Needless to say, Darius didn't call. I watched old movies and infomercials all night long.

I slept hard all day Monday, again tossing and turning. This time I was running down endless corridors toward some distant destination that I never reached. In truth, I wasn't born for death but for a ceaseless wandering, and I began sobbing in my sleep. Then suddenly, in my dreams a nightingale sang, the same song perhaps heard by the homesick Ruth when she stood in tears amid the alien fields of Judah. The song called to me with magic notes, a silver bell tolling me back from forlorn thoughts, reminding me of beauty and peace and the hopes that pulled me onward. As long as I could round another bend in the road, what lay ahead as much a gamble as a throw of the dice, I had the strength to go on. Pain and loss could be waiting there, but so could unutterable joy.

Never fear the unknown. Hop onto a raft in the river of time and let it carry you along, the white water and perilous rocks all part of the adventure. You cannot stop the flow. Better, so much better, to be swept with its swiftness into the great churning sea of life, come what may.

When I awoke at twilight, I felt ready and strong. The phone rang before I left. It was Ringmaster, for Hermes. I felt a stab of anger and distrust.

"Everything's in place," he said.

"How do I know that?" I said.

There was silence for a moment. "Because I'm telling you it is," he said, as if I had some nerve even asking. "Are you you ready?" ready?"

"Yes, but I have some questions about details you seem to have overlooked," I said, my voice as p.r.i.c.kly as barbed wire. "Number one, how do I arrange the so-called delivery of the art?"

"You don't," J answered quickly. "Tell Bonaventure it will be brought to him the following day."

"What if he doesn't go along with that, J? Did you consider the possibility that if he makes payment, he may want immediate delivery?"

J's voice snapped back at me. "Use your brains. Tell him to be reasonable. The pieces need to be properly packed for shipment."

"No, J, you use yours!" The words slipped out before I could stop them. "I can't tell Bonaventure what to do, and he would think something's fishy if I try. Is the art really going to be there for him to get? Schneibel said he'd never let Bonaventure have the pieces." My hand was gripping the phone so hard it hurt.

J spoke very slowly and deliberately. "What Schneibel wants or doesn't want isn't your concern. Don't worry; if Bonaventure buys the art, he gets the art. And we can use this as an opportunity to plant surveillance devices in those pieces."

I felt like J just didn't get it. "You don't understand," I said, my voice getting higher and more agitated. "Bonaventure must not get his hands on these things."

J snorted. "You can't believe that black magic stuff Schneibel talks about."

"I do. And you should too." I was nearly shrieking at him.

He had the nerve to laugh. "Look, Daphne, the phantoms I worry about are the ones holding a detonation device. And that's all you should be concerned about. And don't get any ideas about playing hero. You don't have all the facts."

I didn't answer.

"I mean that," he said, his voice stern. "Our people are are in place. Just do your part and no more than that. That's a direct order." in place. Just do your part and no more than that. That's a direct order."

"Aye-aye, sir," I said.

"I'll be in contact with you," he said.

Silence again on my end. Even the sound of his voice p.i.s.sed me off.

"And Hermes," he said in a voice softer than any I had ever heard from him.

"Yes."

"Everything's a go in part because of the bugs you planted. You did good. Take care of yourself tonight."

I dressed casually for this evening, wearing a pair of black slacks with a blue cashmere turtleneck, Jimmy Choo half boots with unG.o.dly high heels, and a black wool coat embroidered with flowers. I would have liked to have worn a good pair of Nikes, but they didn't go with my image. If I transformed later, it wouldn't matter what footwear I had on anyway.

I left the apartment as shadows fell on Manhattan. I walked aimlessly through the streets, ending up on Broadway in the Seventies with its storefront restaurants and neon-lit pharmacies. I found an unoccupied bench in the center island and practiced a form of mediation, a traffic mediation, I called it. No thought. My focus concentrated on car after car anonymously pa.s.sing by. I wasn't very successful. My mind wandered back to my conflict over whether or not I should kill that night. I do hold all life, in any form, sacred. I have the ability to kill as easily as humans squash a bug. However, might doesn't make right. I especially have "issues," you might say, about humans' callous treatment of animals. I agreed with my mother on that. Their irrational hatred of bats tops my list of outrages.

