"He must have had talent, all right," Drew said. "The question is at what? There's nothing in his biography to indicate why he was promoted so rapidly. If you're right, if he's hiding something, it won't be in any official biography. I doubt we'd find it even if we checked the

Vatican archives. A member of the Curia has the power to make sure his past is sanitized."

"How do we get the unofficial version of Pavelic's life?" Arlene asked.

"I think it's time to have an intimate conversation with the cardinal's close associates," Drew said.

"In the newspaper accounts of his disappearance, I remember a reference to Pavelic's personal assistant. Father Jean Dusseault, I believe the name was."

"French."

"We can narrow the range of our discussion with him. What I'm interested in--"

"Is World War Two,"

Arlene said, "and why the assassin sons of Nazi assassins would be determined to find our missing cardinal. Let's go back to the Vatican."

Father Jean Dusseault had an apartment in one of the many Renaissance palaces within the Vatican. The simplest way to contact him, of course, would have been to phone him and schedule an appointment at his office.

But the subsequent conversation was unlikely to prove productive. Saul imagined the stony response to the questions he wanted to ask. "Do you know anything about a connection between Cardinal Pavelic and checks written out of your office to assassins who might be priests? Have you ever heard about a secret intelligence network within the

Catholic Church? Absurd? Of course. I'm sorry I troubled you." No,

Saul thought as he waited in an alcove across from Father Dusseault's apartment building. An interview in his office wouldn't do. A private approach, an intimate--if necessary, forced--conversation: those were the only practical options. Saul had agreed with Gallagher that, despite the Agency's new willingness to help, it was best for Saul and Erika to go in alone. They had no present affiliations with any network. If they were caught, the worst accusation would be that a man and woman who happened to be Jews had too energetically questioned a Catholic priest about the woman's missing father. Besides, Saul thought, this really is still a personal matter. Erika's father is all I care about. Gallagher gave me information I didn't have--about the Vatican connection with the men who stalked me. In return, he learned about the possibility of a network, the existence of which no one suspected. It's a fair exchange.

Lights flicked off in several apartments. The night became blacker. The

Vatican was closed to tourists after 7 p. m., but Saul and Erika had hidden in a basement of one of the office buildings, creeping out after sunset. From his vantage point, Saul glanced down the narrow street toward where Erika waited in a similar alcove. They had flanked the entrance to Father Dusseault's apartment building. As soon as the light went off in his apartment, they'd go up. Or if he came out, they were ready to follow.

As it was, he came out. Saul recognized the robust young Frenchman with his thick dark hair and his slightly weak chin from a late-afternoon visit he'd made to Father Dusseault's office, pretending to be a journalist inquiring if there were developments in the search for the cardinal. The priest had been aloof, abrupt, dismissive. Saul wasn't going to regret demanding answers from him. The priest paused beneath a light above the entrance to the palace, then headed toward Saul's right, in Erika's direction. His dark suit blended with the shadows; his white collar remained visible, however. Saul shifted from his hiding place, having given Erika a chance to go after the priest before he himself did. He concentrated on a dim light at the end of the street, waiting to see which direction Father Dusseault would take. The priest went straight ahead. His apartment building was to the right of St. Peter's

Square, near the so-called downtown area of the Vatican, where its supermarket, pharmacy, and post office were located. His route led Saul and Erika between the Sistine Chapel and St. Peter's Basilica, past the

Pontifical Academy of Science, and deep within the Vatican woods and gardens, the darkness of which was only partially dispelled by periodic lamps. Twice Saul had to stop and hide--once when two priests walked past him from one building to another, again while a Swiss guard patrolled a street. As soon as he entered the cover of shrubs and trees, he felt less uneasy. But he was troubled by two gestures the priest made. One was to remove his white collar and tuck it into his suitcoat pocket. The other was to push his right hand along the middle finger of his left hand as if he put on a ring. With an intersecting cross and sword? Is Father Dusseault connected with the three men who tried to kill me? Is that why their bills were paid through the cardinal's office? The priest's movements, formerly casual, now became wary. A man of the cloth on a late-night stroll became an operative on guard against danger. He skirted the pale glow of a garden lamp.

Without the white collar, his black suit blended perfectly with the darkness of shrubs. He disappeared.

Somewhere ahead, among trees and bushes, Erika would be watching, Saul knew. Perhaps she was close enough to see where the priest went. But as she stalked him, would the priest be stalking her as well? Had

Father Dusseault suspected he was being followed? Saul was sure of this.

