Jenny closed her fist over the keys.

Rule nodded to her gratefully. "The car's a black Audi cabriolet-very sporty, good cover." He told them where it was parked. "Now go!"

He fairly pushed them into the darkness. Then he closed the door and, turning, prepared to meet the Knights he'd seen entering the church.

"The man with the gold teardrop stud in his left ear."

"I see him," Bravo said.

He and Jenny were standing in the dimness of the church's side doorway. Late afternoon sunlight, thick as honey, laid down long shadows. Across the street, leaning against the front fender of the white Mercedes, was the Knight with the gold teardrop stud in his ear. He was trying to look nonchalant, but his eyes were hard and flinty as they scanned each individual that came into range.

"Go to the car as if nothing's the matter." Jenny was all business now. "The important thing is to walk at a normal pace-not too fast, not too slow-and don't look for him."

"He'll see me, and he'll come for me."

"I'm counting on it," she said. And then as Bravo was about to walk away, she added, "As long as he doesn't suspect you're on to him we're okay, understand?"

He nodded and left the protection of the recessed doorway, striding out into the white glare and the deep blue shadows that lapped at his ankles. His heart thumped hard and there was a buzzing in his ears that caused him to walk stiff-legged and a bit too fast. He caught himself and, with an effort, he relaxed, slowed down.

There was movement all around him, and he found the most difficult part was not to look in the Knight's direction. He thought of the essential mystery of film or TV actors that had fascinated him when he was a child: how they had trained themselves to ignore the camera completely. Now he was in the same situation, forced to ignore the man with the gold stud.

"As long as he doesn't suspect you're on to him we're okay, understand?"

He stepped off the curb. Checking for oncoming vehicles, he strode across the street. He could see the black Audi cabriolet, its cloth top up. So far as he could determine, there was no one around it. But how can you be sure? He kept going, his pace remaining constant, though his nerves were screaming.

Movement flickered in the extreme corner of his eye. It was coming from his left, the direction in which he and Jenny had seen the man with the stud in his ear lounging against the white Mercedes.

He's coming!

He kept his focus on the nearby Audi. He told himself that he trusted Jenny, trusted her expertise, trusted her plan. In any event, it was too late for doubts. He'd committed himself and there was no turning back.

Three steps, four, and then a hand gripped his shirt, the long, slender fingers curling, the nails digging into his flesh. He turned, saw a flash of metal-the gold stud-and, below, another metallic flash from the drawn gun raised into a patch of brilliant sunlight.

There was just enough time to take in the look of triumph on the Knight's narrow face before his black eyes rolled up. Jenny, who had come up behind him without making a sound, caught him under the arms just as he collapsed and together, she and Bravo half dragged the man onto the curb.

In response to the inquiring look a passing couple gave them, Jenny said, "Our friend had too much wine at lunch." The couple hurried on, in no mood to have their vacation interrupted.

Leaving the unconscious Knight propped up against an iron fence, Jenny and Bravo got into the Audi and drove away.

They reached Charles de Gaulle without further incident but with little time to spare, which was just as well since neither of them had any appetite for waiting around the airport for the Knights to find them again. In any event, Jenny, on somber lookout from the moment they exited St. Pierre, was convinced they hadn't been followed from Dreux.

All the way to the airport Anthony Rule had been on both their minds, though perhaps for different reasons. Rule had been like Bravo's second father and, in fact, on occasion had stood in for his best friend when Dexter Shaw had been unable to attend his son's school play or athletic meet. Rule, who was unmarried and childless, had openly reveled in his relationship with Bravo, imparting bits of wisdom or tricks for any and all of the physical disciplines the young boy was studying. So it wasn't difficult to understand why Bravo adored him. What seemed obvious now had never occurred to Bravo at the time: namely, that it was no coincidence that Uncle Tony was proficient in all the disciplines he was learning to master and only too delighted to help Bravo toward further success.

"It must have been interesting having Anthony in your life," Jenny said as they were cruising the car park, trying to decipher the confusing signs. The French seemed to have a fetish for making their airports as difficult to navigate as possible. "What was it like?"

"It was great." Bravo pointed to what looked like a space at the far end of the row. "He was like my father, without all the baggage between a father and son."

"Well, that was an answer I wasn't anticipating."

"What's with you and Uncle Tony, anyway?" Someone had parked a car over the dividing line and the spot was too small even for the cabriolet "Do you mix it up like that with all your superiors?"

Jenny shrugged. "More or less, but I can tell you that none of them are like Anthony Rule."

"Don't tell me you have a thing for him."

She winced. "Not in the least." A spot opened up in the next row, and they pulled in. She sat for a moment, unmoving, staring straight ahead at nothing.

Bravo had seen that five-mile stare before, and he knew her mind was working overtime. By now he understood that she had a difficult time revealing anything of herself, and when she did, as she had at Mont St. Michel, she immediately withdrew into the anonymity of her self-made armor.

"It's okay if you don't want to-"

"Shut up," she interrupted in a rush. It was as if once she'd begun she wanted to make certain she said what was on her mind. "I respect Anthony tremendously-he and your father were two of the really good guys. Because of that, it's painful when he ridicules me."

"He ridicules you because he likes you," Bravo said.

"Really?"

He nodded. "He used to do it to me, too."

She had turned to look at him, to make certain he was being sincere. It gradually dawned on him what a terrible price she'd paid for maintaining her position in the Order. She had developed an assumption that when she was with a man she was bound to be the butt of endless jokes.

On impulse, he said, "Dorothy Parker once said that ridicule might be a shield, but it's not a weapon."

She stared at him for what seemed a long time. "Well," she said in a soft voice, "I guess it's safe to say that Dorothy Parker was never a part of the Voire Dei."

She got out of the Audi on the pretext of needing to stretch her legs, but in reality she was afraid that the look on her face would reveal her true feelings. She had been surprised that he had understood the crux of her plight and terribly touched by his attempt to mitigate her anguish by putting it in the words of the famous author feared for her sarcastic wit by men and women alike. Right now, though, having been so recently vulnerable, she could not afford to allow her normal steely facade to waver.

Inside the terminal, they picked up their tickets. As they were going through security, Bravo's cell phone rang. On the other side of the checkpoint, he discovered that Jordan had called. The tone on his voice mail was thin and strained, not at all the sanguine Jordan Bravo was used to.

Jordan picked up during the first ring when Bravo called back.

"C,a va, mon ami?"

"None the worse for wear, Jordan."

"And your friend Jenny?"