"I see. In that case, I'd confess."

"Oh?"

"To a priest."

"Oh?"

"And do my best to save my soul."

"You've got religion, Haverford?"

"Late. But finally."

"And is it comforting?"

Drew thought about it. "No. In fact, it's quite a burden. But it's powerful."

"Power, I understand."

"And it helps me to adjust to thoughts of death."

"That, my friend, is priceless," Gatto said. "So let me make an offer. A minister of God has disappeared. Can you help me find out why?"

"A minister?"

"Actually a cardinal. Krunoslav Pavelic." Gatto nodded, recognizing the name. "We think some of your former associates might be responsible for his disappearance. If you help me find him, I'd consider it a favor. No doubt, the Lord too would consider it a favor. And of course I would pay you."

"Pay me? In this regard, Haverford, I don't care to be paid." 'Then...

"I want revenge!"

"Against?"

"Those who abandoned me in my infirmity!"

Drew spread his hand. "You know what they're like. You can't blame them. They're survivors."

"Survivors? Not if I can help it!" The effort of his outburst made

Gatto close his eyes in pain. "The bastards dispense death readily enough, but they can't bear to do business with someone on the verge of death."

"You're that offended because they won't do business with you?"

"Business gave my life meaning."

"Then maybe it's time to find another meaning."

"Religion?" Gatto's spasm of pain subsided. He opened his eyes into slits. "Very good, Haverford. Help you find the cardinal, and in the process save my soul?"

"Try to save it anyhow."

"if it isn't too late."

"The greatest sin is despair."

"I meant if it isn't too late to find the cardinal. He disappeared months ago. From rumors I've heard, I gather the fullest efforts were made to find out what happened to him. Now that the trail has gone cold

"I'm interested in other kinds of rumors," Drew said. "About my former clients?" Gatto's eyelids trembled as he fought back his pain. "If they were responsible for taking the cardinal, don't you think they'd have bragged about it? Letters to newspapers, phone calls to Interpol?"

"Since they didn't, I'm wondering if they bragged among themselves."

"The truth?"

"It's always refreshing."

"You won't like it The truth is, I don't know. My disease was diagnosed in January. Word traveled fast I haven't heard insider news since

February. I always enjoyed discussing world events with you, Haverford, so for old times' sake, I agreed to see you. But your trip here, I'm afraid, has been wasted. I'm not the man to ask." Gatto winced and held his breath. When he exhaled, it sounded like a tire deflating. Drew stood. "I'm sorry. We've stayed too long. We've exhausted you."

"But I do know who you should ask." Drew kept himself perfectly still.

"Who?"

"The maggot who replaced the. The vermin who took my clients, who would have insider news. His name is Bonato."

"His pseudonym?"

"Medici."

"Political intrigue. Chaos. Appropriate.

Can you arrange an introduction with him?"

"From me? Impossible, Haverford. When he gained me favor of my clients, I became dispensable. I exist by his sufferance, because I'm close to death already. If I told him I was sending you to meet with him, such an introduction would cost you your life. I'll tell you how to get in touch with him. The rest is up to you. Be cautious. Ask him questions at your peril."

"Believe me, I intend to be careful. Tell me about him. Everything."

'Perhaps you're right, Haverford. Perhaps God will look with favor upon me if I show concern for His cardinal."

Dressed in black. Drew stood with Arlene in the shadows of an alley, watching the cars in a parking lot next to a restaurant across the street The time was shortly after 8 p. m. They'd waited here for fifteen minutes, and if Gatto's information was correct, the broker with (he pseudonym of Medici would arrive at the restaurant within the next five minutes. The restaurant is considered off-limits, Gatto had said.

Neutral ground. No business is ever conducted there. Medici favors its menu and its wine list. He always arrives at five minutes after eight, eats heartily, tips generously, and at precisely ten o 'clock returns to his mansion, where a whore--different each night--attends to his pleasure. His home, of course, is superbly guarded. But his weak spot is that restaurant. Mind you, under usual circumstances, his routine presents no risks. Terrorist groups have no reason to harm him.

And the authorities realize that, if they moved against him, all terrorist groups who'd commissioned services from him would automatically revise their plans. Then if we move against him. Drew had said, won't that alert whatever terrorist group might have taken