"Pavelic." Icicle's voice was fraught with hate. "For forty years, the bastard kept his hooks in our fathers. The records he kept God knows how much money he demanded in exchange for keeping those records a secret. Pavelic was the only outsider who had the information that linked all our fathers. The Night and Fog couldn't have organized its terror against them without knowing what was in the cardinal's files."

"Logical," Seth said, "but not necessarily the case. There could be an explanation we've overlooked."

"Such as?"

"That's the problem. We don't know enough," Seth said. "But this man doesn't either. I suggest we investigate the cardinal's private life."

" 'Private'?" Icicle laughed. "I didn't know priests were allowed to have 'private' lives." He hesitated. "And what about... ?" He gestured towards Medici. "Kill him, of course. He's useless to us, even a danger. Another injection of Amytal should be sufficient. Painless."

Seth raised his shoulders. "Perhaps even pleasureful."

"That still leaves the man and the woman in the alley across from where we grabbed him. You noticed them as I did. They weren't hiding there by coincidence. They had the same interest in Medici that we did."

"If we see them again, we'll kill them." The blaze in Seth's eyes suggested that too would be a pleasure. nightmares then AND now

As the mountain road curved higher, the rented Volkswagen's engine began to sputter. The car refused to gain speed to compensate for the incline. A half-kilometer later, Saul smelled gasoline and veered toward an observation point at a bend in the road. He shut the ignition off. Beside him, Erika squirmed and wakened. When she peered toward the valley below them, the bright morning sun made her squint The sky was turquoise, the farm fields emerald. Yawning, she glanced at her watch.

'Ten forty-six?" Concern made her fully alert. "You've been driving since dawn. You must be exhausted. I'll change places with you."

"I can manage. We've only got fifteen kilometers to go."

"Fifteen kilometers? If that's all, why did you stop?"

"We almost had a fire." Her nostrils widened, "I smell it now.

Gasoline."

"I think it's the carburetor." He opened the driver's door, approached the front of the car, and lifted the hood. A film of liquid covered the engine. Vapor rose. Erika appeared beside him and studied the engine.

"Hand me your pocketknife," she said. She opened its blade and adjusted a screw on the carburetor's stern. Saul knew what she was doing. The car, which they'd rented in Vienna, must have been tuned for lowland city driving. Now after struggling against the thin air of the mountains, the carburetor hadn't been able to mix sufficient oxygen with gasoline to allow the fuel to be detonated by the spark plugs. The engine had flooded. The excess fuel had backed up into the carburetor, which had overflowed. The simple adjustment to the carburetor would remedy me problem. "Another five minutes, and we'd have been walking,"

Saul said.

"Running's more like it." She laughed self-critically. "Before the gas tank blew up. We've been living in the desert too long. We forgot the problems altitude can cause." Her long dark hair glinted in the morning sun. Her beige jacket emphasized the deep brown of her eyes.

Saul had never loved her more. "I hope that's all we forgot. I'd hate to think we've just been lucky so far, and now, out of practice for years, we're making mistakes."

"Keep thinking that way. It'll stop us from being overconfident."

"That's one thing I'm not." Eager to get moving, they subdued their frustration and waited for the gasoline to evaporate from the engine.

The surrounding slopes, above and below, were lush with evergreens. The thin air of six thousand feet made breathing difficult. Snow-capped mountains towered in the distance.

Under other circumstances, these dramatic conditions--the Swiss Alps, south of Zurich--would have been mesmerizing. Saul shut the car's hood.

"It's probably safe to drive now. According to the map, the road'll take us down to the neighboring valley. But Misha investigated the names on the list he made. His agents must have already been where we're going.

If they'd learned anything important, we'd have been told about it.

Let's be prepared for disappointment."

"We have to start somewhere." Saul's voice thickened. "Right. And if the answer isn't here, it's somewhere else... We'll keep searching till we finish this."

