"She wasn't harmed." The voice belonged to St. Laurent, and Houston pivoted in accusation.

"Sure, that chair is for her posture! Therapy!"

"You have my word," St. Laurent told him.

"It's worth s.h.i.t!"

"I mean exactly what I said. She wasn't harmed."

Houston's father stood within the doorway, pale and troubled, glancing furtively from one man to the other.

"And you think I should join these people?" Houston's face twisted with disgust.

His father wiped a handkerchief across his mouth. "Just listen to him."

Houston shook. He swallowed, frantically attempting to control himself. He leaned against a rack. Staring horrified at it, he managed to breathe more calmly, tensing his muscles to subdue his trembling. "Tell me how you found her."

"Process of elimination," St. Laurent replied. "The outside walls are monitored.

We know you didn't climb in that way, so you must have used the cliffs. The guards went up to search." "At night? Too dangerous. And anyway, they'd have taken longer going up and coming back."

"If they were forced to climb, you'd be right. But there's a better way to reach the top." "A tunnel?"

"Much the same as your escape route from the hunting lodge. It's left over from the days when people were afraid of sieges. Food and water could be brought in through the hidden pa.s.sage. Lords and ladies could escape. Simone was hiding, but the guards discovered her. To give her credit, she put up a fight. Don't get upset. She wasn't hurt. She saw the wisdom of surrender." "Take that harness off." "As soon as you relax." "If you don't take that "

"Stalemate. Fine, I'll make the first move. Charles, take off the harness please." "But " "Do it!"

Charles reluctantly flicked the snaps on each side of the harness. Scowling, he pulled it off. Houston's stomach soured as he saw the imprints of the metal bands across her neck and forehead. He walked, trembling, toward her.

Awkwardly she moved her head from side to side. In pain, she worked her jaw. She ma.s.saged her neck. When she finally spoke, her voice was whispered, hoa.r.s.e.

"Pete ..." She swallowed to put moisture in her throat. He held her.

Then he swung toward St. Laurent. "If you don't plan to hurt us, tell me why "

"I arranged this demonstration? It's quite simple. To show what'll happen if you don't cooperate. Believe me, if I meant to hurt her, I could arrange a much more vivid demonstration. It's a gesture of the guarantees I offer. Charles, release her arms and legs."

Charles' mouth went slack. But then the words appeared to register, and slowly, almost stupidly, he stooped to fumble at the straps.

Simone ma.s.saged her wrists and ankles. Too quickly, she tried standing. Weak, she lost her balance. Houston grabbed her.

"Mr. Houston, you said earlier I needed you to help me catch Simone. As soon as I had both of you, I'd kill you." Houston nodded.

"An intelligent a.s.sumption. Wrong, however. My offer's legitimate. When I brought you here, I could have shown you her corpse the last thing you'd ever see. Instead her freedom demonstrates my generosity. Which choice is more attractive? Death or safety? Torture or compliance? You're a man of conscience, granted. But a compromise is sometimes unavoidable. Remember, though, that if you agree but then betray us this room is your final destination."

"Listen to him," Houston's father said. Charles mocked, "Yes, listen to him."

But the iron door had not been closed. From down the hallway, footsteps clattered, rapidly approaching. Houston turned to look.

Monsard burst in the room. His body seemed diminished, smaller, frailer. His face seemed older, eyes fierce. He gasped when he saw the room. "What have you done?" he said to St. Laurent. "It's nothing that concerns you." "She's my daughter!"

"That's exactly why we have this problem!" St. Laurent answered. "Because of you! And him!" Houston's father flinched.

"If you didn't have children, we wouldn't be threatened! But G.o.d d.a.m.n you, you're my friend! If I kill her, you won't forgive me! If I kill his son, he won't forgive me either! Everything I've worked for will be jeopardized!

Convince them! Help me save their lives! And your lives!"

St. Laurent's angry shouts reverberated through the room, rebounding off the instruments of pain that were the consequence of Houston's failure to cooperate.

Monsard stared in pathetic anguish, pleading. Houston turned to his own father, overcome with pity, sorrow, doubt. He didn't want to die. He didn't want Simone to die.

"All right," he said reluctantly. "I'll join you." St. Laurent's eyes flashed triumphantly. "And what about Simone?"

She studied Houston's face. He felt her tension.

Houston nodded to her, and she turned to St. Laurent. "I'll do what Peter says."

The tension slowly dissipated.

"Excellent. Now quickly. Who else knows about our secret? Who else was involved in your investigation?"

"What's that got to do with "

"Everything. We have to be careful. Who else knows what you discovered?"

"You intend to kill them?"

"Absolutely not. Unlike your brother, I prefer more ordinary means. They can be bribed, confused. You can go to them and give them new, misleading information.

Who?" "A superintendent at the cemetery." "Yes, we know. Who else?" "The superintendent went to Army Intelligence." "The names of the men?" "He didn't tell me."

