"But you gave the order? You're the man who murdered her?"

Houston stalked across the room, consumed by total burning hatred. He walked stiffly, one foot planted firmly, then the other, fists clenched at his sides, his vision narrowed so that all he saw was Charles.

He reached out. Charles stumbled to avoid him.

"Mr. Houston," St. Laurent said sternly.

Houston took another step.

"I can't allow this," St. Laurent insisted.

Charles pivoted around a table. Houston took a further step and felt forceful hands restraining him.

A guard pressed the nerves behind Pete's ears. The pain was absolute, forcing him to his knees. He squirmed, so helpless he could not even moan. As quickly as it came, the pain was gone.

The guard stepped back. Pete gasped and rubbed his injured neck. He slumped.

"Don't take advantage of my patience," St. Laurent warned Houston. "You're a guest here. Please behave like one."

Pete nodded, ma.s.saging his throbbing neck.

Charles scowled behind the table. "Now you see. The man's unstable. We'd be foolish if we trusted him."

"We made our choice. Abide by it."

"But "

"No! Don't be disruptive!" This time it was Houston's father who objected. He'd been silent since admitting his ident.i.ty. Throughout the argument, he hadn't moved. But now he took command. Despite his haggard face and body, he exuded confidence as he stepped toward the middle of the room. "We met to settle this.

I speak for Jacques as well as for myself when I insist on an acceptable solution."

"All I care about is safety for my daughter," Monsard said. "I want her life protected." He trembled, pulling at the bruises on his face. The makeup peeled away in strips of grotesque supple rubber. Houston saw the worry in his eyes.

"He's right," Fontaine agreed. He reached inside his navy blazer and pulled out a silver cigarette case. "All this arguing is pointless." Fontaine lit a cigarette. "Proceed with our arrangement," he told St. Laurent, then turned to Houston, helping him to stand. "Here, take this cigarette. Sit down and listen.

It concerns your future."

Drawing deeply on the cigarette, needing it, Houston walked back toward the chair. He didn't look at Charles, although he sensed Charles glaring at him.

"Everyone agrees?" St. Laurent asked.

No one spoke. Pete felt the tension.

"Very well then. Mr. Houston, you write stories. I shall tell you one. In nineteen forty-four, I was a double agent for the Germans."

"You admit this?"

"We'll accomplish nothing if I lie to you. I want you to believe in my good faith."

Houston gaped at his directness.

"I informed against the Allies. In exchange, the Germans paid me gold. From such beginnings, grand designs are born. I realized that if they had only a small amount of gold they wouldn't use it to reward me.

So there had to be a lot of it. The Germans were retreating, grabbing everything of worth as they pulled back. They must have secret h.o.a.rds, I thought, of wealth beyond belief. The trick was how to get it from them."

Houston sat bolt-upright. He leaned ahead. "That's what this is all about? You stole a treasure from the "

"Don't antic.i.p.ate my story. It's more intricate than you guess. I didn't steal the gold. I didn't have to. It was given to me."

Houston frowned.

"The German general was faced with a dilemma," St. Laurent continued. "He was sure the war would soon be over that Germany would lose it. Hitler had gone crazy, stubbornly denying what was obvious, recalling all his armies, planning a heroic battle that would keep the Allies out of Germany. The Fatherland was bankrupt. But the treasures his retreating armies brought would finance new offensives."

"Madness."

"So this German general concluded. Needless further suffering. Cruel waste. The gold so many men had died for would be squandered so that still more men would die. And for no reason. But to disagree with Hitler was to risk your execution.

What was more, the general had learned that Hitler wasn't honoring the bravery of his returning officers. Instead they were being punished for their failure.

There was no sense in returning to the Fatherland. The general had learned that his two sons had died in combat, that his wife had killed herself from grief.

What future did he have? He didn't trust his officers enough to ask them for their help. He needed someone without principle. Of course, he sent for me. Ten million dollars' worth of gold,' he said. 'It's yours. For helping me desert but without capture from the Allies.' South America, where, with his own share, he could live in splendor."

"You agreed?"

"The hardest part was finding men to help me. I mistrusted my own countrymen.

They were too loyal to the homeland, too unselfish. But I studied the Americans and found a squad I dared to trust. Young soldiers who were terrified by battles they had been through, who were eager to desert. Except they wouldn't have a future as deserters. They required some convincing. Several million dollars' worth."

"The thought of all that money," Fontaine said. "More wealth than I could dream about or ever see. You don't know how it was. The fighting had been constant.

D-Day. Landing on the beach, and then the . . . No one warned me I would be so frightened."

Houston noticed that his father didn't speak. "And then what?" he asked St.

Laurent.

"I told the general the Americans would soon attack. He sent his soldiers to the front, including those who watched the gold. The move was logical. Who'd steal the gold while an attack was under way?"

"Confusion," Houston said. "Nine Allied soldiers sneak away. The Germans, looking for a major force from one direction, aren't prepared for such a small incursion from the opposite direction."

"In particular when that flank isn't being watched. The general made sure of that. He waited for us by the trucks that held the gold."

"You took the trucks and you escaped?"

"Precisely. We were lucky. We were bold. And we were rich."

"One problem. Wartime France. You had no way to leave the country with the gold.

It was too bulky, and the Germans must have chased you."

