"Seth," the priest repeated. "Those are their cryptonyms. I confess I didn't think I'd learn anything about them. But as soon as I mentioned a blond and a redhead, I got an immediate reaction from my Opus Dci contacts in Interpol. I'm embarrassed I hadn't heard about these two men before. The only excuse I can think of for my ignorance is they haven't made a move against anything that involves the Church. They're not terrorists; you wouldn't have known about them either."

"What about them?" Drew asked. "They're extremely expensive, extremely skilled, extremely deadly. They don't work often, but when they do, it's a major job. They're experts at hiding. No one knows where they live."

"By definition," Drew said. "Otherwise there'd have been reprisals against them."

"One Interpol theory is that they use a major proportion of their income to buy protection. But even so, they've made a few mistakes. Along the line some security cameras tookphotographs of them. Only a couple. The images are blurred. But these days, computers can do wonders to add high-resolution to murky photographs. And those enhanced photographs were used to identify two men who came through Rome's airport two days ago from Canada. Each man alone might not have triggered interest. But both of them on one plane..."

"Sure. They attracted attention to each other. The watcher was bound to notice."

"That's part of the reason they were spotted," Father Sebastian said.

"But there's a stronger reason for both of them on one plane to be unusual. I told you their code names are Icicle and Seth. Both are appropriate to killing."

"Death is an iceman. Seth is the red-haired Egyptian god of the underworld."

"And forty years ago, the men with those code names were mortal enemies," Father Sebastian said. "That's impossible! Forty years ago, the men I saw would have been infants!"

"I'm talking about their fathers whose code names the sons inherited, In the Second World War, Icicle and Seth were Hitler's personal principal assassins. Each tried to outdo the other's body count--to gain approval from the Fflhrer. And after the Third Reich collapsed, the favored assassins continued to challenge each other. On several occasions, they tried to kill each other. Because of a woman, some sources say. Do the sons of old enemies consort with each other? Travel on the same plane?

Cooperate to kidnap an informant? That's what attracted Interpol's attention. Whatever's happening is more disturbing than I feared.

Icicle and Seth--the conjunction's unnatural." 6

The sky became grayer. A light rain started falling as Father Sebastian let them off at the top of Albis Pass. "And now the case is yours again," the priest said. "I don't know how you can use the information

I've given you. But I recruited you precisely because I didn't want to risk involving the Fraternity in the investigation. If you need me to do your work for you, why should I have bargained with you? I'm becoming impatient." With an angry glare, the priest sped away. Drew watched him disappear down the pass. The rain was like a heavy mist. It drifted across his face. Despondent, he and Arlene got into their car. "What now?" Arlene asked. "Even with what he told us, I feel helpless. Where do we go?"

"I think back to Rome." He tried to sound confident, "Where Cardinal

Pavelic disappeared, where Father Victor was shot, where Seth and Icicle went after Gatto and Medici."

Her gaze became hopeful. "But what's the connection?"

"Between the sons of Hider's private assassins and the disappearance of

Cardinal Pavelic? I'm not sure there is a connection, not a direct one anyhow. Seth and Icicle didn't abduct the cardinal--otherwise they wouldn't be looking for him. They want answers the same as we do. Why, though? Why are they so interested? What would make the sons of Nazi executioners--and remember their fathers were enemies--want to join forces to find a missing cardinal? Prom the start, we overlooked the obvious. The cardinal's the key to this. But we were thinking of him only as a figurehead, a Church luminary, not as a man. Who was he? We hardly know anything about him." Drew turned the ignition key and steered toward the road. At once he saw a Renault go by, driven by a man speeding down the pass toward Zurich. Behind the Renault, another car, a Volkswagen Golf, followed closely. In it, a woman stared at the car ahead with intensity, as if the worst thing that could happen would be for her to lose sight of the Renault. Drew was positive he'd never seen them before, yet he felt a puzzling kinship. He pulled onto the road and drove behind them down the pass, but wherever they were headed, he and Arlene were going toward Zurich's airport and the next flight back to Rome.

Saul found a space in a crowded parking lot near Zurich's railway station. The skin of his face felt taut from exhaustion. I tried to do too much, he thought. I should have rested longer at the cave.

Mustering strength, he stepped from the Renault and locked it. The drizzle persisted. He glanced at the Renault's closed trunk, which he'd discovered contained automatic weapons and plastic explosives as well as three sets of passports, credit cards, and drivers' licenses providing alternate identities for the men who'd used this car. They wouldn't have risked bringing that stuff through Swiss customs, Saul thought. They got everything after they entered the country. Which means they weren't alone; they had contacts, an organization to back them up. They must have thought we wouldn't be suspicious and run. Otherwise they'd have come after us sooner. Their mistake. Erika pulled up in the Volkswagen.

He got in beside her. "A couple of times, you wavered on the road," she said. "Your eyes look dull. Your skin's pale. Are you sick?" His raw throat made him cough. "Let's not worry about it till I make a phone call."

"After that, this Jewish lady's going to pamper you."

"I'll hold you to that promise." Saul smiled. "Drive toward the lake."

He could have used a telephone in the train station, but by habit, he avoided all phones in public transport terminals--security agencies frequently tapped them. Hallway along the Bahnhofstrasse, he pointed toward a phone booth. "It's as safe as any, I suppose." Erika stopped at the curb. "Keep circling the block," he said, then darted from the

Volkswagen. He picked up the receiver, inserting Swiss coins. A gruff voice answered in German. "Zurich Flower Shop."

"This is a priority order. Put me through to your international dispatcher."

"Have you dealt with us before? To expedite delivery, I'll need an account number."

"My account was listed under a name."

"What is it?"

"Romulus." The German voice hesitated only briefly. "I'll check your invoice file and see if the dispatcher's available."

"Tell him I've found a flower shop I don't think he knows about"

"I'm sure he'll be interested--if I can reach him."

"I'm sure you can." Saul studied his watch. Forty seconds later, another voice--speaking English--came on the line. "What kind of flowers did you wish to send?"

"Roses. I'm calling from a Zurich phone booth. I want to send the order to the Black Bread Bakery in Vienna. My friend there was nicknamed Pockmark. This is the number in the booth." Saul dictated it

"I don't have an alternate phone. Tell Pockmark to call as soon as possible. Tell him I want to discuss the favor he wanted."

"This might take a while." Saul knew they would use the number he'd given them to locate this phone and verily by sight that he was who he claimed to be. "I understand. Just make sure Pockmark calls me." Saul hung up and glanced out the rain-streaked window of the booth. He saw

Erika drive the Volkswagen past him and gestured reassuringly to her.

He waited. Through the phone booth's window, now misted by his breath, he saw Erika drive past several more times. Ten minutes later, the phone rang. He grabbed for it A German voice again, but this one sounded as if its accent had been learned in New England. "I'm calling about some flowers you want to send to me."

"Your accent's terrible. Pockmark."

"And you're as discourteous as ever. You agreed not to get in touch with us." 'I want to discuss my near-accident in Vienna."

Pockmaric spoke quickly. "We had nothing to do with that."

"I know. I found out who was involved. You'll be surprised. Do we talk about it now or switch to another phone?" The line became silent.

"Romulus?"

"I'm listening."

"You're sure I'll be surprised?"

"Utterly fascinated."

"How would you like to rent a hotel room? Our treat."

"Which hotel?"

"By now, the flower shop should have found the booth you're using."