"After the ops left and before I blacked out, you went through that door in Foxx's office," Hap took a drink of water but ignored the pills. "I would guess to look for the president. You didn't find him or we wouldn't be here like this. Was there any sign he had actually been there?"

"Please take the medication."

"Had the president been there?" Hap pressed him forcefully. "And if he had, where the hell did he go that the ops didn't find him?"

"My uncle is downstairs with his wife," Miguel said quietly. "Only they and the doctor know you are here. They will check on you before they go to bed. They can be trusted. Anything you want or need they will provide." Miguel started for the door.

"You're leaving?"

"I will see you when I get back."

"You have my BlackBerry."

"Yes," Miguel took it from his jacket pocket, then came back and handed it to Hap.

"What about the guns? There were two of them."

Miguel opened his jacket, slid Hap's Sig Sauer automatic from his waistband, and set it on the table next to him.

"Where's the other one, the machine pistol?"

"I need it."

"For what?"

Miguel smiled gently. "I think you are a good man who must rest."

"I said, for what?" Hap pressed him.

"Age nineteen to twenty-four, Fourth Battalion, Royal Australian Army, Special Operations Command. I know how to use it."

Hap stared at him. "I didn't ask for your résumé, I asked why you need the machine pistol!"

"Good night, sir," Miguel turned for the door.

"You don't know if the president was even there, do you?" Hap barked after him. "You're guessing!"

Miguel turned back. "He was there, sir." He took a step, lifted something from a dresser top, then walked over and set it on Hap's lap. It was Demi's big floppy hat.

"He was wearing it when I left him, part of his disguise. I found it in one of the laboratories beyond the office we were in. The door and part of the wall leading from the laboratories to whatever was beyond them was crushed. Blocked by a huge wall of stone. Probably the result of the earthquake or whatever it was that knocked us to the floor. In a day or two people with heavy digging equipment might be able to break through it to the other side. Even then there would be no guarantee of what they might find.

"Somewhere on the far side of that mass of stone, inside the mountain and those surrounding it, caves connected by old mining tunnels run for miles. If he is alive he will be in one of those caves or tunnels. A storm is coming but for a time there will be moonlight and there are ways in from the top. That's where I'm going. To me your president and Nicholas Marten are family. It's my duty and choice to find them, whether they are alive or dead."

"Your limousine, it's parked out back under some trees."

"What about it?"

"You bring people up into the mountains a lot?"

"Yes, I bring people to the mountains quite often." Miguel was impatient, time was everything, this questioning wasting it.

"Keep an emergency kit in the trunk?"

"Yes."

"A large one?"

"Señor Hap, I am trying to get to your president. Please excuse me," again Miguel started for the door.

"The kit. It has those small, folding survival blankets, the kind that have a reflective side? You know, Mylar, like the firefighters use?"

Miguel angrily swung back. "Why these questions?"

"Answer me."

"Yes, we have them. It's a company regulation. One for each passenger and the driver. We keep ten."

"What about food? Emergency rations?"

"Some health bars, that's all."

"Good, bring the whole damn kit." Abruptly Hap stood up. Then immediately put out a hand to steady himself.

"What are you doing?"

Hap grabbed the 9mm Sig Sauer, stuck in it his belt and put the pain pills in his pocket. "I'll be damned if you're going alone."

• PARIS, HOTEL BEST WESTERN AURORE, 5:45 P.M.

"Good evening, Victor."

"Hello, Richard. I've been waiting all afternoon for your call."

"There was a delay, I'm sorry."

"I saw the story on TV about the shooting at the Chantilly race course. They talked about the two dead jockeys. But there wasn't much more."

"You haven't been approached by the police, have you?"

"No."

"Good."

Victor was in his underwear, lying on the bed, the television on in the background. He'd come that morning by train from Chantilly and taken a cab from the train station, the Gare du Nord, to the hotel where he was now, opposite another railroad station, Gare de Lyon. There he'd had a room-service breakfast, then showered and slept until two. After that he'd waited, as instructed, for Richard to call. As in Madrid, he'd grown more anxious as the hours passed, worrying that Richard would not call, maybe not ever. If the night went by without hearing from him he didn't know what he would do. He honestly didn't. In fact the idea of killing himself had crossed his mind more than once. It was certainly an answer. Something he could do. And very possibly would do if Richard had not called by-he set the time-eight the next morning. But then Richard had called and it was alright and he felt warm and wanted and respected again.

"Again I apologize for the delay, Victor. It took some time for the final arrangements to be made."

"It's alright, Richard, I understand. Some things get complicated, don't they?"

"Yes, they do, Victor. Now here are your instructions. Train number 243 leaves the Gare du Nord for Berlin at 8:46 tonight. There is a first-class ticket being held in your name at the customer service window. You can be on the train, Victor, can't you?"

"Yes."

"Good. You will arrive in Berlin at 8:19 tomorrow morning. At 12:52 in the afternoon, train number 41 will leave Berlin for Warsaw and arrive at 6:25 in the evening. A very nice room has been reserved for you at the Hotel Victoria Warsaw. I will call you there before midnight. Is that satisfactory, Victor?"

"Yes, of course, Richard. I always do as you ask. That's why you depend on me, isn't it?"

"Yes, Victor, you know it is. Have a safe trip, I will call you tomorrow."

"Thank you, Richard. And good night."

"Good night, Victor. And thank you too."

• LA IGLESIA DENTRODE LA MONTAÑA,

THE CHURCH WITHIN THE MOUNTAIN, 5:55 P.M.

Demi's room was like that of a convent, sparse and very small. A simple dressing table was near the door, a hand mirror and washbasin resting on it. To the right was a commode with a fold-down top. A view of the sky through the tiny window near the ceiling told her it was still daylight. The single bed was hard and had no sheets, only a pillow and two blankets. On it she had set her two cameras and small equipment bag in which she had packed a small plastic bag containing her toiletries and another that held her camera accessories-extra memory cards and battery charger for the Canon digital and two dozen rolls of color film for the 35mm Nikon. What was not there, and what she was certain she had brought with her when she left the Hotel Regente Majestic in Barcelona that morning and had checked again when she arrived at Montserrat, was her cell phone. Somewhere along the way it had vanished, thereby severing any private communication she might have with the outside world.

Or so whoever took it undoubtedly thought.

Taking the phone was an action that earlier would have served as a harsh reminder of the warnings of her father and Giacomo Gela and raised an anxiety level that could easily have run away with her because of the monks, the extreme isolation of the church, and the fact that she had been drugged for her hallucinatory journey to it.

Instead, discovery of the missing phone strengthened her resolve and sharpened her senses, prompting her to remember that she was very nearly to the end of a desperately long and almost impossible journey. One that she had dedicated her life to and one she had so privately vowed to her mother she would complete whatever the cost. Fear or the threat of violence would not cripple her. Not here, not now.