in the front seat
turned to see what was happening.
Diane was out the door and seconds later in a taxi, headed
in the opposite direction.

CHAPTER 39

THE SOUND OF her cell phone startled her. She picked it up
cautiously. "Hello?"
"Hi, Kelly."
"Diane! Where are you?"
"In Munich. Where are you?"
"On a train to London."
"How did your meeting with Sam Meadows go?"
Kelly could still hear his screams. "I'll tell you about
it when we meet. Did you get any information?"
"Not much. We have to decide what to do next. We're
running out of options. Gary Reynolds's
plane crashed near Denver. I think we have to go there.
Maybe it's our last chance."
"All right."
"The obituary said that Reynolds has a sister living in
Denver. She might know something. Why
don't we meet in Denver at the Brown Palace Hotel. I'm
flying out of Schoenfeld airport, in Berlin,
in three hours."
"I'll get a plane out of Heathrow."
"Good. The room will be booked under the name of Harriet
Beecher Stowe."
"Kelly—"
"Yes."
"Just . . . you know."
"I know. You, too ..."
* * *
TANNER WAS ALONE in his office, talking on the gold phone:
"... and they managed to escape.
Sam Meadows is not a happy man, and Greg Holliday is
dead." He was silent for a moment, thinking. "Logically, the
only place left for them is Denver. In fact, that's probably
their last option. ... It looks
as though I'm going to have to handle this personally.
They've won my respect, so it's only fitting that
I take care of them properly." He listened, then laughed.
"Of course. Good-bye."
* * *
ANDREW WAS SEATED in his office, his mind floating,
creating hazy visions. He was lying in a hospital bed and
Tanner was saying, You surprised me, Andrew. You were
supposed to die. Now the doctors tell me you can get out of
here in a few days. I'm giving you an office at KIG. I want
you to
see how I'm saving your ass. You just wouldn't learn,
would you, you imbecile? Well, I'm turning
your penny-ante operation into a gold mine, and you can
sit there and watch how I do it. By the
way, the first thing I did was to cancel all the bullshit
do-good projects you started, Andrew . . . Andrew . . .
Andrew . . .
The voice was getting louder. "Andrew! Are you deaf?"
Tanner was calling him. Andrew pulled himself to his feet
and walked into his brother's office.
Tanner looked up. "I hope I'm not interfering with your
work," Tanner said sarcastically.
"No, I was just. . ."
Tanner studied his brother a moment. "You're really not
good for anything, are you, Andrew? You
don't reap, neither do you sow. It's good for me to have
someone to talk to, but I don't know how
much longer I want to keep you around."
* * *
KELLY ARRIVED IN Denver ahead of Diane, and she registered
at the venerable Brown
Palace Hotel.
"A friend of mine will be arriving this afternoon."
"Would you like two rooms?"
"No, a double."
* * *
WHEN DIANE'S plane landed at Denver International Airport,
she took a taxi to the hotel. She
walked up to the front desk and spoke to the clerk.
"Oh, yes. Mrs. Stowe is expecting you. She's in room 638."
It was a relief to hear.
Kelly was waiting. The two of them exchanged a warm hug.
"I've missed you."
"I've missed you. How was your trip?" Kelly asked.
"Uneventful. Thank God."
Diane looked at her and said, "What happened to you in
Paris?" Kelly took a deep breath.
"Tanner Kingsley. What happened in Berlin?"
Diane said tonelessly, "Tanner Kingsley."
Kelly walked over to a table, picked up a telephone
directory, and brought it back to Diane.
"Gary's sister, Lois Reynolds, is listed in the telephone
book. She lives on Marion Street."
"Good." Diane looked at her watch. "It's too late to do
anything tonight. We'll go there first thing
in the morning."
* * *
THEY HAD DINNER in the room and talked until midnight,
then got ready for bed.
Diane said, "Good night," and reached for the light
switch. The bedroom was plunged into darkness.
Kelly screamed. "No! Turn on the lights."
Diane quickly turned them back on. "I'm so sorry, Kelly. I
forgot."
"I used to be afraid of the dark, until Mark. And after he
was killed . . ." Kelly began hyperventilating, fighting to
control her panic. She took a deep breath. "I wish I could
get over this."
"Don't worry about it. When you're feeling very secure,
you will."
* * *
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, when Diane and Kelly walked out of
the hotel, there was a line of
taxis in front of the entrance. The two women got into
one, and Kelly gave the driver the number of
Lois Reynolds's house on Marion Street.
Fifteen minutes later, the driver pulled up to the curb.
"Here we are."
Kelly and Diane stared out the window, aghast. They were
looking at the charred rubble of a house
that had burned to the ground. There was nothing left but
ashes, bits of burned wood, and a crumbled concrete
foundation.
"The bastards killed her," Kelly said. She looked at Diane
despairingly. "This is the end of the road."
Diane was thinking. There's one last chance.
* * *
RAY FOWLER, THE acerbic manager of the Denver airport,
scowled at Kelly and Diane. "Let's
see if I have this straight. You two are investigating a
plane crash, without any authority, and you
want me to arrange for you to question the air traffic
controller who was on duty, so he can give
you some privileged information? Do I have that right?"
Diane and Kelly glanced at each other.
Kelly said, "Well, we were hoping—"
"You were hoping what?"
"That you would help us."
"Why would I do that?"
"Mr. Fowler, we just want to make sure that what happened
to Gary Reynolds really was an accident."
Ray Fowler was studying them closely. "It's interesting,"
he said. He sat there, bemused, and then
spoke. "This has been on my mind a lot. Maybe you should
discuss this with Howard Miller. He was
the air traffic controller on duty when the accident
happened. Here's his address. I'll call him and tell
him you're coming over."
"Thank you. That's very kind of you," Diane said.
Ray Fowler growled, "The only reason I'm doing this is
because I think the FAA crash report is
bullshit. We found the remains of the plane, but
interestingly enough, the black box was missing.
It just disappeared."
* * *
HOWARD MILLER LIVED in a small stucco house six miles from
the airport. Miller was a small, energetic man in his
forties. He opened the door for Diane and Kelly. "Come in.
Ray Fowler told
me you were coming. What is it I can do for you?"
"We'd like to talk to you, Mr. Miller."
"Sit down." They sat on the couch. "Like some coffee?"
"No, thanks."
"You're here about the Gary Reynolds crash."
"Yes. Was it an accident or—?"
Howard Miller shrugged. "I honestly don't know. I've never
experienced anything like it in all the
years I've been working here. Everything was going
according to protocol. Gary Reynolds radioed for permission
to land, and we cleared him. The next thing I know, he was
only two miles away, reporting
a hurricane. A hurricane! Our weather monitors were clear.
Later, I checked with the weather bureau. There was no wind
at that time. To tell you the truth, I thought he was drunk
or on drugs. The next
thing we all knew, he crashed into the side of a
mountain."
Kelly said, "I understand that the black box hasn't been
found."
"That's another thing," Howard Miller commented
thoughtfully. "We found everything else. What happened to the
black box? The damned FAA came in and thought we had our
records wrong. They didn't believe us when we told them what
had happened. You know when you can feel something is
not right?"
"Yes."
"I feel that something is not right, but I can't tell you
what. I am sorry I can't be of more help."
Diane and Kelly rose, frustrated. "Well, thank you very
much, Mr. Miller. We appreciate your time."
"Not at all."
As Miller started to lead the two women toward the door,
he said, "I hope Gary's sister will be all right."
Kelly stopped. "What?"
"She's in the hospital, you know. Poor thing. Her house
burned down in the middle of the night. They don't know if
she's going to make it or not."
Diane froze. "What happened?"
"The fire department thinks it was caused by an electrical
short. Lois managed to crawl out of the
front door, onto the lawn, but by the time the
firefighters got to her, she was in pretty bad shape."
Diane tried to keep her voice calm. "What hospital is she
in?"
"The University of Colorado Hospital. She's in the burn
center there."
* * *
THE NURSE AT the reception desk at Three North said, "I'm
sorry, Miss Reynolds is not allowed visitors."
Kelly asked, "Can you tell us what room she's in?"
"No, I'm afraid I can't."
"This is an emergency," Diane said. "We have to see her
and—"
"No one sees her without written authorization." There was
a note of finality in her voice.
Diane and Kelly looked at each other.
"Well, thank you."
The two women walked away. "What are we going to do?"
Kelly asked. "This is our last chance."
"I have a plan."
* * *
A UNIFORMED MESSENGER carrying a large, beribboned parcel
approached the reception desk.
"I have a package here for Lois Reynolds."
"I'll sign for it," the nurse said.
The messenger shook his head. "Sorry. My orders are to
deliver it to her personally. It's very valuable."
The nurse hesitated. "Then I'll have to go with you."
"That's fine."
He followed the nurse to the end of the hall. When they
reached room 391, the nurse started to open
the door and the messenger handed her the package. "You
can take it in to her," he said.
* * *
One FLIGHT DOWN, the messenger walked over to the bench
where Diane and Kelly were waiting.
"Room 391," he told them.
"Thanks," Diane said gratefully. She handed him some
money.
The two women took the stairs to the third floor, stepped
into the corridor, and waited until the nurse
was on the telephone. Her back was turned to them. They
quickly started down the hall and entered
room 391.
Lois Reynolds was lying in bed with a spiderweb of tubes
and wires attached to her body. She was heavily bandaged. Her
eyes were closed as Kelly and Diane approached the bed.
Diane said softly, "Miss Reynolds, I'm Diane Stevens and
this is Kelly Harris. Our husbands worked
for KIG."
Lois Reynolds's eyes slowly opened and tried to focus.
When she spoke, her voice was a shadow of
a whisper. "What?"
Kelly said, "Our husbands worked for KIG. They were both
killed. We thought that because of
what happened to your brother, you might be able to help
us."
Lois Reynolds tried to shake her head. "I can't help you.
. . . Gary is dead." Her eyes welled up
with tears.
Diane leaned close. "Did your brother say anything to you
before the accident?"
"Gary was a wonderful man." Her voice was slow and pained.
"He was killed in a plane crash."
Diane said patiently, "Did he say anything to you that
might help us find out what happened?"
Lois Reynolds closed her eyes.
"Miss Reynolds, please don't go to sleep yet. Please. This
is very important. Did your brother say anything to you that
might help us?"
Lois Reynolds opened her eyes again and looked at Diane,
puzzled. "Who are you?"
Diane said, "We think your brother was murdered."
Lois Reynolds murmured, "I know . . ."
The two of them felt a cold chill.
"Why?" Kelly asked.
"Prima . . ." It was a whisper.
Kelly leaned closer. "Prima?"
"Gary told . . . told me about it a few ... a few days
before he was killed. Their machine that can
control. . . control weather. Poor Gary. He ... he never
got to Washington."
Diane said, "Washington?"
"Yes . . . They were all going to ... all going to see
some senator about. . . about Prima. . . . Gary
said Prima was bad. . . ."
Kelly asked, "Do you remember the senator's name?"
"No."
"Please think."
Lois Reynolds was mumbling. "Senator somebody . . ."
"Senator who?" Kelly asked.
"Levin—Luven—Van Luven. He was going to see her. He was
going to meet—"
The door flew open, and a doctor wearing a white jacket,
with a stethoscope draped around his neck, strode into the
room. He looked at Diane and Kelly, furious. "Didn't anyone
tell you no visitors were allowed in here?"
Kelly said, "I'm sorry. We had to—speak to—"
"Leave, please."
The two women looked at Lois Reynolds. "Good-bye. Get
well."
The man watched them leave the room. When the door closed,
he moved to the bed, picked up
a pillow, and leaned over Lois Reynolds.