Finally I hailed a cab. Bonaventure's apartment lay on the other side of Central Park, and it was a swift ride with few traffic lights. I arrived on time and didn't see any sign of J or his team-no commercial vans parked in the area, n.o.body disguised as a Con Ed worker digging up the street. Maybe somebody was stationed in an apartment across the avenue. I guessed I shouldn't be able to spot a professional surveillance setup. I did half expect Louis to be leaning against a No Parking sign hiding his face behind a copy of the Daily News Daily News. Perhaps he was coming with Benny.

The doorman announced me and sent me up in the elevator. Tanya greeted me once again. Suitcases filled the hall when I entered Bonaventure's apartment. "Somebody going somewhere?" I asked the unsmiling Tanya.

"The master is waiting for you," she said, and didn't answer my question.

Bonaventure was in the library, agitation or excitement evident in the tenseness of his movements. He wore no tuxedo this time, but still looked impressive in riding pants and high boots. He greeted me with a white-toothed smile, looking like a fat wolf waiting for Little Red Riding Hood. Neither Issa nor the odious Bockerie was in attendance, which bothered me. I wondered where they were.

"Miss Urban, come in! Sit! We have much business to attend to and, my apologies, not a great deal of time."

"You're traveling tonight?" I asked.

"Yes, yes. My country estate. I may need to discuss that with you later. But first, here are my bids."

He handed me the file with the photos. I looked over his offers on the back of each. As I expected, he wanted them all. I was slightly surprised at the amount he offered. He wasn't taking a chance that Schneibel, if the old man could be tempted by money at all, would refuse. The total for the sixteen items was $50 million million.

"Can you confirm Mr. Schneibel's acceptance immediately? The offer will stand only until nine P.M. tonight. After that it will be withdrawn," Bonaventure said.

"He's waiting for my call," I said, knowing full well that this transaction was in the hands of the U.S. government, not Schneibel's. I a.s.sumed they had instructed him to be available tonight. I pulled out my cell phone. The icon for "No Service" appeared.

"Unfortunately, my mobile phone doesn't have reception," I said.

"I apologize, Miss Urban, but my security devices interfere with cell phone transmission. You may use a house phone. Let me have Tanya escort you to one you may use in privacy."

"Thank you. That would be perfect," I said.

Tanya took me into what I a.s.sumed was Bonaventure's office. It held a modern desk that was merely a kidney-shaped slab of gla.s.s atop a stainless steel pillar with no drawers, a fax machine, a computer, and a bank of telephones. The walls were covered with large photographs of the Ukraine and Croatia by a photographer named Wilton Tifft. The pictures swept like a panorama around me; the images of miners and priests, churches, rustic cottages, misty hills, icons, and graveyards were as poignant as they were beautiful. They left no doubt that Bonaventure's heart remained in Eastern Europe.

The room offered no opportunity for snooping: The only files, if any existed, were in the computer. Except for a blank notepad with a pen beside it, not so much as a sheet of stray paper lay anywhere in the room. Either Bonaventure was a neat freak or he had sanitized the place before my arrival. I dialed Schneibel's number.

The old German answered. "Yessss?"

"This is Daphne Urban. Mr. Bonaventure has kindly let me use a phone in his apartment."

"Yessss," he said.

"He has made an offer. All the items, fifty million dollars. You had told me you need some time to consider it. Unfortunately, Bonaventure needs a reply quickly. May I phone you back in, say, an hour?"

"Yessss," he said.

"Thank you, Herr Schneibel," I said. He didn't answer but severed the connection. I admired his professionalism. I needed an excuse to hang around the apartment until Benny arrived so I could open that service door for Darius. Without knowing about my scheme, Schneibel went along. He played the Great Game exceedingly well: Our conversation was in all certainty being monitored by Bonaventure. Schneibel did not betray me, or himself.

I reported back to Bonaventure. "That is most satisfactory," he said. "I have other business this evening as well. Would you be comfortable waiting in the living room? Feel free to choose something to read, or you can watch the television in there."