"We'll find out. We'll make it worth their while to stop investigating. One advantage of great wealth is that our bribes can be outrageous, far too generous to be declined."

"I called long distance to America, a man named Hutchinson." "Yes, Fontaine's son." "He seemed annoyed I'd bothered him." "Unlike yourself, his interest in his father isn't an obsession. He'll forget."

Pete struggled to remember. "And Bellay, of course. But after all, he works for you."

"Excuse me?"

"Alfred Bellay. He's a French security official. He's the man who told you we were going to that hunting lodge."

"I never heard of this man!"

Houston felt a numbness in his chest. "But if he doesn't work for you, then how could you have known where we were hiding?"

St. Laurent looked startled. "Charles, you used this man?"

"I used police informants. I don't know him either."

"He knows you," Pete said. "He claims that for a year he's been investigating you."

St. Laurent tensed. "That's what I was afraid of."

"I'll take care of it," Charles said.

"Yes, do it quickly." St. Laurent turned to Houston. "Please, excuse us. I regret I can't provide you better lodging."

"What? You're going to leave us here?"

"A necessary inconvenience. But I trust that with Simone you won't feel lonely."

Houston's father seemed embarra.s.sed. "Pete, I'm sorry."

"It's a trick? You lied?"

"More civilized than torture," St. Laurent told Houston. "More effective."

Monsard shouted, "No!"

"My dear old friend, you disappoint me," St. Laurent said. "You make me sick.

Your weakness threatens us. Your sentiment's a danger."

"Sc.u.m!" Monsard began to curse in French.

But St. Laurent just smiled. "Such language from one dear friend to another.

Very well. You're so concerned about your daughter, I suspect you ought to stay here with her. Take the opportunity to search your conscience, to prepare yourself."

Monsard trembled. Making a fist, he swung at St. Laurent, who stood immobile, unconcerned, as if immune from harm. Indeed, he started laughing.

Houston suddenly knew why. As if by prearrangement, Charles stepped forward.

While his right hand grabbed at Monsard's fist, his left hand swung a mace. It struck the old man's forehead, splitting Monsard's scalp and splashing his hair with blood that trickled down his face. The old man groaned. His knees gave out.

He fell.

Pete gasped. Simone shrieked, rushing toward her father. Charles pivoted, debating whether he should strike her also. St. Laurent held up a hand to stop him. Two guards lunged inside the room.

Pete's anger deepened. "Charles, you're awfully brave with that thing."

"Care to test me?"

"Don't be stupid!" St. Laurent told Charles. "We don't have time for your amus.e.m.e.nt!"

"Maybe later," Charles told Houston. "Since I've waited this long, I can wait a little longer."

"Any comments?" St. Laurent asked Houston's father. "Care to join them?"

"I've been loyal to you," Houston's father said, standing straight with pride.

"I don't deserve your accusation. I've done what you wanted. Always."

Houston raged. "You G.o.dd.a.m.ned Everything we talked about! You made me think you wanted me! You used me!"

"We needed information," Houston's father said. "The people you'd involved in this. You had to tell us willingly, completely."

"What a fool I must have seemed. I don't know how you kept yourself from laughing."

"There were moments," St. Laurent agreed. "You played your part more willingly than we expected."

"I could kill you," Houston told his father.

"Temper," St. Laurent said. "You've only yourself to blame." He turned to leave.

Monsard groaned on the floor, his head on his daughter's lap. She wiped his blood and wept.

The iron door slammed shut, the three of them were all alone. Houston saw there were no windows; as he lunged to grab the door, he heard the lock sc.r.a.pe shut.

He'd seen the light switch in the hall. He heard m.u.f.fled contemptuous laughter, and although it was impossible, he swore he heard a click out there as suddenly the room fell into darkness.

Chapter 50.

Absolute. The darkness wasn't merely the absence of light. It was a positive oppression, an asphyxiating force that stifled Houston like a cloak. It was so full, so ma.s.sively complete that Houston's other senses took control.

Monsard continued groaning. Houston's skin rose as Simone wailed, "Peter, help me!"

Every instinct shouted, Light! He tried to recollect the layout of the room, but only obscene objects came to him. He groped along a clammy wall, b.u.mping hard against a sharp-edged metal object. Wincing, he rubbed his hip.

And touched a small box in his pants pocket. The guards had kicked away his gun.

They'd searched him for other weapons. But they'd ignored the insignificant thing he needed most right now. His matches.

Houston pulled them out and, fingers trembling, lit one. The tiny flame dispelled a portion of the darkness. Flickering, pale, threatening to dwindle, die. But light. He turned to Simone and saw the fear in her eyes.

"The match is going out," he warned her. "I have to light another one."

All the same, he let the match burn down until it stung his fingers. He dropped it and quickly took out another to sc.r.a.pe it on the box. It flamed. He breathed, relaxing.

"Pete, you'll soon use all the matches." Her unspoken "Then what?" lingered in his mind.

He shuffled through the room, aiming the match to penetrate the darkness. Here an iron mask. And farther over branding irons.