Who did I say nurtured the plan and sold it to two intelligence services? Need I remind you?"

Thomas was again silent, almost struck dumb by. the implication.

"Never really had a heart-to-heart talk with your dad, did you?"

chided Grover.

"He got the wrong man killed intentionally," said Whiteside casually, though Thomas had already gotten the message.

"He was protecting his friend and client, protecting him so well that for twenty-one years everyone was convinced that Sandler was dead "Then a Treasury agent came to my door one morning," said Grover.

"He'd tracked me down. A man named Hammond. He showed me a stack of money which was indistinguishable from real U.S. currency." He shook his head.

"Only one man who could make counterfeits like that. Only one man '

"So Mr. Grover reported back to me," said Whiteside.

"Our old eyes-and-ears network back at work after twenty-some years. He convinced us that Sandler had to still be alive. Or at least the man last known as Sandler. In one form or another, in one ident.i.ty or another."

"Somebody, must have known where Sandler went," said Thomas.

"Of course" said Whiteside.

"There were four possibilities. But as the U.S. counterfeits began, the four possibilities closed. Victoria Sandler, crazy as she was, may have had an inkling. She died. Your father must have known. He died.

His files -your files might have held certain clues. They burned '

"Forget any smokescreen about a will being destroyed" offered Grover.

"Sandler's ident.i.ty today. That's why your files burned."

"What's the fourth? Zenger?" asked Thomas.

"No," said Whiteside.

"His involvement with Sandler didn't run to the level of your father's.

The fourth possibility -and it was only that, a possibility-was the other person who would have been reviewing those files after your father's death. That person could have happened upon something."

"Me," said Thomas softly.

"And you were marked for death, too," said Grover.

"Trouble is, a mistake was made. Some poor bloke named Mark Ryder happened to look like you at the precise time and date when you were supposed to be leaving your building. They bought him instead Thomas sat reflectively in silence for several moments. It was all so neat and uncomplicated once the pieces fit together. Thomas had the sense of having watched his father wear a mask for his entire lifetime, Thomas knowing the man yet not really knowing him. If these three people, confessed killers, could be believed.

Hunter was at the window, Glover fidgeted with his fingers, and Whiteside stared relentlessly at Thomas.

"Who'd want to kill me?" Thomas Daniels finally asked almost rhetorically. He could see Hunter smirk.

"I knew nothing about any of this " "You're blind" said Whiteside.

"Who'd want to kill you? You've been stalked for weeks now." Whiteside's features twisted into a scowl.

"You mean you really don't see it?"

"Leslie," Thomas said, half as a question, half knowing the answer.

"They'll have you under a microscope;' snorted Whiteside.

"They'll examine you from every angle. Find out what you know or whom you might have told. Then when you least expect it, wham!"

Whiteside slapped his palms together for emphasis. A resounding clap filled the room.

"Wham," he said, 'you'll be at your own funeral! I don't believe that you can't see it for yourself."

Thomas's ashen appearance indicated the answer to Whiteside.

No, Thomas didn't see it for himself.

"Women are lethal in games like this" said Whiteside hatefully.

"I.

suppose she's arranging for a nice hot bed for you at night. Keep you on her side," he said.

"Keep you tired and busy at nights so you can't start thinking. As long as she's got you locked in between her legs, your brains will be on vacation" Thomas looked at the three men who surrounded him. He wanted to stand and attack them, rise up and strike out at them, just as they had struck out at his father and Leslie. But how could he disbelieve them?

"Cute little bird, too" grunted Grover.

"Probably a nice warm one on the mattress, all right. Seems a shame.

But we're going to have to wring that little bird's neck."

Hunter plainly relished the thought.

"There's one other thing" said Thomas, directing his attention back to his tormentor, Whiteside.

"Do tell us."

"The last time I saw you' said Thomas, 'in the churchyard in London, you left me with a suggestion."

Remembering, Whiteside allowed a coy grin to cross his face.

"I.

told you to give some thought to-" "- to whoever was running Arthur Sandler. If Sandler was a spy, you said, he had to have had a superior."

"That's right' said Whiteside. He let a moment pa.s.s as he gathered the proper words.

"I've always known who the superior was.

The question was," he intoned slowly, "whether you knew. Or whether you could find out."