At the sudden throaty roar of a large engine his head snapped up. He saw a hearse moving slowly toward him, and he shrank back. Then the driver's side window rolled down-it was Jenny who was behind the wheel. The hearse slowed, and he loped out from behind the chestnut tree, opened the heavy door and slid in beside her on the bench seat. The moment he slammed the door, she took off in a spray of gravel.

She maneuvered the unwieldy vehicle out of the cemetery precincts. He did not ask her how she had managed to steal the hearse; he didn't want to know and, oddly, didn't much care. She had once again found them a means of escape, that was all that mattered.

"You said that Rossi was dead. What happened after he shot me?"

"I ran," he said. "I ran and like an idiot I fell. He came after me and I tripped him. We went into the lake. He was going to kill me, I could see it in his eyes, I could feel it with every blow."

Jenny let air out of her pursed lips. "Rossi's a trained killer. And yet you survived…"

"Maybe I was lucky, I don't know. I killed him, that's the bottom line."

"You did what you had to do. Your father trained you well."

He was sickened by the look of admiration she gave him, so he turned away, gazed out the smoked window. What was he doing here? He had been pursued, beaten up-he had killed a man. For what? This was his father's battle, but was it his? He realized that he could walk out of here now, buy some new clothes and fly back to Paris, resume his job as if nothing had happened. Everything appeared dark, behind a veil, part of another country through which he seemed to be shooting like a meteor. He wondered whether this feeling of separation was something his father had ever experienced. That was when he understood that something had happened, not only to his father but to him, as well. Strange as it might seem, he was no longer the person who had met his father in the Village for coffee.

"I told you this was urgent."

"I heard you, Dad."

But he hadn't heard his father, not really. And now, even from the grave, his father was again talking to him.

"The first time is always the hardest," Jenny said, misinterpreting his deep silence.

He stiffened. "I don't intend for it to happen again."

"An admirable sentiment, but did Rossi give you a choice?"

"Those were extraordinary circumstances. I don't foresee-"

"No one in his right mind foresees the taking of a life." Her eyes were focused on the road ahead. "But consider this. In the outside world there would be no reason to even have this conversation. You're no longer in society-the world everyone else inhabits, Bravo. You're in the Voire Dei, for good or ill, and believe me the sooner you come to terms with that, the better your chance of surviving will be."

He stared blankly out at the ribbon of landscape whizzing by. He did not want to think about that now-he simply couldn't process it yet, despite Jenny's warning. Instead, as was his habit when he was upset, he set his mind a specific task-that is, to understand why Rossi's gun had been loaded with rubber bullets. And almost immediately a memory popped into his head: Rossi pushing down the gunman's arm as they sped away from Jenny's house. He had not wanted them shot then, and he hadn't wanted to kill Jenny, either. And yet there was no mistaking the set grimace on his face as he'd grappled with Bravo in the lake-had Bravo pushed him over the brink?

He licked his lips, said to Jenny, "I don't think Rossi and Donatella had orders to kill us."

This comment caught Jenny's attention. "What makes you say that?"

"The rubber bullets for one," he said. Then he told her what he had seen as they had sped away from her house.

"Of course!" Jenny said. "They think you know everything your father knew. They want to capture you and get the information out of you."

"But I don't have any information."

"You know that and so do I," she said, "but it's clear they don't."

"Then we have to find a way to tell them."

Jenny laughed harshly and shook her head. "You heard Donatella back there. Do you really think she'd believe you?"

"But it's the truth!"

Jenny glanced over at him, her eyes hard. "In the Voire Dei, there is no truth, Bravo. There's only perception. Donatella and those who control her will believe what they want to believe, what best fits their perception of reality."

Was there another way out for him? he wondered. Or was he fated to continue on with this nightmare?

You're no longer in the world everyone else inhabits.

With the words echoing in his head, he rolled down the window and stared out at the passing landscape. Over the white noise of their passage, he said, "How do you bear such a terrible burden?"

She knew precisely what he meant. "Some like it, you know. The Voire Dei is the only place they feel safe. Others revel in it. In fact, they know of no other way to live. For them, society is pale, indistinct, of minimal interest. They feel privileged to be part of the Voire Dei."

"What do you feel?"

They had left the Falls Church area far behind. Jenny took a turning to the left, went perhaps a half mile into an area of increasingly large and luxurious houses. The hearse navigated a long, snaking road that rose toward the crest of a hill. A half mile on she made a right into one of a number of sweeping streets of large Colonial houses with slate roofs, formal English gardens and impeccably manicured lawns. She pulled into the driveway of a cream-colored two-story house with front columns and an imposing porte cochere. Past that, on the side of the house, was a three-car garage, on the other side of which was a small windowless gardener's shed. She stopped on the concrete apron directly in front of the garage doors and got out. To one side of the leftmost door was a small plastic box. Swinging up the protective panel, she punched in a number and one of the garage doors opened. She got back behind the wheel, drove the hearse into the garage and shut the door. Next to them was a Mercedes convertible.

"My father's house," she said, leading him inside.

"Isn't this the first place Donatella is likely to look for us?"

"The neighborhood is patrolled by members of a private security firm. All the men are ex-cops and they know every face in the neighborhood."

Bravo was astonished. "You can't seriously believe that will stop Donatella."

She heard the edge to his voice. "I don't think you're in any position to make that decision."

"After what we've just been through I sure as hell wouldn't put us in more danger, if I were you. I say let's get out of here."

She put a key into a lock and opened a door. "As a Guardian it's my duty to protect the Order and the members of the Haute Cour." Stepping into the darkened room, she turned to face him. "I promised your father I would protect you, but if you renounce the Order, renounce the role your father trained you for, then my obligation to him is done."

A swath of harsh light banded her face, turning her features hawklike, almost predatory. Her eyes were steady, her expression determined. If she was bluffing, Bravo couldn't detect it. He made to turn; it was important to see how far she would go.

"Have you forgotten your father's glasses? If you leave now, how will you find out what he left for you?"

He turned back. "Where is the Order now that we need them, where are its resources? The Order must have any number of safe houses we can use to hide out in."

"I think you should concentrate on the business at hand," she said coolly. "Leave the rest to me."

"If I left Rossi to you," he said unkindly, "I'd be dead."

"Then surely you don't need me." She turned, but not before he saw the hurt in her eyes. He waited as she disappeared into the darkness.

"Why won't you tell me what I want to know?" he called out.