The meeting was set for a party, celebrating Parsons's release from jail after leading a flotilla of small boats into the path of a U.S. nuclear carrier. It had been all over the television for three days. One of the antinuke sailors had been killed when he'd fallen overboard and was struck by a Coast Guard cutter escorting the big flattop. One man was dead, and several others were still in jail.

Parsons, though, was out on bail-heavy bail.

Rachel Peres wanted to know where the money had come from. So did a lot of other people, including Hal Brognola.

At seven o'clock, Rachel was ready to go.

Patterson wouldn't be there for another half hour, but she was anxious to get on with it. If she was right, a year's work might finally pay off — if she was careful.

Parsons was dangerous, but just how dangerous she didn't know. When Patterson finally arrived, he wasted no time bundling her out of her apartment and down the stairs.

"What's the big hurry, Don?"

"Malcolm doesn't like to be kept waiting, Rachel. He's a busy man."

"I know, but it's not like he's the President, for chrissakes."

"Don't be too sure about that."

Outside, the dingy streets of the East Village looked a little better than usual, covered with the city's first light snowfall. Patterson's beat-up Chevy was parked at the curb, the engine running. In the back seat were two people she didn't know.

When Patterson closed the door behind her, one of the men in the rear reached forward and slid a blindfold over her eyes. She ripped it off and turned to confront him.

"What the hell's that all about?" she asked.

"Just a precaution, Rachel," Patterson reassured her. "Not too many people know about the house we're going to. Malcolm doesn't like people he isn't sure of to know where it is. If everything's okay, you won't have to wear it on the way home."

"Okay? What the hell do you mean, okay?"

"I mean, if Malcolm likes what he sees."

"And if he doesn't? Then what?"

"Let's cut the bullshit. We're late already." The man in the back reached forward again with the blindfold as he spoke. He pulled it down over her eyes and tied a small, hard knot in the dark cloth. "That too tight?" he asked.

"Yes," Rachel answered.

"Good! Let's move it, Patterson."

The car lurched away from the curb, its wheels spinning slightly on the snowy street. After nearly an hour, Rachel had a splitting headache. The cloth was biting into her flesh and cutting off circulation. Her temples throbbed, and the back of her skull felt as if it was ready to explode.

She was about to reach up and loosen the blindfold when the hardguy in the back seat said, "Take the next left. Past those trees."

"I know. I've been here before, don't forget," Patterson snapped.

"Yeah, I know, although I don't understand why."

The other stranger, who hadn't said a word during the trip, finally spoke. "Why don't the whole lot of you shut up? You're worse than a bunch of high school kids."

"He doesn't have to talk to me like that," Patterson said.

"Nobody's saying anything until we get inside. All of you, shut the hell up!"

The car bumped into a rutted road, and Rachel could hear snow blowing through trees on either side. It was coming down a lot harder now. The wind had picked up, and the snow scratched at the roof of the car. "Here we are," Patterson announced.

"Can I take this damn thing off?" Rachel Peres asked. "Or do you want me to spin around three times first?"

The man behind her snapped her head back hard and jerked the blindfold off without bothering to untie it. The rough cloth scraped the skin as it came away.

When they were out of the car, she turned to the man and smacked him across the face. He raised a fist, but the less talkative of the two strangers caught his arm.

"Leave her alone, Bert. It won't accomplish anything."

Bert rubbed his cheek, trying to ease the sting. He glared at Rachel, but said nothing. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he wouldn't forget it.

"Let's go. I need something hot to drink," Patterson said. He sounded as eager as a Boy Scout on a camping trip.

Rachel's eyes were used to the dim light by now.

She looked around and was surprised when she couldn't see a building. Three cars and a van were parked in the clearing. Otherwise, there was nothing but trees.

Trees and snow and, off to the right, an open field sweeping uphill toward another line of trees.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Almost there. We have to walk from here because the road's no good," Patterson told her.

Bert led the way through the snow, turning now and then to glare at Rachel over his shoulder. A half-mile trudge through the trees brought them to a large frame house sitting on a hill. It was surrounded by wide lawns, which even under a covering of snow obviously hadn't been tended in a long time.

Clumps of weeds sprouted everywhere.

Inside, the house showed the same neglect. They tossed their coats in a heap in one corner, stamped the snow from their shoes and entered a large kitchen. A huge fireplace filled an entire wall. It held a small fire, and there wasn't much heat.

The windows were glazed with ice even on the inside.

A large round table dominated the center of the room. Three men, drinking from chipped mugs, were seated around it. They ignored the newcomers. At a counter two women were talking softly. One poured coffee into several mugs identical to those already on the table.

The taller of the two, a slender blonde, winked at Bert. "You guys must be freezing," she said. "Have some coffee."

The blonde took a seat at the table. Her companion added milk and sugar to one of the mugs and carried it over to the table to sit next to one of the men.

"Who's the girl?" she asked.

"Some friend of Donny boy here," Bert said.

"Rachel Peres," Rachel said. "Nice to meet you."

"I'm Connie, and that's Alice," she answered, indicating the blonde. Pointing at each of the men in turn, she continued, "And these guys are Moe, Larry and Curly."

"Put a sock in it, Connie," Bert snapped. "Where's Malcolm?"

"Upstairs, sleeping."

"Well, wake him up. He wanted to meet this broad."

"Broad?" Connie asked, raising an eyebrow. "You been reading detective stories again, Bert?"

"Nah," Alice said. "Bert can't read, Connie. You know that!"

The three stooges at the table laughed. Bert stomped out. They could hear him climbing the stairs, cursing as he went. In a few minutes he was back, followed by a tall, gaunt man. Rachel recognized him immediately. She had seen his face on the front page more than once and had attended several meetings that Parsons had spoken at.

Parsons nodded to the others before turning his attention to Rachel. "Ms Peres. How nice to meet you. I've heard so much about you."

"Oh? From whom?" Rachel asked. She didn't want to be too brusque, but she also knew Parsons was tough. Everything she had heard told her that he admired toughness in others.

Parsons smiled. "So, you're as sure of yourself as I've been told."

"Is that bad, Mr. Parsons?"

"On the contrary. And it's Malcolm."

"Okay. Malcolm."

"You and I have a great deal to talk about, Rachel. Why don't we get started? Please join me in my study." Parsons turned to lead the way out of the kitchen.

Down a long hall, he turned to the left.

Rachel followed him into a room that was actually a large library. Its shelves were crammed with books at all angles, some upright, some stuck in lengthwise. Many of the shelves were full of papers covered with notes. There was a second fireplace, this one with a huge fire raging in it. Parsons dropped onto a sofa, lying back in a luxuriant stretch.

"Please, make yourself comfortable," he said, indicating a pair of overstuffed easy chairs.