The village was Weissendorf: a cluster of perhaps a hundred buildings perched upon a small plateau with a gently sloping pasture above and below. A road ran through it The buildings were narrow, often four stories tall, the upper levels projecting an arm's-length out from the bottom one so that they seemed like awnings designed to keep pedestrians dry when it rained. With their peaked roofs that curved slightly up at the eaves, the buildings reminded Saul of fir trees. At the same time, elaborately carved designs on railings, windowsills, and doors reminded him of gingerbread houses. He parked the Volkswagen outside an inn. An oversized ale tankard with a handle and hinged lid hung above the entrance. He turned to Erika. "Which one of us should ask directions to where Ephraim Avidan lives?" She realized the problem. Switzerland had no language of its own. Its citizens spoke the language of the nearest bordering country. "Your German's better than mine," she said. "But this is southern Switzerland. Our French is about the same, but my

Italian's--"

"Better. Besides--excuse a sexist remark--they might be more receptive to a female stranger. You want to give it a try?" With a grin that didn't disguise her troubled mood, she opened the passenger door and entered the inn. Saul waited uneasily. Before promising his former networic that he wouldn't accept help from any intelligence agency, he'd already received a great deal of help from Misha Pletz and the Mossad.

He didn't think he could be accused of reneging on his agreement if he took advantage of that pre promise help. For one thing, Misha had supplied them with Israeli passports using cover names and fictitious backgrounds that, if questioned by the authorities, would be endorsed by

Israeli civilians and businesses secretly affiliated with the Mossad.

For another, Misha had given them sufficient money to conduct their search. He'd also provided them with weapons, though Saul and Erika had hidden these before leaving Austria, not wanting to risk crossing the border with them. But at the moment, the most important of Misha's contributions was a photocopy of his notebook--the list of names he'd made and the information about them. The first name on the list was

Ephraim Avidan. "What do the names on the list have to do with what happened to my father?" Erika had asked.

"I have no idea," Misha had answered. "/ don't believe that. You wouldn't have made the list if there isn't a connection among them."

"Did I say there isn't a connection? We know their backgrounds, their addresses, their habits, their former occupations."

"Former?"

"These men are all ex-Mossad, all retired. But you asked how they related to what happened to your father, and that puzzle I haven't been able to solve yet."

"They claim they don't know my father? They won't answer your questions? What's the problem? "

"I haven't been able to ask them anything."

"You're doing it again. Evading."

"I'm not. These men share two other factors. They survived the Nazi death camps..."

"And?"

"They've all disappeared." As Erika's father had disappeared.

The inn door swung open. Saul couldn't interpret the expression on

Erika's face when she got in the car. "Anything?" he asked. "They didn't exactly gush with information. I gather we're not the only strangers who've asked about Avidan, and these people don't take well to strangers, male or female, who aren't here just to spend money as tourists." Saul thought about it. "Whoever came before us must have belonged to Misha."

"Maybe. Let's find out. I managed to get directions." Saul started the car and drove along the narrow street.

"Tell me when to turn."

"It's outside town. The third farmhouse on the left." He increased speed. The house was old, with white stucco walls, on a level section of the upper grassy slope. Though wider than the buildings in town, it did have a high peaked roof, its silhouette conforming with a mountain beyond it Saul turned and drove up a rutted dirt lane, hearing cow bells from the pasture as be stopped outside the house. The sun made the valley even more brilliant. He didn't pay attention to the scenery, his thoughts completely preoccupied with the list they'd discovered.

And the first name on that list. They stepped from the car. A woman with handsome, almost mannish features came out of the house. She was in her early thirties, with short sun bleached hair and ruddy cheeks. Muscular, she wore sturdy ankle-high shoes, woolen knee socks, leather shorts, and a blue-checked shirt with its sleeves rolled up. Her shoes thunked on a wooden porch, then on stairs leading down to the car. When she stopped, her eyes flashed with suspicion. Saul took for granted that Erika would do most of the talking, just as he would have if this had been a man.