A few minutes later, Grace opened her eyes. Of course. Of course.

She picked up the phone. "I'd like you to send a cab please. Norfolk International Airport. Uh-huh. As soon as you can get one here."

BACK ON THE FISHING BOAT, LISTENING to the soft lapping of the waves as the warm African sun kissed her face, Grace smiled to herself again, thinking about her revelation in that grimy Virginia motel room and how it had brought her here, halfway across the world. Or perhaps to the soft lapping of the waves as the warm African sun kissed her face, Grace smiled to herself again, thinking about her revelation in that grimy Virginia motel room and how it had brought her here, halfway across the world. Or perhaps revelation revelation was the wrong word? was the wrong word? Memory. Memory. It was a memory that had told her where John Merrivale would run, a memory that made her certain of where he was now. The memory was so sweet, Grace closed her eyes and savored it again... It was a memory that had told her where John Merrivale would run, a memory that made her certain of where he was now. The memory was so sweet, Grace closed her eyes and savored it again...

IT WAS THE MONTH BEFORE SHE and Lenny got married. They were in France, in a charming little and Lenny got married. They were in France, in a charming little bastide bastide Lenny had rented in the hilltop town of Ramatuelle, a ten-minute drive from Saint-Tropez. Lenny had rented in the hilltop town of Ramatuelle, a ten-minute drive from Saint-Tropez.

Grace sighed. "I never want to leave here. It's enchanting."

They were having dinner with Marie La Cla.s.se, Lenny's French real estate broker, and John and Caroline Merrivale.

"Don't you find it a bit quiet?" said Caroline. She'd been lobbying since the start of the vacation for the four of them to move into Le Byblos, or better yet have Lenny's yacht sail up from Sardinia so they could lord it over the smaller boats in the harbor. What was the point in coming all the way to Saint-Tropez and spending the entire week stranded up a mountain in a dull little village no one had ever heard of?

"S-some people like the quiet," John ventured timidly. Caroline shot him a thunderous look.

"It makes me feel like the princess in a tower," Grace gushed, beaming at Lenny, who beamed back. "Like I'm stranded on the most beautiful island and no one can reach me."

"'Ave you ever been to Madagascar?"

They all turned to look at Marie.

"All the culture of France, combined with the natural beauty of Africa, encapsulated in a single, unspoiled island. I grew up there."

"It sounds magical," said Grace.

"It is. You would love it. The wildlife, the scenery, the view from Fort Dauphin is one of the wonders of the world. Je vous a.s.sure. Je vous a.s.sure."

"I'll tell you something else about Madagascar." Lenny grinned that naughty, schoolboy grin of his, stabbing a piece of perfectly cooked lobster tail with his fork. "It's a crook's paradise. No extradition treaty with the United States. Did you know that, Marie?"

Marie smiled politely. "I did not."

Caroline said, "Well, if John ever robs a bank, we'll move there. In the meantime, I, for one, am pining for a bit of civilization. Who's on for a trip to Les Caves after dinner?"

THE PROPERTY WAS IN A ANTANANARIVO, ON a hilly, cobbled street that might have been lifted brick by brick from Ramatuelle. With its two-foot-thick stone walls and imposing turrets, it was more like a small castle than a house. A retreat, in every sense of the word. a hilly, cobbled street that might have been lifted brick by brick from Ramatuelle. With its two-foot-thick stone walls and imposing turrets, it was more like a small castle than a house. A retreat, in every sense of the word.

Lenny looked at Grace. "Is this the one?"

They'd been in Madagascar less than two days, with Marie La Cla.s.se acting as their tour guide, and already Grace had fallen in love. They both had.

"This is the one."

Lenny pulled out a checkbook, wrote a check for 10 percent more than the asking price and handed it to Marie. He turned to Grace and smiled. "Happy one-month anniversary, Gracie."

Grace had been so happy, she'd danced in the street.

They called the house "Le Cocon"-the coc.o.o.n. They planned to retire there.

JOHN M MERRIVALE WASN'T WELL. HIS DOCTOR prescribed antidepressants and a month of total peace. prescribed antidepressants and a month of total peace.

"Here." Lenny pressed the keys to Le Cocon into his hands. "Take as long as you need. There's a housekeeper, Madame Thomas, in permanent residence. She'll wash and cook for you, but otherwise you'll be alone."