CHAPTER 40

KELLY AND DIANE made their way down to the main lobby of
the hospital.
Diane said, "That's why Richard and Mark were going to
Washington, to see Senator Van Luven."
"How do we get hold of her?"
"Simple." Diane took out her cell phone.
Kelly held up a hand to stop her. "No. Let's use a pay
phone."
They got the telephone number of the Senate office
building from information, and Diane called
from a public phone.
"Senator Van Luven's office."
"I'd like to speak to the senator, please."
"May I say who's calling?"
Diane said, "It's a personal matter."
"Your name, please?"
"I can't—just tell her it's very important."
"I'm sorry, I can't do that." The line was disconnected.
Diane turned to Kelly. "We can't use our names." Diane
called the number again.
"Senator Van Luven's office."
"Please, listen to me. This is not a crank call. I need to
speak to the senator, and I can't give you
my name."
"Then I'm afraid I can't let you speak to the senator."
The call was disconnected.
Diane dialed again.
"Senator Van Luven's office."
"Please don't hang up. I know you're doing your job, but
this is a matter of life and death. I'm calling from a pay
phone. I'm going to give you the number. Please have the
senator call me." She gave the secretary the number and heard
the secretary slam the phone down.
Kelly said, "What do we do now?" we wait.
They waited for two hours, and finally Diane said, "It's
not going to work. Let's—"
The phone rang. Diane took a deep breath and rushed to
pick it up. "Hello?"
An annoyed female voice said, "This is Senator Van Luven.
Who is this?"
Diane held the phone toward Kelly, so that they could both
hear what the senator was saying. Diane
was so choked up, she could hardly speak. "Senator, my
name is Diane Stevens. I'm here with Kelly Harris. Do you
know who we are?"
"No, I don't, and I'm afraid I—"
"Our husbands were murdered on their way to meet with
you."
There was a gasp. "Oh, my God. Richard Stevens and Mark
Harris."
"Yes."
"Your husbands made an appointment to meet with me, but my
secretary received a call saying that
they had changed their plans. Then they—died."
"That call was not from them, Senator," Diane said. "They
were murdered to stop them from seeing you."
"What?" She sounded in shock. "Why would anyone—?"
"They were killed to prevent them from talking to you.
Kelly and I would like to come to Washington
and tell you what our husbands were trying to tell you."
There was a brief hesitation. "I'll meet with you, but not
in my office. It's too public. If what you're saying is true,
it could be dangerous. I have a home in Southampton, Long
Island. I can meet you
there. Where are you calling from?"
"Denver."
"Just a moment."
Three minutes later, the senator came back on the line.
"The next flight out of Denver to New York
is a red-eye. It's a United flight, nonstop to La Guardia.
It leaves at twelve-twenty-five a.m. and
arrives in New York at six-oh-nine a.m. If the flight is
full, there's one—"
"We'll be on that flight."
Kelly looked at Diane, surprised. "Diane, what if we can't
get—?"
Diane held up a reassuring hand. "We'll be on it."
"When you get to the airport, a gray Lincoln Town Car will
be waiting for you. Go right to the car.
The driver is Asian. His name is Kunio, K-U-N-I-O. He'll
take you to my home. I'll be waiting for
you there."
"Thank you, Senator."
Diane replaced the receiver and took a deep breath. She
turned to Kelly. "We're all set."
Kelly said, "How do you know we can get on that flight?"
"I have a plan."
* * *
THE CONCIERGE AT the hotel arranged a rental car, and in
forty-five minutes, Diane and Kelly were on their way to the
airport. Kelly said, "I don't know whether I'm more excited
or more frightened."
"I don't think we have anything to be frightened about
anymore."
"It looks like a lot of people tried to meet with the
senator, but none of them made it, Diane. They
were all killed first."
"Then we're going to be the first to make it."
Kelly said, "I wish we had—"
"I know. A weapon. You said that. We have our wits."
"Yeah. I wish we had a weapon."
Kelly looked out the car window. "Pull over."
Diane pulled over to the curb. "What is it?"
"There's something I have to do."
They had stopped in front of a beauty parlor. Kelly opened
the car door.
Diane said, "Where are you going?"
"I'm going to get a new hairdo."
Diane said, "You're joking."
"No, I'm not."
"You're getting a new hairdo now! Kelly, we're on our way
to the airport, to catch a plane, and
there's no time to—"
"Diane, you never know what's going to happen. And in case
I should die, I want to look pretty."
Diane sat there, speechless, as Kelly walked into the
beauty parlor.
* * *
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Kelly came out. She was wearing a
black wig that was a luxurious
upsweep piled high in the back.
"I'm ready," Kelly said. "Let's go kick some ass."