"Not before we hid the gold. We drove the trucks fifteen kilometers from where the gold was buried. Then we burned the trucks and fled. Our uniforms enabled us to cross through Allied lines."

"The general "

" was dressed as one of us, of course. It took a month and every trick we could imagine. But we got to South America. We waited. When the war was over, other Germans wanted to escape the occupation. I don't mean that we helped maniacs.

But many generals had been too zealous in their eagerness for Hitler's praise.

They feared they'd go on trial at Nuremberg, so we arranged their disappearance, their safe trip to South America. And for our services, they paid us well."

"But then in nineteen fifty you came back to France."

"He knows," Fontaine said, startled.

"Let him tell it."

"That's when you approached Monsard," Pete said. "You'd thought it through while you were hiding. New ident.i.ties. You wanted France as your home base, since this is where the gold was. Monsard had been your best friend in the old days. He was desti- tute. You bribed him with the hotel. He searched through the courthouse records, found the right ident.i.ties, and took the risk of getting your new birth certificates and pa.s.sports. Then he burned the courthouse, so no one could discover your names belonged to long-dead children."

"You're resourceful."

"What about the priest?"

"I had a moment's doubt. I took confession. It was superst.i.tious, I admit, but I was young, and I was frightened. I told everything, relying on his vow of silence, hoping that if all else failed I could negotiate for my salvation."

"You depended on an honest man."

"I knew he wouldn't tell."

"And yet you had him killed."

"Not true. Your brother did."

"But why?"

"Ask him."

"The priest was weakening," Charles said. "He would have told."

"And you've been nervous lately," St. Laurent told Charles. "You make me nervous too. If I had known what you intended "

"Someone has to cancel your mistakes." The two men stared at one another.

"Charon," Houston said.

They turned to him abruptly.

"Charon," he repeated.

"It's a pun we took from cla.s.sical mythology. The boatman of the underworld. You pay him. He transports you. That's what we did for those Germans. Charon was our code name. We retained it as an all-inclusive term, uniting Verlaine and a dozen other corporations in as many different countries. Using the procedures we established to smuggle the Germans, we're now in what we like to call the import-export business."

"Heroin?" Houston said, remembering what Bellay had told him.

"Specifics seem vulgar."

"Weapons?"

"No more questions, please. You have sufficient information for you to consider an offer we wish to make." St. Laurent stared at him. "Join us."

Houston paled. He'd been wondering what St. Laurent was up to, why this conversation, why the explanation. He had come to no conclusion, but in all the possibilities, this proposal had never occurred to him. He wasn't prepared. His thoughts collided. "Join you?"

"Look around the room. As you know, in addition to myself there were nine American soldiers. After thirty-seven years, you see the remnants of the original group. Accident, sickness, suicide. Death has claimed our friends. Of course, we've delegated authority. Capable men are in charge of our various corporations, but their power is limited. One hand doesn't know what the other is doing. Only we have complete understanding, total knowledge of how Charon works. We share a bond, the secret of how we began. We've stubbornly kept our power, despite what death has done to our group. But now the dissension you've caused among us threatens to destroy us at last. My dear friend Monsard worries for his daughter more than for Charon. He thinks we're a threat to him. And then, of course, your father. Though he's never known you, he is still related to you, and he feels an obligation. Less so than Monsard. Nonetheless an obligation. If we killed you, he would think about it, brood about it, finally resent it."

Houston turned to his father, studying those darkly circled, distraught eyes.

"The image is perhaps too vivid," St. Laurent continued. "But we desperately need new blood. I can't think of anyone more capable than the man who discovered our secret. The question is, Can you keep the secret? Certainly, if you accept our proposition, you'd not only give us needed strength. You'd also put an end to our dissension. We'd be in harmony again."

"Except for Charles."

"He knows what's best for us. He understands. He'll comply."

"But why should / comply?"

St. Laurent laughed. "I think your enticements are self-evident. If you don't agree, we'll kill you. And Simone, of course. Regardless of the bitterness it would cause among us. Think about Simone. If you feel any fondness for her, make your choice with that in mind. And think about the wealth I offer."

"No amount of money "

" would be worth the wife you lost. Of course not. I don't intend to insult you. But I ask you to be practical. We have a problem. Tell us how to solve it."

"There's a flaw."

"Oh, really?"

"If I joined you, how could you feel confident enough to trust me? I'd be worrisome. A threat."

St. Laurent shook his head. "If there's a flaw, you haven't found it. Having lost your wife, you won't invite a second loss. If you betray us, then we'll kill Simone. If she betrays us, we'll kill you. That wouldn't save us, but if nothing else, revenge is sweet. I see you wonder how we'd get at you from prison. With a contract. Money held by someone whom you've never met, who'd pay an a.s.sa.s.sin. You've been running for your life. You know the fear, the desperation. Surely you don't want a repet.i.tion. For Simone or for yourself."

The wind shrieked past the windows. "We've discussed this long enough."

"I need to talk about it with my father," Houston said. St. Laurent quit breathing. Houston's father stiffened, paling. "Just the two of us. Alone,"

Houston said. "There are some things I need to know."

Charles spoke with scorn. "A family reunion. Touching."

Houston's father turned. "He's your relation also."

"By an accident of birth," Charles said. "I don't acknowledge the relationship.