John was touched, but the idea wasn't practical. "I c-can't just disappear to Madagascar. What about Quorum?"

"We'll be fine."

"C-Caroline will never agree to it."

"Leave Caroline to me."

When he returned to New York six weeks later, John was a new man. He showed Lenny and Grace the photographs. Himself, strolling the cobbled streets of Upper Town in Antananarivo, relaxing in the hot springs of Antsirabe, trekking through the rain forest at Ranomafana.

Of course, his happiness didn't last. Caroline made sure of that. But Grace would never forget the look of childlike wonder on John's face when he spoke of Madagascar. He even approached Lenny privately about buying Le Cocon.

"Name your price."

Lenny smiled. "Sorry, buddy. Any house but that one. The guest suite will always have your name on it. But she's not for sale."

GRACE CALLED TO THE FISHERMEN. "Combien de temps encore?" "Combien de temps encore?"

"Environ deux heures. Trois peut-etre. Vous allez bien?"

Grace wasn't wasn't doing fine. But she would be once they got there. Reaching into the knapsack she never let out of her sight, she fingered Gavin Williams's gun lovingly, stroking it the way a child might a teddy bear. She wondered how long it would take her to track John down once they got to the island. Le Cocon had been sold when Quorum was liquidated. The buyer was a Dutch Internet entrepreneur, a man named Jan Beerens. doing fine. But she would be once they got there. Reaching into the knapsack she never let out of her sight, she fingered Gavin Williams's gun lovingly, stroking it the way a child might a teddy bear. She wondered how long it would take her to track John down once they got to the island. Le Cocon had been sold when Quorum was liquidated. The buyer was a Dutch Internet entrepreneur, a man named Jan Beerens.

I'll start with him.

THIRTY-FIVE.

HARRY B BAIN TURNED TO M MITCH C CONNORS. "I hate this s.h.i.thole." "I hate this s.h.i.thole."

"Yeah, well. Don't we all."

Mombasa was was a s.h.i.thole. Hot and dirty and soulless. Both Mitch and Harry were covered in bites from mosquitoes as big as hummingbirds, and the combined effect of the itching and the heat made sleep all but impossible. No wonder they'd begun to get short with each other. They'd been able to trace John Merrivale's movements as far as Kenya, but since they arrived in Kenya, the trail had gone stone cold. At this rate they might be stuck here for many more days, perhaps even weeks. a s.h.i.thole. Hot and dirty and soulless. Both Mitch and Harry were covered in bites from mosquitoes as big as hummingbirds, and the combined effect of the itching and the heat made sleep all but impossible. No wonder they'd begun to get short with each other. They'd been able to trace John Merrivale's movements as far as Kenya, but since they arrived in Kenya, the trail had gone stone cold. At this rate they might be stuck here for many more days, perhaps even weeks.

Mitch thought about Helen and his daughter, back in New York. It was shamefully long since he'd last seen Celeste. He didn't miss Helen anymore, but Celeste was a different story. He tried to push the little girl out of his mind, to focus all his mental energy on this case, but it was hard.

If Mitch and Harry Bain didn't find John Merrivale before Grace did, Grace would kill the guy for sure. Understandably, she'd lost all faith in the system. The whole notion of an appeal seemed laughable to her. Personally, Mitch couldn't have cared less if Merrivale got a bullet between the eyes. But if Grace ended up with a murder charge against her, she would be beyond his or anybody's help.

There was a knock on the door of the hotel room. Mitch looked at Harry, as if to say, Who the h.e.l.l can that be? It's after midnight. Who the h.e.l.l can that be? It's after midnight. Both drew their weapons. Both drew their weapons.

"Who is it?"

"It is I, Jonas. We met this morning at the airport. Please, you are letting me inside?"

Mitch grinned. The Kenyans might rob you blind, but they'd say "please" and "thank you" while they did it. As a nation, you couldn't fault them for politeness. Jonas Ndiaye was a pilot Mitch and Harry had interviewed earlier after a tip that Merrivale may have chartered a small plane to fly into Tanzania. But the trip had been another dead end. None of the pilots had recognized John's picture.

Mitch opened the door.

Jonas Ndiaye was thirty years old but looked younger. He had a naughty, boyish face, with no visible stubble, and a spiky, Westernized hairstyle glued into place with some sort of spray or gel. He reminded Mitch of a black Bart Simpson.