CHAPTER 41

There's a white Lexus following us," Kelly said.
"I know. There are half a dozen men in it."
"Can you lose them?"
"I don't have to."
Kelly stared at her. "What?"
"Watch."
They were approaching an airport gate with a sign that
read deliveries only. The guard behind the
gate had opened it to admit the car.
The men in the Lexus watched as Kelly and Diane got out
and stepped into an official airport car
that started across the tarmac.
When the Lexus reached the gate, the guard said, "This is
a private entrance."
"But you let that other car in."
"This is a private entrance." The guard closed the gate.
* * *
THE OFFICIAL AIRPORT car crossed the tarmac and stopped at
the side of a jumbo jet. As Diane
and Kelly stepped out, Howard Miller was waiting. "You got
here all right."
"Yes," Diane said. "Thanks so much for making the
arrangements."
"My pleasure." His face became grim. "I hope some good
comes out of all of this."
Kelly said, "Thank Lois Reynolds for us and tell her—"
Howard Miller's expression changed. "Lois Reynolds passed
away last night."
The two women both felt a sense of shock. It took Kelly a
moment to speak. "I'm sorry."
"What happened?" Diane asked.
"I guess her heart gave out."
Howard Miller looked over at the jet. "They're ready to
go. I've arranged seats for you near the door."
"Thanks again."
* * *
HOWARD MILLER WATCHED AS Kelly and Diane went up the ramp.
Moments later, the flight attendant closed the door, and the
plane began to taxi.
Kelly turned to Diane and smiled. "We've made it. We
outsmarted all those brainiacs. What are you
going to do after we talk to Senator Van Luven?"
"I hadn't really thought about it," Diane said. "Are you
going back to Paris?"
"It depends. Do you think you'll be staying in New York?"
"Yes."
Kelly said, "Then maybe I'll stick around New York for a
while."
"Then we might go to Paris together." They sat there,
smiling at each other.
Diane said, "I was just thinking how proud Richard and
Mark would be if they knew we're going
to finish the job they started."
"You bet."
Diane looked out the window and up at the sky, and said
softly, "Thank you, Richard."
Kelly glanced at Diane, shook her head, and said nothing.
Richard, I know you can hear me, darling. We're going to
finish what you started. We're going to
avenge you and your friends. It won't bring you back, but
it will help a little. Do you know what
I miss most about you, my love? Everything.
* * *
WHEN THE PLANE landed at La Guardia airport three and a
half hours later, Diane and Kelly were
the first passengers to disembark. Diane remembered
Senator Van Luven's words: When you get to
the airport, a gray Lincoln Town Car will be waiting for
you.
The car was waiting at the terminal entrance. Standing
next to it was an elderly Japanese man in a chauffeur's
uniform. He stood up straight as Kelly and Diane approached
him.
"Mrs. Stevens? Mrs. Harris?"
"Yes."
"I'm Kunio." He opened the door of the car and they
stepped in.
Moments later, they were on their way to Southampton.
"It is a two-hour drive," Kunio said. "The scenery is very
beautiful."
The last thing they were interested in was scenery. Both
were busily thinking about the quickest
way to explain to the senator what had happened.
Kelly said to Diane, "Do you think the senator will be in
danger when we tell her what we know?"
"I'm sure she'll have protection. She'll know how to
handle this."
"I hope so."
After almost two hours the Town Car finally drove up to a
large limestone mansion with a slate
roof and tall, slender chimneys, in the style of
eighteenth-century England. There were extensive,
manicured grounds, and they could see a separate house for
the servant quarters and garage.
As the car stopped at the front door, Kunio said, "I will
be waiting for you, if you need me."
"Thank you."
The door was opened by a butler. "Good morning. Come in,
please. The senator is expecting you."
The two women entered. The living room was elegant yet
casual, furnished with an eclectic
assortment of antiques and comfortable-looking couches and
chairs. On the wall, above a large
fireplace with a baroque mantel, were mirrored candle
sconces.
The butler said, "This way, please."
Kelly and Diane followed the butler into a large drawing
room.
Senator Van Luven was waiting for them. She was wearing a
light blue silk suit and blouse, and her
hair was hanging loosely. She was more feminine-looking
than Diane had expected.
"I'm Pauline Van Luven."
"Diane Stevens."
"Kelly Harris."
"I'm glad to see you both. It's taken much too long."
Kelly looked at Senator Van Luven, puzzled. "I'm sorry?"
Tanner Kingsley's voice behind them said, "She means you
have been very lucky, but your luck
has just run out."
Diane and Kelly turned. Tanner Kingsley and Harry Flint
had come into the room.
Tanner said, "Now, Mr. Flint."
Harry Flint raised a pistol. Without a word, he aimed at
the women and fired twice. Pauline Van Luven and Tanner
Kingsley watched as Kelly's and Diane's bodies tumbled
backward and fell to the floor.
Tanner walked over to Senator Van Luven and hugged her.
"It's finally over, Princess."

