He wagged his hand as a sign of submission and nodded.

"Excuse me a minute," he said. He hefted himself from his chair and left the room. She sat quietly, listening to his muffled voice in another room. Fear started gnawing at her insides, a small thing to start with but a spark that could grow into an inferno. She tried to suppress it, but her mouth started to get dry and she could feel perspiration breaking out on the back of her neck. It was not herself she feared for, it was Avrum.

Old Eli came back in the room carrying a slip of paper.

"You will fly into Leipzig," he said, reading from his notes.

"Then you will be taken into Berlin by motorcar. It is only a two-hour drive, one hundred kilometers or so. You have a place to stay?"

"I moved into a new apartment before I left. The phone is not in my name. I think it will be safe there."

Old Eli pulled a chair over in front of her and sat down. He leaned forward as he spoke.

"But not for long," he warned. "If they learn you are in Berlin and they are indeed looking for you, then you must get out as fast as possible. When you are ready to leave you will come back the same way. Remember, from now on trust no one."

"Not even Avrum?"

"Of course Avrum. But avoid anybody not involved directly with the Lily. And do not look for Avrum, he will find you."

"I understand."

"There is only one flight a day from here to Leipzig. It leaves in two hours. You must use your real name because of the passport. We do not have time to get you a counterfeit. Anyway, they will only be checking the Berlin flights for fugitives."

"I don't think they would connect Avrum and me-different last names . . ."

"Dear Jenny, if they learn his identity, they will know you are his half sister very soon after."

"Hopefully they do not know who he is. He has evaded them for almost a year."

"Good luck does not last forever," Old Eli said.

She smiled and patted his knee. "Do not be so pessimistic," she said.

"Ha! We Jews are all pessimists, my dear," he said with a smile. "It is part of the diet. To be anything less would not be kosher."

A persistent ringing at the door of his suite awoke Keegan. Half asleep, he instinctively reached over to touch Jenny but she was not there. As he reached for his robe he noticed the time: 9:45 A.M. He jumped up. They were going to miss the plane.

"Jen?" he called out.

Then he saw the note propped up on the dresser. He snatched it up and read it as he walked through the living room to the door of the suite.

Darling Kee, You were sleeping like a child and I hate good-byes. Am taking a taxi to the airport. I will call you tonight.

Five days, my darling, and then we will be together always. I love you in my heart.

Thank you for changing my life.

Jenny He opened the door and Bert Rudman, as usual, burst into the room without being invited. He was waving the morning paper over his head and babbling. Keegan had never seen him quite as agitated.

"Where have you been? Why was the phone turned off? I've been trying to call you all night!" Rudman jabbered, running all the sentences together.

Keegan stared at him sleepily, then looked back at the note.

"Where's Jenny?" Rudman asked, looking around the suite.

"She left already," Keegan said, handing the slip of paper to the journalist.

"Left? For where?" Rudman asked as he read the note.

"Back to Berlin."

"And you let her go?!"

"Let her go? I don't own her. Besides, I'm picking her up Thursday and then we're off for London. What's the big deal?"

"You don't know what's going on?"

"Where?"

"In Germany! Where do you think, on Mars? Goddamn, Kee, the Nazis have gone berserk!"

He handed Keegan a copy of the morning edition of the Paris Gazette, reprinted from his Times story.

"Christ!" Keegan said when he'd finished reading Rudman's story. He looked up at his friend and his eyes revealed admiration. Admiration mixed with fear.

"I'm going back to Berlin on the afternoon plane for a follow-up."

"You're going to Berlin after writing this? They'll kill you, you silly bastard."

"I keep telling you . . ."

"I know, I know, they won't mess with the American press. Let me tell you something, if they'll knock off three thousand people in one night, your press pass ain't gonna mean bopkes. You're worried about Jenny and you're probably number one on their hit parade."

"That's very flattering."

"No, what it is is very true. Look, Dick Daring, I don't like funerals, okay? Particularly when my best friend is the guest of honor."

"I can take care of me. But you've got to get Jenny the hell out of there."

Room service arrived. Keegan signed the check and doctored his coffee. Rudman sat down heavily on the sofa, took a long pull at his drink and sighed.

"You taking the four o'clock plane?" Keegan asked.

"Yeah, four-ten."

Keegan sipped his coffee thoughtfully. A sudden jolt of fear stabbed his chest. Was she really in danger? he wondered. She wasn't political. But the whole country seemed to be going crazy. Maybe Bert was right. Maybe he better get Jenny out of there. Abruptly he snatched up the phone.

"I'll try to locate my plane," he said to Rudman. "We can fly over together."

A few minutes before noon the phone rang.

"Francis?" the familiar voice said. "It is Conrad."

"Conrad! Are you here in Paris?"

"No, I am in Berlin."

"Is it crazy over there?"

"Only if you read the papers. Francis, I am calling you because Jennifer is in serious jeopardy."

"What do you mean?"

"I have heard through sources that the Gestapo plans to arrest her if she returns to Berlin."

"Where'd you hear that?"

"I can't tell you but believe me, it is most reliable. I am taking a great risk to even call you but I feel I contributed a little to your romance. You must be very careful."

"But why Jenny? She isn't . . ."

