"If Pavski's man isn't a complete amateur, he has your phone tagged and will be able to follow you to hell and back." Kirov smiled. "Or preferably just to hell. End of story." He stood aside for her to board the helicopter. "If not, you'll have to make another phone call."

"I stayed on the phone as long as you told me."

"And were suitably insulting." He motioned for the pilot to start the engine. "Was the release of all that suppressed hostility satisfying?"

She shot him a sidewise glance. "Perhaps."

"Well, let's hope you were convincing."

"Do you think Pavski will go for it?"

"Good chance. He has a chance to kill me and get the plate. Or as an alternate, he has a chance to scoop you up and force you to recreate the plate. As far as he's concerned, it's all good." He glanced at his watch. "We should be in Rock Bay Harbor in an hour. My bet is Pavski will be hot on our heels."

The signal on her phone indicates she's heading north," Dananka said. "She's going to the sub. What do I do? Follow her in the helicopter?"

Pavski thought about it. Excitement was tearing through him. Jesus, it was all coming together. He'd known that Cathy Bryson would be the key. "No, you stay here. I'll take Koppel and the two new men, Lepin and Norzalk. I have something else for you to do."

"What?"

"We may have to have leverage if I don't find that plate. Go after the children." He rose to his feet. "And I need at least one of them alive, Dananka."

"Only one?"

"Use your own judgment. I wouldn't mind you showing Hannah Bryson what to expect if she doesn't cooperate." He hung up and moved toward the door.

The Golden Cradle was shimmering in the distance, but it was getting nearer and nearer.

Almost in his hands, almost here…

MIDIA, TURKEY

Where the hell was that statue? Eugenia wondered impatiently. It had to be here. She'd gotten vague directions from the head of the artist colony in Athens, but his information had been entered in their directory in 1937, and the statue could have crumbled into dust in that time. No, the torn and faded brochure she'd picked up on the porch of the tourist agency had listed it as the gem of their historical collection.

Some gem, she thought. This tiny park in the middle of town that was supposed to house the tribute to the Argonauts was deserted and overgrown. She doubted if anyone came here anymore, including passing tourists. One look at this tangle of brush, and they would pass on to greener pastures, or maybe that more welcoming coffeehouse down the street.

She shone the beam of her flashlight around the area in front of her. More overgrown brush and low-hanging branches. How could she find the damn-

There it was!

A glimpse of gray stone in the depths of green foliage in the path to the left.

She moved forward eagerly. No, not smart. She cautiously slowed her pace. This park might not be as deserted as it seemed. Danzyl might have made the connection too.

She played the beam around the surrounding area as she went toward the statue.

No sign of anyone.

No movement in the brush.

No sound…

Okay, but that didn't mean Danzyl might not be on her heels. Take the picture and get out.

She shined the flashlight on the statue. Jason with his arm raised in triumph, holding the Golden Fleece.

She took the picture and lowered the beam to the base. The same symbol that was on the other statue and another inscription. She took the picture of it and moved closer to get a better shot.

A rustle in the bushes to the left…

She dove forward and hit the ground rolling.

A bullet struck the ground next to her.

Jesus, she was a sitting duck.

She rolled behind the statue and got to her knees.

The stone splintered as a bullet struck the statue beside her head.

But she had a fix on where the bullet came from now.

Don't move, you son of bitch, she entreated silently. Just let me get one shot before you come in for the kill.

Another shot. From the same direction.

Yes!

She sprayed the area with a barrage of four bullets.

She waited.

No return fire.

Had she gotten him? Or was it a trick?

She waited.

Okay, go in and see for yourself.

She carefully moved to the other side of the statue and dove into the brush.

She lay there, breathing shallowly, listening.

Nothing.

She scouted around the underbrush toward the bush from where the gunfire had come.

Blood, dark and gleaming in the moonlight as it ran from behind the bush toward the path.

But blood didn't always mean dead.

But this time it did.

Danzyl was lying on his side with a bullet in his temple and another in his throat.

Lucky. Those had been lucky shots.

But how lucky had she been? Had Danzyl been here before she had arrived, or had he come right behind her? One way to tell.

She searched his pocket and pulled out his picture cell phone.

She searched his cell phone memory.

"Shit!"

Photo transmitted.

BOSTON

7:32 P.M.

According to the information Dananka was able to pull out of his computer, Miriam Frey was divorced, in her early forties, and lived alone with her son in a two-story house in a small subdivision twenty minutes from Cathy Bryson's home. Neither she nor her ex-husband had ever registered a firearm. Perfect.

He could already see how this would play out. The maternal instinct would destroy this woman. She would neglect her own safety for that of two children who weren't even hers. He'd seen it happen too many times. It would be a simple matter to dispatch her, scoop up the kids, and get the hell away. In and out in less than ten minutes.

He parked beside the detached garage and crept toward the back windows. A TV blared from the living room. He peered inside and saw a children's cartoon playing on the screen.

But no Miriam Frey, no kids.

He looked up at the second floor. Two lights upstairs-a bedroom and bath, he guessed. Bedtime for the kiddies?

He checked the back door. Locked, and he spotted a cheap alarm system wiring the door. It took him a few more minutes disabling it.

He was in the house.

He pulled out his automatic and moved quietly through the kitchen.

Thump.

Thump.

It came from upstairs. He cocked his head, listening.

Thump.

He smiled. I'm on my way, young ones…

He slowly climbed the stairs.

Thump.

Running water in the bathroom. Ah, of course. Bath time.

The thumping came from the same place.

He moved down the hallway to the open door of the bathroom.

The bathtub water was running, but the small room was empty. He stepped closer to the tub.

Thump. Thump.

He finally saw the noise's source. A battery operated floating duck, repeatedly ramming itself against the tub's inner wall.

No one here. They must all be in the bedroom.

He turned toward the doorway.

Thump. Thump.

Those two sounded… different.

Pain. He went cold and couldn't move. His breath left him. His gun slipped from his numb fingers.

What the hell?

He glanced down. Two red stains were spreading across his chest.

The door of the linen closet swung wide. A man stood there holding a smoking gun equipped with a silencer. Bradworth. It was Bradworth. He smiled. "One last wish for a happy afterlife?"

Dananka's last memory was the flash as he raised the muzzle and the dull sound that came with it.

Thump.

Good riddance.

Bradworth ran down the steps to the basement.