"On schedule," said Bolding. "We're waiting for further instructions from the hijackers. They have been incommunicado since their first contact. Our people will make the drop, and we'll make it alone."

Betsey Cavalierre finally went off on Bolding. "I listened to you, now you listen to me, mister. You were an SAC. I am an SAC. I would have been your superior if you had stayed at the Bureau, and I'm your superior now. My people will make the money drop. I'll be there you won't. That's how it will be done!"

Both Abramson and Bolding started to argue with her, but Betsey cut them off instantly.

"That's enough bullshit out of the both of you. Everything will be handled with the full knowledge of how dangerously unpredictable the hijackers are. If you don't like my terms, then you're out. I'll

arrest you right here, Bolding. That goes for you too, Ms Abramson. We have lots of work to do in exactly one hour and fifty-seven minutes."

He walked among the people in the crowded lobby and the vast corridors to nowhere inside the Capitol Hilton hotel. None of them had any idea what was happening, which was just as he liked it. Only he had the answers, and the questions as well.

He had already spotted the FBI agents-and Metro Detective Cross as they arrived. They hadn't seen him of course, but even if they did, there was no chance that he would be stopped and apprehended. It just couldn't happen.

This was such an incredible mismatch his mind and experience against theirs. Sometimes, it didn't even seem like a challenge to him. That was the rub, the only problem he could see: If he got too bored and careless, then maybe they had a chance to catch him.

He noticed a small entourage, nervous and worried-looking, cross through the lobby and head toward the hotel's cramped nest of meeting rooms. That was where the FBI had set up camp. Metro-Hartford had violated his warning, but he'd known they would. It really wasn't important. Not this time. He had wanted the FBI and Cross brought in on this.

Finally, he decided to leave the Hilton. He walked to the Renaissance Mayflower the scene of the horrific crime. That was where the real action would be.

And that's where the Mastermind wanted to be as well. He wanted to watch, to be right there.

The kidnappers finally called Metro Hartford board of directors at ten past one. There were only thirty-five minutes left to the deadline.

We knew what would happen if we missed the deadline. Or if the kidnappers did, even if they did it on purpose.

Betsey and I hurried to the Mayflower Hotel. We caught two small breaks but, given the direction of things so far, they felt much larger. The first was that the service exit of the kitchen led to a small loading dock and alley. During the Clinton inaugural, the Secret Service had parked there. We used the alley to get inside without being seen by anyone. The second break was that the FBI agents in the hotel had learned that the room where the Metro Hartford board was meeting, the Chinese Room, had a unique feature that would be useful to us. There was a narrow, metal staircase directly behind it. The stairs led to a catwalk above the rotunda. There were small viewing holes there where we could watch and listen, but not be seen.

Betsey and I hurried up to the catwalk and crouched high over the meeting room. We needn't have bothered.

The kidnappers were still on the line.

"We assume that the FBI and possibly the Washington police are involved at this point, "the voice of one of the kidnappers said over the speakerphone in the Chinese Room. "We have no objection. We fully expected it. In fact, we welcome the Bureau. We've written you into the plan."

Betsey and I shared looks of exasperation. The Mastermind was making us look bad. Why? We hurried downstairs and joined the others in the Chinese Room. My head was spinning with questions. The Mastermind was good at keeping us off balance. Too good.

"First, I'm going to repeat our demands for the money," the distorted voice on the speakerphone said. "This is important. Please follow the instructions. As you know, five million of the thirty should be in uncut diamonds. The diamonds must be packed in one duffel bag. There should be no more than eight other duffels. The cash must be in twenties and fifties. No hundred-dollar bills. No dye packs. No tracking devices of any kind. Now, who am I speaking to?"

Betsey moved close to the speakerphone. So did I. "This is Special Agent Elizabeth Cavalierre. I'm Special Agent in Charge with the

FBI."

"I'm Alex Cross, Washington police, and liaison with the Bureau."

"Good for you. I'm familiar with both your names, your reputations. Is our money ready as requested?"

"Yes it is. The money and the diamonds are here at the Mayflower," Betsey answered.

"Excellent! We'll be in touch."

We heard a click as he hung up the phone.

The CEO of Metro Hartford exploded in anger. "They knew you were here! Oh Christ, what have we done! They'll kill the hostages!"

I put a firm hand on his shoulder. "Take it easy. Please. Is the payoff arranged exactly as they've requested?" I asked.

He nodded. "Exactly. The diamonds will be here any minute. The money has already arrived. We're doing our part, everything that we can. What are you people doing?"

I continued to speak in a soft voice. "And no one at Metro Hartford has heard a word about where the money and diamonds are to be dropped? This is an important question."

The insurance executive was frightened, and with good reason. "You heard the man on the phone. He said they'd be in touch. No, we haven't heard anything about where to drop the money and diamonds."

"That's good news, Mr. Dooner. They're acting in a professional way. So are we. I don't believe they've harmed anyone yet. We'll wait for the next call. The exchange is the hardest part for them."

"My wife is on that bus, "the chief executive said. "So is my daughter."

"I know,” I told him," I know."

And I also knew that the Mastermind seemed to like hurting families.