It was a start. He knelt down and began working in earnest on the bottom hinge, deciding to leave the top for last. One of the screws popped out as soon as he pulled against it. The other two, however, remained stuck. He pushed the chisel in, tapping with his hand.

Was it making too much noise?

"Mircea," he whispered to his wife. "Look out and make sure no one is there."

"What if they see me?"

"Stay at the corner, at the lower corner. In the shadow."

She came over. "No one," she whispered. "Oh my G.o.d."

She turned away quickly, covering her mouth. Obviously she had seen the dead bodies lying in the gra.s.s.

"Did the soldiers kill them?" she asked.

"No, but they dumped them there."

Voda continued to work. The door creaked and tilted down as the last screws popped from the door hinge. Voda steadied it, then stood up.

If he popped off the upper hinge, the door would be easy to push aside; it might even fall aside. But of course the chance of being found would increase.

No. Sooner or later someone was coming through the cistern. They might even be working on it now.

"I can open the door," he told Mircea. "But we must be ready to run."

"Where will we go?"

Voda realized he had begun to breathe very hard.

"Into the woods. Farther up."

"They'll search."

"They'll search here in a minute," he said.

"Someone's coming," she hissed, ducking away from the door's window.

Voda froze, listening. Julian put his arms around his father, hugging him and whimpering. He patted the boy's back, wanting to tell him that everything would be OK. But that would be a cruel lie, easily exposed-in minutes they could all three be dead, tossed on the pile of bodies like so much dried wood. He didn't want his last words to his son to be so treacherously false.

"Alin," said Mircea, tugging him nearer to the window. "Listen."

The soldiers outside were saying that the general was on his way and would be angry. One of them asked for a cigarette. A truck started and backed away, its headlights briefly arcing through the hole into the cave.

One soldier remained, guarding the bodies.

He could shoot him, thought Voda, then pry off the hinge, and make a run for it.

"We could go to the pump house," whispered Mircea. "It's a good hiding place."

The pump house was an old wellhead on the property behind theirs. It was at least two hundred yards into the woods, up fairly steep terrain. It had been abandoned long ago; the house it once served had burned down in the 1970s.

It might not be a bad hiding place, at least temporarily, but reaching it would be difficult. And first they would have to get out of the cave.

A small vehicle drove up and stopped near the other troop truck. He could hear the sound of dogs barking. The guard went in that direction, then returned with two dog handlers and their charges. They walked to the soldier guarding the bodies, then all of them, the guard included, went in the direction of the house.

Quickly, Voda pushed the chisel in against the metal.

"When the door gives way," he told his wife and son, "run. I'll fix it so it looks as if it is OK."

"Where will we go?" Mircea asked.

"The pump house. We'll have to move quickly."

"The dogs-"

"If we can walk along a creek for a while, the dogs will lose us," he said. "I've seen it in movies."

"So have I," said Julian brightly.

His son's remark gave him hope.

The door started to give way at the bottom as he pushed against the hinge. Voda put his leg there, then pried at the top. The screws sprang across the room and the door flopped over, held up only by the locked clasp.

"Come," he hissed, taking out his revolver. He slipped through the opening, looking, unsure what he would do if someone was actually nearby.

Mircea started out behind him. Voda grabbed her and pulled, then took Julian by the back of his shirt and hauled him out.

"Into the woods," he told his wife. "I'll catch up after I fix the door."

Julian clung to his leg, refusing to go. Voda picked up the door and slid it back against the opening. He couldn't quite get it perfect; the hinges were gone and the clasp had been partly twisted by the door's weight. But it would have to do. He grabbed his son under his arm like a loaf of bread and ran.

He didn't realize there were a pair of guards at the far end of the driveway near the road until he reached the bushes. The men were sharing a cigarette and arguing loudly over something less than fifty yards away. One of them must have heard him running because he shone his light back in the direction of the cave and woods.

Crouched behind the brush at the edge of the woods, Voda held his son next to him, trying not to breathe, trying not to do anything that would give them away. The flashlight's beam swung above the trees, then disappeared.

More trucks were coming.

"OK, up, let's go," said Voda, pulling Julian with him up the slope. He walked as quickly as he could; after twenty or thirty yards he began whispering for his wife. "Mircea? Mircea?"

"Here."

She was only a few yards away, but he couldn't see her.

"Go up the hill," he hissed.

"I hurt my toe."

"Just go," he said. "Come on Julian."

"Alin-"

"Go," he said.

He took Julian with him, carrying the boy about thirty more yards up the slope, picking his way through the dense trees. Below them more troops had arrived. There were shouted orders.

It wouldn't be long before they saw the door at the cave, or followed the cistern and discovered where they had been. Then they'd use the dogs to track them in the woods.

Voda felt an odd vibration in his pocket, then heard a soft buzzing noise. It was the cell phone, ringing.

He pulled it out quickly, hitting the Talk b.u.t.ton to take the call. But it wasn't a call-the device had come back to life, alerting him to a missed call that had gone to voice mail.

The phone was working now.

He fumbled with it for a moment, then dialed Sergi's number.

There was no answer.

He hit End Transmit b.u.t.ton.

Who else could he call?

The defense minister-but he didn't know his number. Those sorts of details were things he left to Sergi and his other aides.

Voda hit the device's phone book. Most of the people on the list were friends of Oana Mitca, but she also had Sergi's number, and that of his deputy schedule keeper, Petra Ozera. He tried Sergi again, hoping he had misdialed, but there was still no answer, not even a forward to voice mail. Then he tried Petra.

She answered on the third ring.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Petra, this is Alin."

"Mr. President! You're alive!"

"Yes, I'm alive."

"We've just heard from the army there was a guerrilla attack."

"Yes. There has been. What else did you hear?"

"The soldier said they were dealing with a large-scale attack. I rushed to the office. I'm just opening the door."

"Who called you?"

"The name was not familiar."

"From which command?"

"General Locusta's. They had just received word from their battalion."

Voda wondered more than ever which side the army was on.

"I want you to speak to the defense secretary," said Voda. "Call Fane Cazacul and tell him I must speak to him immediately. Tell him I will call him. Get a number where he can be reached."

"Yes, sir."

If the defense secretary was involved, he'd be able to track down the phone number. But the dogs would be able to find him soon anyway. Voda told Petra to call several of his allies in the parliament and tell them he was alive. He tried to make himself think of a strategy, but his mind wasn't clear; the thoughts wouldn't jell.

"The phone is ringing," said Petra.

"Answer it."

Voda waited. He heard rustling in the bush to his right-it was Mircea. Julian looked in her direction but didn't leave his father's side.

"It's the American amba.s.sador," said Petra. "He's just heard a report that one of helicopters was shot down over the border and-"

"Get me his phone number. I want to talk to him as well," said Voda.

White House Situation

Room 1320 (Romania 2320)

JED BARCLAY RUBBED HIS KNUCKLE AGAINST HIS FOREHEAD, trying to concentrate as the call from the American amba.s.sador to Romanian came through.

"This is Jed Barclay."

"Jed, I need to speak to the President immediately. They tell me that Secretary Hartman can't be disturbed."

"The Secretary and the President are on their way back to the White House," said Jed. "We don't have new information but we do have an idea of where the helicopter crashed and-"

"This is something different. I've just spoken with President Voda."

"You have?" Jed turned to the monitor on his right.

"Yes. He's under attack. Possibly by his own army."

Iasi Airfield, Romania