He and Erika thought so much alike, the same suspicion would have occurred to her. She'd take "extra care. Silently he crept forward, past fountains, hedges, and statues. Marble angels had always reminded him of death. The scent of the plants was cloying, as in an undertaker's parlor. He sank to the ground, squirming forward through a gap between shrubs, pausing when he saw a clearing before him. A large fountain in the shape of a Spanish galleon loomed ahead. At first he thought the priest with his back to the fountain was Father Dusseault.

Then the emergence of a quarter moon made him realize that this priest wore a white collar. The man was taller than Father Dusseault. His strong-chinned profile made Saul tingle. In these gardens that reminded him of a cemetery, he had the eerie sensation he was seeing a ghost. For an instant, he would have sworn he was looking at his dead foster brother, Chris. Saul stared in shock. Had Chris somehow survived? Saul had never seen Chris's body; he'd only been told about the knife attack that had killed him. But despite the longing in Saul's heart, he knew in his soul that his hope was groundless. This priest, no matter the resemblance, was not in fact Chris. A subtle movement at the side of the fountain attracted Saul's attention. Was it Erika trying to gain a better vantage point on this unexpected second priest? No, he decided.

She was too professional to let curiosity force her into the risk of revealing herself. The movement beside the fountain became more evident

A shadow detached itself from darker shadows. A man stepped forward. In a priest's black suit but without the white collar. A man with a ring on the middle finger of his left hand. Father Dusseault. The other priest had apparently been aware of Father Dusseault's approach. Calmly, he turned to his visitor and raised his hands in a gesture of peace. Or so it seemed. The gesture was identical to an operative's invitation to search him, a signal that he wasn't armed.

To protect his night vision. Drew had taken care not to glance up at the moon or toward a lamp down a nearby path. Instead he'd concentrated on the darkest group of shrubs before him, keeping his back protected against the fountain. Though Father Dusseault should have arrived by now, he assumed that the priest was being cautious, approaching slowly, on guard against a trap. When he heard soft movement behind the fountain and turned with exaggerated calm, raising his arms in a gesture of nonaggression, he was grateful mat Father Dusseault had chosen the darkest approach to this clearing, inadvertently helping Drew to preserve his sight. Of course, the priest might not be Father Dusseault at all. Drew had never met the man. That afternoon, he'd phoned the priest at his Vatican office and asked for an appointment.

"What did you wish to speak with me about?" a smooth voice with a slight French accent had asked. "Cardinal Pavelic," Drew had said.

"You'll have to be more specific. If this is about the cardinal's disappearance, I've already had one reporter here today, and I told him what I'm telling you. We have no information. Talk to the police."

"I'm not a reporter," Drew had said. "And I don't think you should tell me to see the police. I might make trouble for you."

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're--"

"You asked for something specific. Try this. Two assassins are looking for the cardinal. The sons of Nazi SS men from World War Two. Their fathers reported directly to Hitler. Does that spark your interest?" The line had been silent for a moment. "Ridiculous," Father Dusseault had said. "What would make you imagine--?"

"Not on the phone. I told you I want an appointment. In private. As soon as possible. Tonight."

"Who is this?"

"Sorry," Drew had answered.

"You expect me to trust an anonymous voice on the phone? To meet you in secret and talk about assassins?" Father Dusseault's outburst had seemed more calculated than spontaneous. Drew had decided to test him.

"If you want a character reference. I can direct you to a Fraternity."

Again the line had been silent. Encouraged, Drew had tested him further, beginning the Fraternity's recognition code. "Dominum vobis cum

"I don't understand why you told me that."

"Surely, Father, you recognize a quotation from the Latin mass."

"Of course. "The Lord be with you.'"

"And do you remember the response?"

"Et cum spiritu tuo."

"That's right 'And with your spirit" Deo gratias." Drew had held his breath, waiting for the last part of the Fraternity's recognition code"

"Thanks be to God" Amen." Drew had exhaled silently. The code had been completed. "There's a Spanish-galleon fountain in the Vatican gardens."

The reference to the fountain was also a test. Several days ago, when

Drew and Arlene had disguised themselves as a priest and a nun to meet

Father Sebastian at the Vatican gardens, that fountain had been their rendezvous. It was where Father Victor, the member of the Fraternity who'd sent Arlene to find Drew in Egypt, had been shot. Any citizen of the Vatican would immediately link the meeting place Drew suggested with the recent murder there. Any indignant but innocent Vatican bureaucrat would call attention to the morbid choice of site. But Father

Dusseault, pausing briefly, had merely said, "I'll meet you there at one a. m."

Now, fifteen minutes late for the appointment. Father Dusseault stepped from the darkness behind the fountain. He didn't seem surprised that

Drew was dressed as a priest It was understandable. Drew thought.