CHAPTER 42

FLINT ASKED, "WHAT do you want me to do with the bodies?"
Tanner did not hesitate. "Tie some weights around their
ankles, have them flown out about two
hundred miles, and drop them into the Atlantic."
"No problem." Flint left the room.
Tanner turned to Senator Van Luven. "That ends it,
Princess. We can be on our way."
She moved up to him and kissed him. "I've missed you so
much, baby."
"I've missed you, too."
"Those monthly rendezvous were frustrating because I knew
you had to leave."
Tanner held her close. "From now on, we're together. We'll
wait a respectable three or four months
as an homage to your dear departed husband and then we'll
get married."
She smiled and said, "Lets make it a month."
He nodded. "Sounds good."
"I resigned from the Senate yesterday. They were very
understanding about my grief over my
husband's death."
"Wonderful. Now we can be seen together freely. I want you
to see something at KIG that I
couldn't show you before."
* * *
TANNER AND PAULINE had reached the redbrick building.
Tanner walked up to the solid steel
door. There was a recess in the center of it. He was
wearing a heavy cameo ring with the face of a
Greek warrior on it.
Pauline watched as Tanner pressed the ring hard into the
recess, and the door began to open. The
room was enormous, filled with huge computers and
television screens. At a far wall were generators
and electronics, all linked together with a control panel
in the center.
Tanner said, "Princess, meet Prima. This is ground zero.
What you and I have here is something that's going to change
lives forever. This room is the command center of a satellite
system that can control the weather in any area of the world.
We can cause storms anywhere. We can create famines by
stopping rain. We can fog in airports. We can manufacture
hurricanes and cyclones that would stop the world's economy."
He smiled. "I've already demonstrated some of our power. A
lot of countries have been working on weather control, but
none of them has solved it yet."
Tanner pressed a button, and a large television screen lit
up. "What you're seeing here is a technical advance that the
army wishes it had." He turned to Pauline and smiled. "The
only wild card that prevented Prima from giving me perfect
control was the greenhouse effect, and you took care of that
beautifully." He sighed. "Do you know who created this
project? Andrew. He really was a genius."
Pauline was staring at the massive equipment. "I don't
understand how this can control the weather."
"Well, the simple version is that warm air rises toward
colder air, and if there is moisture in—"
"Don't patronize me, darling."
"Sorry, but the longer version is a bit complicated,"
Tanner said.
"I'm listening."
"It's a little technical, so bear with me. Microwave
lasers, created with the nano-technology my
brother produced, when fired into Earth's atmosphere, make
free-forming oxygen that bonds with hydrogen, thus producing
ozone and water. Free oxygen in the atmosphere pairs
up—that's why it's
called O2—and my brother discovered that firing that laser
from space into the atmosphere made the oxygen bond with two
hydrogen atoms into ozone—O,, and water—H2O."
"I still don't understand how that would—"
"The weather is driven by water. Andrew found in
larger-scale tests that so much water was created
as a by-product of his experiments that winds shifted.
More lasers, more wind. Control the water
and the wind, and you control all weather."
He was thoughtful for a moment. "When I found out that
Akira Iso in Tokyo, and later, Madeleine
Smith in Zurich, were close to solving the problem, I
offered them jobs here, so I could control them.
But they turned me down. I couldn't afford to let them
finish what they were working on." He sighed.
"I told you that I had four of my top meteorologists
working on the project with me."
"Yes."
"They were good, too. Franz Verbrugge in Berlin, Mark
Harris in Paris, Gary Reynolds in Vancouver, and Richard
Stevens in New York. I had each of them trying to solve a
different facet of weather
control, and I thought that because they were working in
different countries, they would never put the pieces together
and find out what the ultimate purpose of the project was.
But somehow they did.
They came to see me in Vienna, to ask me what plans I had
for Prima. I told them I was going to give
it to our government. I didn't think they would pursue the
matter any further, but just to be safe, I set
a trap. When they were sitting in the reception room, I
put in a call to your Senate office, making sure they could
hear me denying to you that I had ever heard of Prima. The
next morning, they began
calling you for appointments. That's when I knew they had
to be disposed of." Tanner smiled. "Let
me show you what we have here."
On a computer screen, a map of the world appeared, dotted
with lines and symbols. As Tanner
spoke, he moved a switch, and the focus of the map kept
shifting until it highlighted Portugal.
Tanner said, "The agricultural valleys in Portugal are
supplied by rivers that flow to the Atlantic from Spain. Just
imagine what would happen to Portugal if it continued to rain
until the agricultural valley
was drowned out."
Tanner pressed a button, and on a huge screen appeared a
picture of a massive pink palace with ceremonial guards
standing watch while its lush, beautiful gardens glimmered in
the bright sunlight.
"That's the presidential palace."
The picture switched to a dining room inside, where a
family was having breakfast.
"That's the president of Portugal and his wife and two
children. When they speak, it's going to be in Portuguese,
but you'll hear it in English. I have dozens of nano-cameras
and microphones set up in
the palace. The president doesn't know it, but his head
security guard works for me."
An aide was saying to the president, "At eleven o'clock
this morning, you have a meeting at the
embassy, followed by a labor union speech. At one p.m.,
luncheon at the museum. This evening,
we're having a state reception for—"
The phone rang at the breakfast table. The president
picked it up. "Hello."
Then Tanner's voice, instantaneously translated from
English to Portuguese as he spoke, said
"Mr. President?"
The president looked startled. "Who is this?" he asked as
his voice was immediately translated from Portuguese to
English for Tanner.
"I'm a friend."
"Who—how did you get my private number?"
"That's not important. I want you to listen very
carefully. I love your country, and I would not want
to see it destroyed. If you don't want terrible storms to
wipe it off the map, you must send me two
billion dollars in gold. If you're not interested now,
I'll call you back in three days."
On the screen, they watched the president slam the phone
down. He said to his wife, "Some crazy
man got my phone number. Sounds like he escaped from an
asylum."
Tanner turned to Pauline. "That was recorded three days
ago. Now let me show you the conversation
we had yesterday."
A picture of the massive pink palace and its beautiful
gardens flashed on again, but this time heavy
rains were pouring down, and the sky was ablaze with
thunder and lightning.
Tanner pressed a button, and the scene on television moved
into the president's office. He was seated
at a conference table, with half a dozen assistants all
talking at once. The president's face was grim.
The telephone on his desk rang.
"Now." Tanner grinned.
The president picked up the telephone apprehensively.
"Hello."
"Good morning, Mr. President. How—?"
"You are destroying my country! You have ruined the crops.
The fields are flooded. The villages are being—" He stopped
and took a deep breath. "How long is this going to go on?"
There was hysteria
in the president's voice.
"Until I receive the two billion dollars."
They watched the president grit his teeth and close his
eyes for a moment. "And you will stop the
storms, then?" Yes.
"How do you want the money delivered?"
"You see how easy it is, Princess? We already have the
money. Let me show you what else Prima
can do. These are our earlier tests."
Tanner pressed another button and a picture of a raging
hurricane appeared on the screen. "This is
taking place in Japan," Tanner said. "Real time. And this
season for them is always calm weather."
He pressed a different button and pictures of a violent
hailstorm appeared, battering a grove of citrus
fruit. "This is live from Florida. The temperature there
now is near zero—in June. The crops are being wiped out."
He activated another button, and on the giant screen was a
scene of a tornado tearing down buildings. "This is what's
happening in Brazil. As you see," Tanner said proudly, "Prima
can do anything."
Pauline moved closer to him and said softly, "Like its
papa."
Tanner turned off the television set. He picked up three
DVDs and showed them to her. "These are
three interesting conversations that I had with Peru,
Mexico, and Italy. Do you know how the gold is delivered? We
send trucks to their banks and they fill them. And then
there's Catch Twenty-two. If
they make any attempt to find out where the gold is going,
I promise them that the storm will begin
again and never stop."
Pauline looked at him, worried. "Tanner, is there any way
they can trace your calls?"
Tanner laughed. "I hope they do. If someone tries to trace
them, they'll reach a relay in a church, then
a second relay takes them to a school. The third relay
will set up storms they'll wish they had never
seen. And the fourth time it ends up at the Oval Office of
the White House."
Pauline laughed.
The door opened and Andrew walked in.
Tanner turned. "Ah. Here's my dear brother."
Andrew was staring at Pauline, a puzzled expression on his
face. "Don't I know you?" He looked at her for almost a
minute as he concentrated, and then his face lit up. "You—you
and Tanner were— going
to get married. I was the best man. You're—you're
Princess."
Pauline said, "Very good, Andrew."
"But you—you went away. You didn't love Tanner."
Tanner spoke up. "Let me straighten you out. She went away
because she did love me." He took
Pauline's hand. "She telephoned me the day after her
wedding. She married a very rich, influential
man so she could use her husband's influence to get
important clients for KIG. That's why we were
able to grow so fast." Tanner gave Pauline a hug. "We
arranged to meet secretly every month." He
said proudly, "And then she got interested in politics and
became a senator."
Andrew frowned. "But—but Sebastiana—Sebastiana—"
"Sebastiana Cortez." Tanner laughed. "She was a decoy, to
throw people off the track. I made
sure that everyone at the office knew about her. Princess
and I couldn't afford to let anyone
become suspicious."
Andrew said vaguely, "Oh, I see."
"Come over here, Andrew." Tanner led him to the control
center. They stood in front of Prima.
Tanner said, "Do you remember this? You helped develop it.
Now it's finished."
Andrew's eyes widened. "Prima . . ."
Tanner pointed to a button and said, "Yes. Weather
control." He pointed to another button. "Location." He looked
at his brother. "See how simple we made it?"
Andrew said, under his breath, "I remember . . ."
Tanner turned to Pauline. "This is only the beginning,
Princess."
Tanner took her in his arms. "I'm researching thirty more
countries.
"You got what you wanted. Power and money."
Pauline said happily, "A computer like that could be
worth—"
"Two computers like that," Tanner said. "I have a surprise
for you. Have you ever heard of Tamoa Island, in the South
Pacific?"
"No."
"We just bought it. It's sixty square miles and
unbelievably beautiful. It's in the French Polynesian
islands, and it has a landing strip and a yacht harbor. It
has everything, including"—he paused dramatically—"Prima II."
Pauline said, "You mean there's another—?"
Tanner nodded. "That's right. It's underground, where no
one can ever find it. Now that those two
nosy bitches are finally out of the way, the world is
ours."