I took up residence in the deep cushions of the white brocade couch in front of a sitcom on TV and surrept.i.tiously kept checking my watch. Tanya ferried drinks and sandwiches in and out of the kitchen. At one point I thought I heard a woman crying. I had no chance to slip into the maid's area and unlock the service door.

Before too long Tanya rushed to the front door and let three men enter. They wore badly fitting suits and cheap Eastern European shoes. Their complexions were swarthy and Middle Eastern-looking, but they could have been from anywhere between Greece and Islamabad. One of them carried a valise that looked like a doctor's bag. They looked over at me, their faces worried and tense. Tanya skipped any introductions and hurried them into the library, where Bonaventure was waiting. Even through the thick walls I could hear an excited voice say very loudly, "At Port Newark"? Something Bonaventure said silenced them. I heard no more.

Next at the door was Benny. She looked gorgeous in a red power suit, cla.s.sy but s.e.xy enough to turn the head of even a dead man. She avoided glancing in my direction as she came in, all nervous and aflutter, a ditzy blonde in a dither. "Oh, honey," she said to prune-faced Tanya. "I hate to be a bother, but I am just about desperate. I just know you must have handled intimate deesasters worsen than mine, but I am just about frantic. The back of my bra strap just snapped. I am about to spill out into the fresh air. I wouldn't want to see Mr. Bonaventure like this. Can you and I go into the little girls' room and maybe you all can pin it or put a quick st.i.tch in it," she said, all innocent and childlike.

Even on dour old Tanya, Benny's sweetness was a charm. "Da, do not worry, I fix it quick. Come." And they disappeared down the hall.

My heart pounding like a trip-hammer, I hurried toward the kitchen. I paused for a moment and opened the refrigerator as if I just couldn't wait another second for a drink. I softly closed the refrigerator door and slipped off my boots, praying that Darius had been able to take care of the security cameras. On silent feet I rushed through the kitchen with its slippery Italian tile and down the dim back hall. It was a little after eight thirty. I found the service door without incident and undid the bolt, freeing the iron bar from its niche. I turned around and ran like a rabbit back to the kitchen. I was holding my breath the en-tire time, and let it out in a whoosh. I scooped up my boots and got them back on. Then I walked casually back into the living room and sat down. If the cameras in this part of the apartment were operating, I hoped I looked unremarkable. But if any were working, I bet dollars to doughnuts they were aimed at Benny's bosom in the bathroom. I smiled in spite of myself.

Minutes crawled along slowly, and my pulse rate dropped to normal as I slid down from my adrenaline rush. Finally Tanya approached me.

"The master asks if you would make your phone call at this time."

I got up and followed her back to Bonaventure's office. I dialed Schneibel again.

"Herr Schneibel?"

"Yes."

"Will you accept Bonaventure's offer?"

"The deal is in your hands. What must be done is in mine," he replied with a voice like shattering gla.s.s, cracking with emotion and pain.

"I will arrange for delivery, then."

"Yes. As you wish. It is finished." The phone went dead.

Tanya showed up as if on cue at the door. "Master will see you now."

When I entered the library, Bonaventure sat there with Benny. The large valise was sitting open on the floor. It appeared empty. On the white table, two piles of uncut diamonds sat on blue velvet cloths. They looked like dull little pebbles to me, but there sat a king's ransom.

"Miss Urban, this is Miss Polycarp, a representative of my diamond broker, who unfortunately had an emergency overseas. It was my good fortune that Miss Polycarp was available to handle my needs tonight." He leered at Benny suggestively as he explained to her, "Miss Urban is the agent for the gentleman whose art I am purchasing with this." He gestured toward the slightly smaller pile.

I acted confused. "You mean you're paying Herr Schneibel in diamonds?"

Bonaparte laughed. "Not at all. These diamonds now belong to the finest gem brokers in New York. Miss Poly-carp has brought, at my request, a cashier's check for fifty million dollars, which she will hand to you, if Herr Schneibel accepts my offer."

"He does."

"Miss Polycarp, the check."

Benny opened a folder, slid out the check, and pa.s.sed it to me. I folded it once and tucked it into my pants pocket. Then she expertly wrapped each pile of diamonds in its square of velvet, put the little packages in the valise, and snapped it closed.

