" Bad: '

"I need to find out more about Henry Marconi." "

" Uncle Henry. "

"Yes. His export jewelry business."

"Export?" She moved her tongue against the inside of her Iips. "Why does my mouth taste like orange juice?"

His eyes narrowed. "" I gave you a drink. Don't you remember ? "She tried to shake her head and winced at the stab of pain. "What happened?

Where am I?" " " In my room. We were talking a few minutes ago " " "We were?" He swore under his breath. "I think I'd better get you to the hospital." " " Am I sick? " "Everything's going to be all right." She smiled with relief. If Jason Zacharias said everything was going to be all right, it must be true.

"Iq Itq'rRcrqqt woxq a white coat over a slightly rumpled oxford-cloth shirt and gray slacks. He walked quickly, purposefully down the dimly lit hospital

corridor -an excellent imitation of a physician stopping by one of the wards to check on a patient.

It was five-thirty in the morning. The graveyard shift, so to speak. He'd

picked the time carefully. The day staff wouldn't arrive for an hour. The

night staff was overworked and tired.

He didn't need to stop at the nurses' station to find Room 23C. He'd been briefed on that and every other detail he needed to know.

A few moments later, he stepped into the girl's room.Her name was Noel Emery. Not that it made any differenoe to him.As he'd expected, she was sleeping, her face pale but peaceful. Her breathing regular. From one of the deep pockets in his coat, he took a hypodermic and removed the cap. Then he reached for her arm. A sedative was risky for someone in her condition , but that wasn't his problem. Quickly he stabbed the neeqle into her flesh, closing his hand over her mouth to stifle her little moan of protest.

While he waited for the drug to take effect, he caro fully took her handprint on a sheet of specially coated paper. Then he pulled on surgical gloves and tipped her head to the side, inspecting the place where her scalp had been stitched a few hours earlier.

With sharp little scissors, he snipped the surgical threads, pulled them carefully out, and opened the wound. A sterile wad of gauze stanched the flow of blood.

Deftly he performed a procedure that wasn't in any meqical textbook. Then he carefully sewed the incision together again, using the same pattern of six stitches that he'd originally found.

When he was done, he swabbed the area with alcohol and inspected his handiwork.

Perfect. Or so close to the original that no one was going to see any difference.

It wasn't until that moment he realized perspiration was beading his forehead. He wiped it away with his qeeve before stepping into the hall again and heading quickly for the exit.

NoEL Hq sqN at Abby Franklin's house for three days now. Three frustrating days. Stopping on the garden path, she tried to summon a feeling of calm. In the hospital , it had taken the staff and her friends days to pull her out of the deadening mist. Oblivion had been a comfort , a security blanket to wrap around her wounded mind. Because when she came back to reality, it would be too terrifying to face. Again.

Chaos.

No. She wouldn't let the swirling confusion take her.

For just a moment, a thought flickered at the edge of her awareness. Something important that she had to remember Before this had happened Then someone came around the corner, and Noel froze.

"There you are."

It was her friend, Abby Franklin, carrying two glasses of orange juice.

Since Noel had awakened two weeks ago, she'd craved orange juice. Which was strange, because she'd never had a passion for the stuff before. But then there were many things you could call strange. If that's how you wanted to interpret the present situation.

Abby s husband, Steve, was on the Eastern Shore deciding whether to buy a small airport and charter-flight service. And Dr. Franklin had said she'd like some company That was convenient for Noel. If you had a couple of screws loose, it was just as well to be staying with a friend who was a psychologist.

Abby, who was five months pregnant, handed Noel the ' glass of juice. "" How are you feeling? "

Noel took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay, q What about you? Is taking care of a disabled houseguest ;.., getting to be too much? "

"Nonsense. How are you really feeling?"

Noel slid a finger up the side of the glass. "Scared." I, " " Are you disoriented again? "

"I guess it shows."

Abby put an arm around her shoulder. Together they ' walked back to the house.

"I've told you, it takes a while to get over a severe head injury, " Abby said as they reached the patio.

"But you'd think I'd remember my uncle getting shot, , wouldn't you?"

Abby shook her head. "The shooting is exactly the I thing I'd expect you to blank out. It was too traumatic: I A familiar panicky feeling clawed at Noel's insides. "I don't even know how I got to the hospital."

"Somebody must have come in and decided you needed medical attention."

For just a moment, she pictured apair of brown eyes so dark they were almost black. "Why doesn't he contact me? "

"Who?q'e you starting to remember that part?"

A name hovered on the tip of Noel's toogue, but she knew she was only conjuring up a fantasy. A guardian angel from her past. "No. I guess I keep assuming a guy picked me up and carried me to his car. Or a lady weight lifter."

"It looks like he didn't want to get any deeper involved ," Abby suggested.

Noel grimaced. "Yeah. I can understand that. But I hate walking around in a daze like this. I hate being terrified every time I hear footsteps in back of me." Gingerly she reached up, pushed her long hair aside and touched the line of stitches at the back of her head. That tender, vulnerable spot had become the physical symbol of what had happened to her. Sighing, she sat down in one of the patio chairs and set the juice on the table.

Abby took another chair. "The disorientation will go away, and your memory will come back," she said softly.