CHAPTER 43

KELLY WAS THE first to open her eyes. She was lying on her
back, naked, on the bare floor of a concrete basement, her
hands handcuffed to eight-inch chains fastened to the wall,
just above the floor. There was a small, barred window at the
far end of the room, and a heavy door leading into the room.
Kelly turned to see Diane next to her, also naked and
handcuffed. Their clothing had been thrown
into a corner.
Diane said groggily, "Where are we?"
"We're in hell, partner."
Kelly tested the handcuffs. They were tight and firm
around her wrists. She could lift her arm four
or five inches, but that was it. "We walked right into
their trap," she said bitterly.
"You know what I hate most about this?"
Kelly looked around the bare room and said, "I can't
imagine."
"They won. We know why they killed our husbands, and why
they're going to kill us, but there's
no way we can ever tell the world. They've gotten away
with it. Kingsley was right. Our luck has
finally run out."
"No, it hasn't." The door had opened, and Harry Flint was
standing in the room. His smile widened.
He locked the door behind him and put the key in his
pocket. "I shot you with Xylocaine bullets.
I was supposed to kill you, but I thought we'd all have a
little fun first." He moved closer.
The two women exchanged a terrified look. They watched
Flint, grinning, take off his shirt and
trousers. "Look what I have for you," he said. He dropped
his shorts. His member was stiff and
turgid. Flint looked at the two of them and moved toward
Diane. "Why don't I start with you, baby,
and then—"
Kelly interrupted. "Wait a minute, handsome. How about
taking me first? I feel horny."
Diane looked at her, stunned. "Kelly—"
Flint turned to Kelly and smirked. "Sure, baby. You're
going to love this."
Flint reached down and started to stretch out on top of
Kelly's naked body.
"Oh, yes." Kelly moaned. "I've really missed this."
Diane had closed her eyes. She could not bear to watch.
Kelly stretched her legs apart, and as Flint started to
enter her, Kelly raised her right arm a few inches
and reached into her upswept hairdo. When her hand came
down, there was a rat-tailed comb with
a steel tip five inches long in it. In one quick motion,
she slammed the steel tail into the back of Harry Flint's
neck, pushing its steel tip all the way through.
Flint tried to scream, but all that came out was a loud
gurgle. Blood was pouring out of his neck.
Diane opened her eyes, stunned.
Kelly looked over at Diane. "You—you can relax now." She
pushed away the limp figure on top
of her. "He's dead."
Diane's heart was beating so fast it felt as though it was
going to leap from her chest. Her face was ghostly white.
Kelly was watching her, alarmed. "Are you all right?"
"I was afraid he was going to—" Her mouth went dry. She
looked at the bloody body of Harry Flint
and shuddered. "Why didn't you tell me about—?" She
pointed to the rat-tailed comb in his neck.
"Because if it hadn't worked . . . well, I didn't want you
to think I failed you. Let's get out of here."
"How?"
"I'll show you." Kelly stretched out a long leg to where
Flint had dropped his pants. Her toes reached
out to grab his trousers. Two inches too far away. She
shifted closer. One inch too short. Then finally, success.
Kelly grinned. "Voila!" Her toes clutched the leg of the
trousers, and she slowly pulled them close until they were
near enough to grab with her hands. She was going through his
pockets, looking for the key
to the handcuffs. She found it. A moment later, her hands
were free. She hurried to free Diane.
"My God, you're a miracle," Diane said.
"Thank my new hairdo. Let's get away from here."
The two women picked up their clothes from the floor and
quickly dressed. Kelly took the key to the door from Flint's
pocket.
They walked over to the door and listened a moment.
Silence. Kelly opened the door. They were in
a long, empty corridor.
"There must be a back way out of here," Diane said.
Kelly nodded. "All right. You go that way and I'll go the
other way and—"
"No. Please. Let's stay together, Kelly."
Kelly squeezed Diane's arm and nodded. "Right, partner."
Minutes later, the two women found themselves in a garage.
There was a Jaguar and a Toyota in it.
"Take your choice," Kelly said.
"The Jaguar is too noticeable. Let's take the Toyota."
"I hope the key is—"
It was. Diane took the wheel.
"Do you have any idea where we're going?" Kelly asked.
"To Manhattan. I don't have a plan yet."
"That's good news." Kelly sighed.
"We need to find a place to sleep. When Kingsley finds out
we've escaped, he's going to go crazy.
We're not going to be safe anywhere."
Kelly was thinking. "Yes, we are."
Diane glanced at her. "What do you mean?"
Kelly said proudly, "I have a plan."