"I apologize with the late hour."

"That's okay," said Harry Bain. "We weren't sleeping. What can we do for you, Jonas?"

"The question I am asking is what I I can do for can do for you you? After you leave today, I am shaking my brains about that photograph. Yes indeed. I think you will be happy to give some dollars to me about the things I am knowing, yes, yes, I think so." He flashed Harry an open, expectant smile. As if asking flat out for a bribe was the most normal, reasonable thing in the world. "Tonight we are doing business, yes indeed! My memory is becoming alive."

Wearily, Harry Bain unlocked his bedside drawer. He pulled out a wad of twenty-dollar bills, held together with a rubber band. You couldn't take a dump in Kenya without bribing somebody. Jonas Ndiaye's eyes widened. He stretched out a hand for the money, but Bain shook his head.

"What do you know?"

"The man in the photograph was traveling in my plane. Yes, it is true! Two weeks ago he came."

"You took him to Tanzania?"

"No." Jonas held out his hand again. Harry Bain peeled off five bills from the pile and handed them to him.

"Where?"

"The gentleman was wishing to fly to Madagascar."

Harry looked at Mitch. No extradition treaty. No extradition treaty.

"I brought him to Antananarivo airport. He was talking about the wildlife. He will go there on safari, you see, to take many pictures and also to dive in the ocean. Now my memory has come back to me, I can tell you he was a charming gentleman. Very charming, the man in the photograph."

Mitch asked, "Did he tell you where he was staying? Or how long he intended to be on the island?"

Jonas smiled expectantly at Harry. More cash was exchanged.

"He did not."

"Hey! Give me back that hundred, you son of a b.i.t.c.h."

Jonas looked hurt. "Please, sir, do not become agitated. The gentleman did not tell me his plans. But he did ask me some sights to recommend."

"And?"

Another smile. Harry Bain's patience was fraying. "Don't push it, kid."

Mitch looked pointedly at his gun lying on the bedside table. The pilot decided not to push it.

"For diving, there is only one place and that is Nosy Tanikely."

"Nosy what what? What is that? A beach?"

"It as an island," Jonas explained politely. "A place of sanctuary for the wildlife of the ocean."

"A marine reserve?"

"It is where the divers go. Your friend, the gentleman, was traveling with diving equipment."

Harry Bain looked at Mitch and smiled. "Thank you, Jonas. You've been a lot of help."

"Yes, I am delighted to make this service to you. Now you are giving me some dollars for my transport, and I think it is the end of our business."

GRACE STOOD OUTSIDE L LE C COCON FOR a long time. She hadn't expected to feel emotional. After everything that had happened, she didn't believe she was capable of it anymore. But as she stood on the steep cobbled street, looking up at the thick stone walls that had once made her feel so protected, tears streamed down her cheeks. a long time. She hadn't expected to feel emotional. After everything that had happened, she didn't believe she was capable of it anymore. But as she stood on the steep cobbled street, looking up at the thick stone walls that had once made her feel so protected, tears streamed down her cheeks.

She was surprised to learn that Mr. Beerens was in residence. She'd a.s.sumed he bought Le Cocon on a whim, as Lenny had done, one of a fleet of vacation homes he thought about from time to time but rarely visited. She gave her name as Charlotte Le Clerc, and was even more surprised when Beerens agreed to see her.

"May I offer you a drink, Ms. Le Clerc?"

Jan Beerens was middle-aged, fat and amiable, with thinning reddish blond hair and brown eyes that twinkled when he smiled.

"Thank you. A gla.s.s of water would be great." Grace struggled to maintain her composure. Inside, the house had not been changed at all. She hadn't realized that Beerens had bought it lock, stock and barrel, including her and Lenny's furniture and artwork. She even recognized the gla.s.ses, crystal tumblers she'd had shipped especially from Paris.

Grace's hair had grown out a little at Dillwyn and in the weeks since her escape. In Mombasa, she'd had it cut into a chin-length bob that she dyed a rich, mahogany brown. Catching sight of herself in the library mirror, she thought, The only thing in this house I don't recognize is myself. The only thing in this house I don't recognize is myself.

"What brings you to Le Cocon? To Madagascar, for that matter. You are on vacation?"

"Sort of. I stayed here once, with a friend. Years ago."