"Thank you, Miss Polycarp," Bonaventure said. "As I have your other check right here," he said as he patted his jacket pocket, "our business is concluded. Now, I regretfully must ask you to depart. Under other circ.u.mstances I would love to have you stay for a nightcap. I apologize for the rush." He ogled her openly. She seemed to bask in the light of his attention. Greater men than Bonaventure would have taken the bait and been reeled in. "When I return to New York, I hope you will accept my invitation for a longer talk-and perhaps dinner."

"Why, Bonny, sugar, I would just love it. Now be sure you really mean it. I will be waiting for my phone to ring and hoping to hear your charming voice on the line. It's certainly been a pleasure." She stretched out her hand to shake.

He took it and brought it to his lips. It must be reflex action with Benny and men. If anyone s...o...b..red on mine like "Bonny" just had, I'm sure I'd gag. Benny just gushed. "Bonny, you are the sweetest thing."

He picked up the valise and handed it to Benny.

She said, "Thank you, sugar," and took possession of more than $250 million worth of uncut gems. Diamond dealers carried huge sums all the time, and to watch Benny, you'd think she was getting nothing more valuable than Chinese takeout. As if summoned by a hidden bell, as she probably was, Tanya appeared at the door, holding it open. I knew Benny had to hurry to catch up with the three deliverymen who had disappeared while I was phoning Schneibel, but she left languidly and even gave "Bonny" a final wink.

Immediately after Tanya closed the door behind Benny, Bonaventure turned to me. "I wish to take possession of the art tonight."

I countered, "Herr Schneibel needs time to crate them. He says you can pick them up at nine tomorrow."

"No." His voice was harsh. "I'm leaving the city for my country home tonight. I cannot delay. I'll bring my men and we'll crate the items ourselves. Phone Herr Schneibel back and tell him we are coming."

Again I protested. Bonaventure took off his velvet gloves and put iron in his voice. Finally I said I would make the call. I did as instructed, telling Schneibel that Bonaventure would be arriving before eleven. I hoped he'd pa.s.s the message on to J. Schneibel answered in monosyllables again, giving no resistance, yet I felt a terrible foreboding as I hung up the phone.

I took a deep breath and began to turn around, but I never made it.

My neck was gripped violently from behind. I flung my hands up and clawed but I couldn't reach the face of whoever was behind me. Soft leather gloves, the fingers in them very strong, dug in on both sides of my neck just above the collarbone, where the carotid arteries branch upward. Pressure there blocks the blood flow to the brain.

I hadn't a chance to transform. I had time for only two thoughts. One was that something terrible was going to happen. The other was, angrily, that Bonaventure had won. Then I spiraled down into darkness and a place of no dreams.

Chapter 10.

Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came.

-Robert Browning

I regained consciousness with the strange notion that it was raining. I slowly opened my eyes and tried to make sense of what I was seeing. It was a spa quality Nautilus machine, the kind with four stations at the compa.s.s points. I must be in Bonaventure's exercise room somewhere in the apartment. I was bound by duct tape as I sat astraddle the bench of the machine. My hands were extended over my head, and when I looked up, I saw they were affixed by duct tape to the lat pull-down bar.

I didn't realize all this in a great sprint of cogitation; it was more of a slow wade through mola.s.ses. My throat hurt, and I had a splitting headache. I was still looking up at the bar, trying to figure out what happened, when ping ping, a big wet drop hit my cheek. Ping, ping Ping, ping. One hit my neck. Another whacked into my forehead. I frowned. I shook my head. I looked up again at my hands, which felt numb and dead. With that something wet again hit my cheek.

I turned my head sideways in the direction where the "rain" seem to originate. Benny Polycarp was duct-taped to a treadmill, her red power suit askew. She was all puckered up, about to launch another lugie at me.

"What the h.e.l.l!" I yelped. "Benny, stop spitting on me!"

"Shhhh! Don't make noise. I was just trying to wake you up," she said with a small giggle. "I couldn't think of any other way to get your attention."

"Why the h.e.l.l didn't you just transform and get loose?" I said. My arms hurt, my head hurt, and I wasn't about to be polite.