CHAPTER 44

THEY DROVE into White Plains, twenty-five miles north of
Manhattan, Diane said, "This looks
like a nice town. What are we doing here?"
"I have a friend here. She'll take care of us."
"Tell me about her."
Kelly said slowly, "My mother was married to a drunk who
enjoyed beating her. When I was able to afford to take care
of my mother, I persuaded her to leave him. One of the models
who had run away from an abusive boyfriend told me about this
place. It's a boardinghouse run by an angel of a woman named
Grace Seidel. I took my mother there to stay until I could
find an apartment for her. I used to
visit her at Grace's every day. My mother loved it and
became friends with some of the boarders. I
finally found an apartment for Mother and went to pick her
up." She stopped.
Diane looked at her. "What happened?"
"She had gone back to her husband."
They had reached the boardinghouse. "We're here."
* * *
GRACE SEIDEL WAS in her fifties, a dynamic, motherly ball
of energy. When she opened the door
and saw Kelly, her face lit up.
"Kelly!" She threw her arms around her. "I'm so glad to
see you."
Kelly said, "This is my friend Diane."
They exchanged hellos.
"Your room is all ready for you," Grace said. "As a matter
of fact, it was your mother's room. I had
an extra bed put in."
As Grace Seidel walked them to their bedroom, they passed
through a comfortable-looking living
room where a dozen women were playing card games or doing
various other activities.
"How long will you be staying?" Grace asked.
Kelly and Diane looked at each other. "We're not sure."
Grace Seidel smiled. "No problem. The room is yours for as
long as you want it."
The room was lovely—neat and clean.
When Grace Seidel had left, Kelly said to Diane, "We'll be
safe here. And by the way, I think we
made the Guinness Book of World Records. Do you know how
many times they've tried to kill us?"
"Yes." Diane was standing by the window. Kelly heard her
say, "Thank you, Richard."
Kelly started to speak, then thought, It's no use.
* * *
ANDREW, DOZING AT his desk, dreamed that he was asleep in
a hospital bed. It was the voices
in the room that had awakened him. "... And luckily, I
discovered this when we were decontaminating Andrew's safety
equipment. I thought I should show it to you right away."
"The goddamn army told me it would be safe."
A man was handing Tanner one of the gas masks from the
army-experiment.
"I found a tiny hole at the base of the mask. It looks
like someone cut it. That would be enough to
cause your brother's condition."
Tanner looked at the mask and thundered, "Whoever is
responsible for this is going to pay." He looked
at the man and said, "I'll look into this immediately.
Thanks for bringing it to me."
From his bed, Andrew groggily watched the man leave.
Tanner looked at the mask a moment and then walked over to a
corner of the room where there was a large hospital cart
filled with soiled linens.
Tanner reached down into the bottom of the cart and buried
the gas mask under the linens.
Andrew tried to ask his brother what was happening, but he
was too tired. He fell asleep.
* * *
TANNER, ANDREW, AND Pauline had returned to Tanner's
office.
Tanner had asked his secretary to bring in the morning
newspapers. Tanner skimmed through the
front pages. "Look at these: 'Scientists are baffled by
freak storms in Guatemala, Peru, Mexico,
and Italy. ' " He looked at Pauline exultantly. "And this
is only the beginning. They're going to have
a lot more to be baffled about."
Vince Carballo came running into the room. "Mr. Kingsley—"
"I'm busy. What is it?"
"Flint is dead."
Tanner's jaw dropped. "What? What are you talking about?
What happened?"
"Stevens and Harris killed him."
"That's impossible!"
"He's dead. They escaped and took off in the senator's
car. We reported it stolen. The police found
it in White Plains."
Tanner's voice was grim. "Here's what I want you to do. I
want you to take a dozen men and go to
White Plains. Check every hotel, boardinghouse, and
flophouse—any place where they could be
hiding. I'm giving a five-million-dollar reward to anyone
who turns them in. Move it!"
"Yes, sir."
Vince Carballo hurried out the door.
* * *
In their ROOM at Grace Seidel's boardinghouse, Diane said,
"I'm sorry about what happened when
you got to Paris. Did they kill the concierge?"
"I don't know. They just disappeared."
"What about your dog, Angel?" Kelly said tightly, "I don't
want to talk about it."
"I'm sorry. Do you know what's frustrating? We were so
close. Now that we know what happened, there's no one we can
tell it to. It would be our word against KIG's. They would
put us in an asylum."
Kelly nodded. "You're right. There is no one left to go
to." There was a momentary silence and Diane said slowly, "I
think there is."
* * *
VlNCE CARBALLO's MEN were spread all over town, checking
every hotel, boardinghouse, and flophouse. One of his men
showed pictures of Diane and Kelly to the clerk at the
Esplanade Hotel.
"Have you seen either of these ladies? There's a
five-million-dollar reward for them."
The clerk shook his head. "I wish I knew where they were."
At the Renaissance Westchester Hotel, another man was
holding up pictures of Diane and Kelly.
"Five million? I wish I could collect that."
At the Crowne Plaza, the clerk was saying, "If I see them,
I'll sure let you know, mister."
Vince Carballo himself knocked at the door of Grace
Seidel's boardinghouse.
"Good morning."
"Good morning. My name is Vince Carballo." He held up a
picture of the two women. "Have you
seen these women? There's a five-million-dollar reward for
them."
Grace Seidel's face lit up. "Kelly!"
* * *
IN TANNER'S OFFICE, Kathy Ordonez was overwhelmed. Faxes
were coming in faster than she
could handle them, and her e-mail in-box was inundated.
She picked up a pile of the papers and
walked into Tanner's office. Tanner and Pauline Van Luven
were seated on a couch, talking.
Tanner looked up as his secretary came in. "What is it?"
She smiled. "Good news. You're going to have a very
successful dinner party."
He frowned. "What are you talking about?"
She held up the papers. "These are all acceptances.
Everyone's coming."
Tanner got up. "Coming where? Let me see those."
Kathy handed him the papers and went out to her desk.
Tanner read the first e-mail aloud. " 'We would be
delighted to come to dinner at KIG Headquarters on Friday to
see the unveiling of Prima, your weather control machine.'
From the editor of Time magazine."
His face turned white. He looked at the next one. " 'Thank
you for your invitation to see Prima, your weather control
computer, at KIG Headquarters. We look forward to being
there.' It's signed by the
editor of Newsweek."
He skimmed the rest of them. "CBS, NBC, CNN, the Wall
Street Journal, the Chicago Tribune, and
the London Times, all eager to see the unveiling of
Prima."
Pauline sat there, speechless.
Tanner was so furious, he could hardly speak. "What the
hell is going on—?" He stopped.
"Those bitches!"
* * *
AT IRMA'S INTERNET Cafe, Diane was busily operating a
computer. She looked up at Kelly.
"Have we left anyone out?"
Kelly said, "Elle, Cosmopolitan, Vanity Fair,
Mademoiselle, Readers Digest..."
Diane laughed. "I think this does it. I hope Kingsley has
a good caterer. He's going to have a big party."
* * *
Vince carballo was looking at Grace Seidel excitedly. "You
know Kelly?"
"Oh, yes," Grace said. "She's one of the most famous
models in the world."
Vince Carballo's face lit up. "Where is she?"
Grace looked at him in surprise. "I don't know. I've never
met her."
His face reddened. "You said you knew her."
"I mean—everybody knows her. She's very famous. Isn't she
beautiful?"
"You have no idea where she is?"
Grace said thoughtfully, "I do have kind of an idea."
"Where?"
"I saw a woman who looked like her get on a bus this
morning. She was traveling with someone—"
"What bus was it?"
"It was the bus to Vermont."
"Thanks."
Vince Carballo hurried away.
* * *
TANNER THREW THE pile of faxes and e-mails to the floor
and turned to Pauline. "Do you know
what those bitches have done? We can't let anyone see
Prima." He was thoughtful for a long moment.
"I think Prima will have an accident the day before the
party and blow up."
Pauline looked at him a moment and then smiled. "Prima
II."
Tanner nodded. "That's right. We can travel around the
world, and anytime we're ready, we'll go
to Tamoa and start operating Prima II."
Kathy Ordonez's voice came over the intercom. She sounded
frantic. She buzzed into Tanner's office. "Mr. Kingsley, the
phones are going crazy. I have the New York Times, the
Washington Post, and
Larry King, all holding for you."
"Tell them I'm in a meeting." Tanner turned to Pauline.
"We have to get out of here." He patted
Andrew on the shoulder. "Andrew, come with us."
"Yes, Tanner."
The three of them walked over to the redbrick building. "I
have something very important for you
to do, Andrew."
"Anything you want," Andrew said.
* * *
TANNER LED THE way into the redbrick building and walked
over to Prima. Tanner turned to
Andrew. "Here's what I want you to do. Princess and I have
to leave now, but at six o'clock, I want
you to turn this computer off. It's very simple." He
pointed. "You see this big red button?"
Andrew nodded. "I see it."
"All you have to do is press it three times, at six
o'clock. Three times. Can you remember that?"
Andrew said, "Yes, Tanner. Six o'clock. Three times."
"Right. See you later."
Tanner and Pauline started to walk out.
Andrew looked after them. "You're not taking me with you?"
"No. You stay here. Just remember: six o'clock, three
times."
"I'll remember."
As they walked outside, Pauline said, "What if he doesn't
remember?"
Tanner laughed. "It doesn't matter. It's set to explode
automatically at six o'clock. I just wanted to
make sure he's there when it happens."