"When? I'm no good to Laura. She's going to have to hire another paralegalif she wants to keep her office going I'm no good to the police. I can'ttell them any more about what happened in my uncle's shop than they canfigure out from looking at the crime scene. I'm no good to anyone. And Idon't like being dependent!"

Abby let her rant on until Noel came smack up against the subject she'd been avoiding and abruptly stopped.

"Tell me," Abby urged. "Don't be scared. Whatever it is, I've heard it before."

"It's not what you think." Noel gulped. "This word keeps popping into myhead. Chaos."

"That's not so odd. Maybe it's a metaphor for how you feel."

"Okay. I'll tell you the rest of it. The police say I was in the back atthe safe, since I'm the only one who didn't get shot. That one of the menprobably came in and hit me over the head before I knew what was happening.But what if-" Noel shrugged helplessly. How did you explain a feeling ofdread you couldn't back up with facts or even memories? "What if.. .someone thinks I know what happened? What if they want to shut me up?"

"Honey, Dan Cassidy has been all over the case. As far as he can tell, it was only a robbery attempt gone bad."

Noel nodded. Dan Cassidy was the assistant state's attorney who was engaged to Sabrina Barkley, one of her best friends from 43 Light Street

"A lot of people knew your uncle was winding down his business. He wassupposed to have sold off some stock for cash. Two local thugs thought theycould share the wealth."

"I guess." Noel turned away so Abby couldn't see her face. She knew it mirrored the sick feeling that washed over her whenever she tried to penetrate the dead zone in her mind.

" EN GARDE. ".

" Allez. "

Sir Douglas Frye went on the attack. Sword extended, he lunged at hisadversary. 'q'he taller man, who would have been more at ease with a bayonet, gave ground, moving backward down the piste.

A smile flickered on Sir Douglas's thin lips. He might be in his sixties, but he still had the speed and finesse to challenge someone half his age.

The clash of steel meeting steel sang out in the bracing Highland air. He knew the younger man was testing his teacher's skill more forcefully than he ever had before. Then, with a surprise countermove, the novice went on the attack with a riposte, a quick thrust after the parry.

Sir Douglas fought off the attack with a series of lightning-swift moves. In many ways, he and his opponent couldn't be more different. Or more alike.

Managing to keep his movements graceful, he searched for a sign of weakness he could use to his advantage even as he fell back farthqr. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and a film of noisture slicked his brow. Wielding power on a vast global scale had its gratifications, but there was nothing like the thrill of hand-to-hand combat when you looked into the eye of an adversary who had fought to the death many times.

To his astonishment, the point of his opponent's foil touched the front of his protective shirt. ' "Touche: '

"Good strike, laddie," he congratulated. His pupil was a quick learner, perhaps too quick.

"You were thinking about something else for a moment I took advantage of that."

"Aye. I was: '

In former times, fencing had been a deadly enterprise. Now it was an aristocratic sport. Yet there were ways to make the contest more exciting than the standard rules allowed. Today, both men were wearing only part of the protertive garb usually prescribed. Neither had a face mask, because Sir Douglas had always enjoyed seeing the fear in an opponent's eyes. Both on and off the piste. Just once he'd like the satisfaction of seeing that in Jason Zacharias 's eyes. He suspected he never would.

"I was thinking about the delivery you made for me on your way back from Baltimore."

"It was nire to see Cairo again."

"No problem with customs, I assume."

"Money in the right hands does wonders."

"One of my guiding principles." Frye continued in a disarming voice, "Speaking of Baltimore, I sent the tape of the jewelry shop in for analysis: ' Jason Zacharias didn't flick an eyelash or change his position in the slightest. Commendable, the Sovereign thought. Either Zacharias was absolutely what he appeared to be-a loyal agent who'd just completed a couple of important assignments-or a consummate actor. And that was precisely the problem. There was some thing about the whole Marconi incident that didn't ring q quite true.

Sir Douglas Frye had learned to pay attention to his hunches. He'd also learned to ask the right questions in the right way, to feint and parry just as he would on the ; court and to judge the flutter of an expression across a face so that he got the answers he needed even if the subject didn't know he was giving anything away.

But no one else had ever perplexed the Sovereign as much as Jason Zacharias. Not his former colleagues in MI6. Not the Eastern Bloc operatives he'd hounded. Not the desperate politicians and captains of industry who'd become his clients. None of them was as worthy an adversary as this boy from a working-class Greek neighborhood who had grown up to be as dangerous a fencing opponent as he was a back-alley fighter.

To test the depth of Zacbarias's impassive ness Frye began another parry. " " En garde. " " "Allez. "

This time he pressed the attack with all the skill he'd acquired in forty-five years of fierre competition. He held off the other man's victory for several minutes, but he couldn't deflect the blade that slipped past his defenses yet again and scored a hit over his heart.

He put down his foil, grabbed a thick towel and wiped the perspiration from his head and neck. "Most men who work for me have the good sense to let me win, laddie."

Jason laughed. "We both like to win."

"Aye. By the way, there wasn't any problem with the ' analysis: '

"I wasn't expecting one."

"Still, it's verra like Nixon, don't you think? With his eighteen-minute gap."

Jason chuckled. "Trust your suspicious mind! But I don't have a Rosemary Woods willing to swear that she caused an erasure by stepping on the wrong Dictaphone pedal."

"You've got your Noel Emery."

"Oh?"