He stopped, remembering her explicit instructions. Don't give my address or phone number to anyone. And she had moved just before coming to Paris. Maybe she was mixed up in something.

"She's over there now, Conrad," Keegan said and checked the time. "She should be arriving home about now."

"Where does she live? I'll warn her."

Could he tell Conrad? He had taken a great risk just calling Keegan. Certainly he was safe. And yet she had said not to give the information to anyone.

"It's all right, Conrad, I'll call her. I'm sure she can find sanctuary somewhere until I can get over there and bring her out."

"Please, forget I made this call, understand?"

"What call? Listen, Conrad, thanks. I owe you a big one."

"You owe me nothing. It's the least I can do."

In Berlin, Conrad Weil cradled his phone and dropped heavily into a chair. His tall, elegant body seemed to collapse, like a punctured balloon. Across the room from him, Vierhaus sat with his chin resting on the handle of his cane. He smiled.

"There, see how easy that was, Conrad?" said Vierhaus. "What did you do? Nothing. Warned a friend. Did him a favor. And because of that generous gesture, the Fuhrer will permit your club to continue performing its . . . degenerate show every night-without harrassment."

In the years to come, Keegan would sometimes reflect on the little things that alter our lives forever. Snap decisions. Hasty moves. Something as simple as a phone call. On this day, Keegan immediately flashed the operator and gave her Jenny's Berlin number. It rang a dozen times while Keegan silently urged her to pick up. But there was no answer.

The fear began to mount.

Perhaps he should call Conrad back and ask his help, he thought as he hung up. He looked at his watch again. In two hours the plane would be there. By four o'clock he would be at her door. By five they could be on the way back to Paris. He would wait.

In the switchboard office, the operator who had placed the call for Keegan took off her headset. She handed the phone number to the tall businessman with the German accent.

Von Meister smiled his thanks and handed her two hundred-franc notes. Two hundred francs. Less than fifty dollars. Even in Paris life was cheap.

TWENTY-NINE.

At Tempelhof Airport, Keegan was waved through customs. He had no luggage and several of the customs agents recognized him from his frequent trips in and out of Berlin. Rudman was not so lucky. They searched through his two suitcases item by item while a Gestapo agent stood nearby watching every move. Then Rudman was ushered into an office for further conversation.

It was five P.M. and Keegan was anxious to get to Jenny's apartment. He waited nervously in the large waiting room, watching through the glass-partitioned office as Rudman argued with the customs agents while the Gestapo agent leaned against the door, his hands buried in his pants pockets and his felt hat pulled low on his forehead. They were obvious, but that was the game. The mere presence of the secret police was a subtle threat. It was clear they knew who Rudman was and were purposely harassing him.

Keegan tried to call Jenny's apartment from a phone booth but there was still no answer.

Where was she?

Tremors rumbled through Keegan's stomach. He sent a note to Rudman telling him he would either call or meet him at Rudman's hotel before he returned to Paris.

The taxi was hardly out of the airport parking lot before Keegan realized he was being followed. A light blue Opel pulled away from the curb two cars behind the cab. He watched the car as they drove down the highway into the city. As they reached the center of the city Keegan ordered his driver to take several sudden turns, weaving aimlessly through the city. The Opel got caught by a light and fell three blocks behind.

"Turn here," Keegan ordered, and as the taxi made the turn, he handed the driver a handful of marks and jumped out. He hid in a doorway and watched the Opel wheel around the corner and swerve through the traffic after the cab.

He rode in two more taxis before he took to foot, walking down alleys and through stores until he was positive he had shaken his followers. Then he walked three blocks to the three-story apartment building where Jenny lived. He stood across the street for ten minutes more until he was positive he had shaken his tail.

It was an old stone Gothic apartment house but it did have an Old World charm. Gargoyles lurked ominously at the roof corners and there were stained glass windows on each floor over the entrance. Inside, the building was damp and gloomy. A wide staircase wound up through the core of the building. Tall ceilings added to the gloomy interior. The steps groaned with age as he climbed to the third floor. Door locks clicked and hinges creaked in his wake as he went up the steps to the third floor. He sensed eyes peering at him through the gloom as he reached each landing. As he reached the top floor, he turned quickly and looked back down the steps. He heard two or three doors click gently shut in the penumbral halls but he saw nothing.

Apartment 32A was the first door at the top of the stairs. He heard a creak down the hall and he turned sharply to see a woman peering through a door that was open a mere sliver. She closed it immediately.

Fear tapped Keegan on the shoulder.

The first thing he noticed was that the hall light was burned out. The long hallway was cloaked in dark shadows except for a narrow shaft of rainbow-colored sunlight that filtered through swirling dust from the single stained glass window at the far end.

The lock to Jenny's apartment was shattered, the jamb splintered, the door ajar an inch. His mouth went dry, a sudden jolt charged through his chest.

He swung the door open with the back of his hand. "Jenny?" he said softly.

No answer.

He entered the apartment cautiously.

"Jenny?"

Nothing.

He went down a short entrance hallway and then stopped.

The living room was a shambles. Cushions from sofas and chairs had been ripped open. Little balls of stuffing drifted and swirled idly in the wind from an open window. Drawers hung open with the contents spilled out on the floor.