CHAPTER 45

AT WAS A perfect day for flying. KIG's 757 was speeding
over the Pacific Ocean under an azure
blue sky. Pauline and Tanner were snuggled together on a
couch in the main cabin.
Pauline said, "Darling, do you know it's a shame that
people will never know how brilliant you are?"
"If they ever found out, I'd be in big trouble."
She looked at him and said, "No problem. We could buy a
country and proclaim ourselves the rulers. Then they can't
touch us."
Tanner laughed.
Pauline stroked his hand. "Did you know that I wanted you
from the first time I saw you?"
"No. As I remember, you were very impertinent."
"And it worked, didn't it? You had to see me again, to
teach me a lesson."
There was a long, erotic kiss.
Far away, lightning flashed.
Tanner said, "You'll love Tamoa. We'll spend a week or two
there and relax, and then we'll travel
around the world. We're going to make up for all the lost
years when we couldn't be together."
She looked up and grinned impishly. "You bet we will."
"And every month or so, we'll come back to Tamoa and put
Prima II to work. You and I can pick
our targets together."
Pauline said, "Well, we could create a storm in England,
but they wouldn't notice."
Tanner laughed. "We have the whole world to choose from."
A steward approached. "Is there anything I can get you?"
he asked.
Tanner said, "No. We have everything." And he knew that it
was true.
In the distant sky, there were more flashes of lightning.
"I hope there isn't going to be a storm," Pauline said.
"I—I hate flying in rough weather."
Tanner said reassuringly, "Don't worry, darling. There's
not a cloud in the sky." He thought of
something and smiled. "We don't have to worry about the
weather. We control it." He looked
at his watch. "Prima's about to blow up."
Sudden drops of rain began to pound against the plane.
Tanner held Pauline closer. "It's all right. It's just a
bit of rain."
And as Tanner said it, the sky suddenly began to darken
and tremble with loud peals of thunder. The huge plane
started to bounce up and down. Tanner was looking out the
window, puzzled by what was happening. The rain began to turn
into large hailstones.
Tanner said, "Look at—" The realization suddenly hit him.
"Prima!" It was a cry of exultation, a look
of glory in his eyes. "We can—"
At that instant, a hurricane hit the plane, bouncing it
around savagely.
Pauline was screaming.
* * *
IN THE REDBRICK building at KIG, Andrew Kingsley was
operating Prima, his fingers flashing over the keys in
remembrance. Watching his target on the screen, he could see
an image of his brother's
plane being buffeted by three-hundred-mile-an-hour
hurricane winds. He pressed another button.
* * *
AT A DOZEN branch offices of the National Weather Service,
from Anchorage, Alaska, to Miami, Florida, meteorologists
were staring at their computer screens in disbelief. What was
happening
seemed impossible, but it was happening.
* * *
WORKING IN THE redbrick building, Andrew was grateful that
there was still one thing he could
do to help make the world a better place. He carefully
guided an F-6 tornado he had created—up— up—higher and
higher. . . .
* * *
TANNER WAS LOOKING out the window of the wildly tossing
plane when he heard the telltale
freight train sound of the approaching tornado over the
roar of the storm, traveling 320 miles an hour. Tanner's face
was flushed, and he was trembling with excitement, watching
the tornado spinning up toward the plane. He was ecstatic.
"Look! There's never been a tornado this high. Never! I
created it!
It's a miracle! Only God and I could—"
* * *
IN THE REDBRICK building, Andrew moved a switch and
watched the screen as the plane exploded
and pieces of wreckage and bodies were hurled into the
sky.
Then Andrew Kingsley pressed the red button three times.

CHAPTER 46

KELLY AND DIANE were finishing getting dressed when Grace
Seidel knocked at their door.
"Breakfast is ready whenever you are."
"Coming," Kelly called out.
Diane said, "I hope our little stunt worked. Let's see if
Grace has a morning newspaper."
They stepped out of their room. To the right was the
recreation area. A few people were gathered
around the television set. As Kelly and Diane started to
pass it, to go to the dining room, a television anchorman was
saying:
"And according to reports, there were no survivors. Tanner
Kingsley and former senator Pauline
Van Luven were on the plane, along with a pilot, copilot,
and a steward."
The two women froze. They looked at each other, turned,
and walked up to the television set. On the screen were
pictures of the exterior of KIG.

Kingsley International Group constitutes the largest think
tank in the world, with offices in thirty countries. The
weather bureau has reported an unexpected electrical storm in
the South Pacific area where Tanner Kingsley's private plane
was flying. Pauline Van Luven was the former head of the
Senate Select Committee on the Environment.
Diane and Kelly were listening, fascinated
". . . . And in another piece of the puzzle, there's a
mystery here that the police are trying to solve.
The press was invited to a dinner party, to visit Prima, a
new weather control computer that KIG developed, but

yesterday there was an explosion at KIG and Prima was
completely destroyed. The
fire department found the body of Andrew Kingsley in the
wreckage and believe he was the only
victim.
Diane said, "Tanner Kingsley is dead."
"Say that again. Slowly."
"Tanner Kingsley is dead."
Kelly breathed a deep sigh of relief. She looked at Diane
and smiled. "Life is sure going to be dull
after this."
"I hope so," Diane replied. "How would you like to sleep
at the Waldorf-Astoria Towers tonight?"
Kelly grinned. "I wouldn't mind."
When they said their good-byes to Grace Seidel, she hugged
Kelly and said, "Anytime."
She never mentioned the money that she had been offered.
* * *
IN THE PRESIDENTIAL suite in the Waldorf Towers, a waiter
was setting a table for dinner.
He turned to Diane. "Did you say you wanted it set for
four?"
"That's right."
Kelly looked at her and said nothing.
Diane knew what she was thinking. As they were sitting
down at the table, Diane said, "Kelly, I don't think we did
this alone. I think we had a little help." She raised her
glass of champagne and said to the empty chair next to her,
"Thank you, Richard, darling. I love you."
As she lifted the glass to her lips, Kelly said, "Wait a
minute."
Diane turned to her.
Kelly picked up her glass of champagne and looked at the
empty chair next to her. "Mark, I love you
so much. Thank you."
They drank their toasts.
Kelly smiled and said, "That felt good. Well, what's
next?"
"I'm going to the FBI in Washington and tell them what I
know."
Kelly corrected her. "We're going to Washington and tell
them what we know."
Diane nodded. "Right." She said thoughtfully, "I think we
did a good job. Our husbands would be
proud of us."
"Yeah," Kelly said. "We've solved this. And look at the
odds against us. You know what we should
do now?"
"What?"
"Start our own detective agency."
Diane laughed. "You're kidding."
Kelly gave her a long, slow smile. "Am I?"
* * *
AFTER DINNER, THEY watched television, and every channel
was carrying the story of Tanner Kingsley's death. As Kelly
watched, she said thoughtfully, "You know, when you cut off a
snake's
head, the rest of the snake dies."
"What does that mean?"
"Let's find out." Kelly walked over to the telephone. "I
want to place a call to Paris."
Five minutes later, she heard the voice of Nicole Paradis.
"Kelly! Kelly! Kelly! I'm so glad you called."
Kelly's heart sank. She knew what she was going to hear
next. They had killed Angel.
"I didn't know how to reach you."
"You've heard the news?"
"The whole world has heard the news. Jerome Malo and
Alphonse Girouard packed their things and
left in a hurry."
"And Philippe and his family?"
"They are returning tomorrow."
"That's wonderful."
Kelly was afraid to ask the next question. "And Angel—?"
"I have Angel in my apartment. They were planning to use
her as bait in case you wouldn't cooperate."
Kelly felt a sudden glow. "Oh, that's wonderful!"
"What would you like me to do with her?"
"Put her on the next Air France flight to New York. Let me
know when she'll arrive and I'll pick her
up at the airport. You can call me here at the Waldorf
Towers."
"I'll take care of it."
"Thank you." Kelly replaced the receiver.
Diane had been listening. "Angel is all right?"
"Yes."
"Oh, that's great!"
"Isn't it? I'm thrilled. By the way, what are you going to
do with your half of the money?"
Diane looked at her. "What?"
"KIG put up a five-million-dollar reward. I think it's
coming to us."
"But Kingsley's dead."
"I know, but KIG isn't."
They laughed.
Kelly asked, "What's your plan after we go to Washington?
Are you going to start painting again?"
Diane was thoughtful for a moment. "No."
Kelly was watching her. "Really?"
"Well, there is a painting that I want to do. It's a
picnic scene in Central Park." Her voice broke.
"Two lovers having a picnic in the rain. Then . . . we'll
see. What about you? Are you going back
to modeling?"
"No, I don't think—"
Diane was looking at her.
"Well. . . maybe, because while I'm on the runway, I can
imagine Mark watching me, and blowing
kisses. Yes, I think he would want me to go back to work."
Diane smiled. "Good."
They watched television for another hour, and then Diane
said, "I think it's time for bed."
Fifteen minutes later, they were undressed and in their
queen beds, both reliving their recent adventures.
Kelly yawned. "I'm sleepy, Diane. Let's turn out the
lights."
AFTERWORD
THE OLD ADAGE that everyone talks about the weather but no
one does anything about it is no
longer valid. Today, two superpowers have the ability to
control weather around the world: the
United States and Russia. Other countries are working
feverishly to catch up.
The search for the mastery of the elements that began with
Nikola Tesla in the late 1800s, involving
the transmission of electrical energy through space, has
become a reality.
The consequences are monumental. Weather can be used as a
blessing or as a doomsday weapon.
All the necessary elements are in place.
In 1969, the U.S. Patent Office granted a patent for "a
method of increasing the likelihood of
precipitation by the artificial introduction of sea water
vapor into the atmosphere."
In 1971, a patent was issued to the Westinghouse Electric
Corporation for a system for irradiation of planet surface
areas.
In 1971, a patent was issued to the National Science
Foundation for a weather modification method.
In the early 1970s, the U.S. Congressional Committee on
Oceans and Internal Environment held
hearings on our military research into weather and climate
modification, and found that the defense department had plans
for creating tidal waves through the coordinated use of
nuclear weapons.
The danger of a devastating confrontation between the
United States and Russia became so great that
in 1977 a UN treaty against weather modification for
hostile purposes was signed by the United States and Russia.
That treaty did not signify the end of weather
experimentation. In 1978, the United States launched
an experiment that created a downpour of rain over six
counties in northern Wisconsin. The storm generated winds of
one hundred seventy-five miles per hour and caused fifty
million dollars in
damages. Russia, meanwhile, has been working on its own
projects.
In 1992, the Wall Street Journal reported that a Russian
company, Elat Intelligence Technologies,
was selling weather control equipment tailored to specific
needs, using the slogan "Weather Made to Order." Their
services are available to every country in the world.
As the experiments in both countries continued, weather
patterns began to change. As early as the
1980s, strange weather phenomena were being reported.
"A ridge of high pressure has hovered nearly 800 miles off
the California coast for the past two
months, blocking the usual flow of moist air from the
Pacific."—Time magazine, January 1981.
"... the stagnant high-pressure season acted like a
barrier, preventing the normal flow of weather
patterns from west to east." —New York Times, July 29,
1993.
The weather catastrophes described in the body of this
novel have all happened.
Weather is the most powerful force we know. Whoever
controls it can disrupt world economies with perpetual
rainstorms or tornadoes; wipe out crops in a drought; cause
earthquakes, hurricanes, and tsunamis; close world airports;
and cause devastation on enemy battlefields.
We could all sleep better if a world leader said,
"Everyone talks about the weather, but no one does anything
about it."
And it was the truth.