Lucky! Kowalski bent and rubbed the stabs through the polished leather.

Assholes ruined my new Chukkas!

Muffled shouts approached the doorway.

C'mon, Gray urged and headed up.

Kowalski continued to gripe as they ran up the stairs. Crowe's buying me a new pair!

Gray ignored him as he raced up the stairs.

Kowalski's tirade continued. Just leave the monkey skull down there. Let 'em have the goddamn thing.

No! rang from both Elizabeth and Gray.

Gray heard the anger in the woman's voice. It matched his own. Her father had died to keep the skull from his pursuers. Died in Gray's arms. He wasn't about to give it up.

They hit the upper stairwell door. It was locked, too. Pounding echoed on the door below. It wouldn't take long for someone to secure a pass-key.

Over here, Elizabeth said and pointed to the darkened card reader.

Gray swiped his security I. D. and heard the lock release. He glanced behind him as he pushed the door open. Surely word was already spreading. Whoever was hunting them would know they were fleeing into the Museum of American History.

Gray led them out into a lighted hall. It was almost a match to the basement of the natural history museum, except here there were stacks of boxes in the hallway, crowding the way. Gray tested his own radio, but he still had no signal, buried too deeply under the museum.

This way, he said and aimed for a stairway that led up.

They almost bowled over an electrician in a work uniform, weighted down with a roll of conduit over his shoulder and a heavy belt of tools.

Why don't you watch where you're go !

Something he saw in Gray's expression silenced him. He backed out of the way and flattened against the wall. They hurried past him and upward. The farther they climbed, the more chaos they encountered: clusters of workmen, stripped walls, tangles of exposed ductwork. Reaching the next landing, they had to dodge around piles of Sheetrock and flats of stacked marble tiles. The growl of motors and whine of saws echoed from the doorway ahead. The air smelled of fresh paint and tasted of sawdust.

Gray recalled that the Museum of American History had been undergoing a massive renovation, updating its forty-year-old infrastructure, all to better showcase its three million historical treasures, from Abraham Lincoln's top hat to

Dorothy's ruby slippers. The museum had been closed to the public for the past two years but was due to open next month.

From the look of things as Gray entered the museum's central atrium, the grand reopening might be delayed. Plastic sheeting draped almost every surface; scaffolding climbed the three-story core of the renovation. Grand staircases swept from the first floor to the second. Directly overhead a massive skylight was still sheeted with paper.

Gray grabbed the nearest worker, a carpenter whose face was half covered by a respirator. The exit! Where's the nearest exit?

The man squinted at him. The Constitution Avenue exit is closed. You'll have to climb to the second level. Head out the main Mall entrance. He pointed to the staircase.

Gray glanced to Elizabeth, who nodded. They walked out as a group. Gray checked his radio again. Still nothing. Something or someone had to be blocking his signal.

They raced to the stairs and pounded up to the second level. It was less chaotic up here. The green marble floor looked freshly mopped, highlighting the silver stars embedded therein. Gray had a clear view from the central atrium to the glass doors of the Mall exit. He needed to make it out before

Too late.

A knot of men bearing assault rifles swept into view outside the doors. They wore dark uniforms with patches at their shoulders.

Gray forced Kowalski and Elizabeth back.

Behind them, a growled bark echoed up from the first floor. Workers shouted in surprise.

What now? Kowalski asked.

From the Mall entrance, a bullhorn blasted. HOMELAND SECURITY! THE BUILDING IS

TO BE EVACUATED IMMEDIATELY! EVERYONE TO THE MAIN EXIT!

This way, Gray said.

He led them off to the side, toward the largest piece of art on this floor's gallery. The installation was an abstract flag, made up of fifteen ribbons of mirrored polycarbonate.

We can't keep running, Elizabeth said.

We're not.

So we're hiding? Kowalski asked. What about their dogs?

We're not running or hiding, Gray assured them.

He passed the shimmering flag. Its mirrored surface reflected a prismatic view of the museum. In bits and pieces, Gray saw the armed detail take up an impenetrable cordon across the only exit.

Passing one of the scaffoldings stacked with supplies and spare coveralls, Gray grabbed what he needed. He passed a few bundles to Kowalski. He kept what he needed himself: a can of paint and a plastic gallon of paint thinner. He headed into the hallway under the abstract flag. Kowalski read the gallery sign at the entrance and whistled under his breath.

Pierce, what are you planning on doing?

Gray led the way into the heart of the museum's most treasured exhibits. It was the main reason for the entire renovation. They entered a long darkened hall.

Seats lined one side opposite a wall of paneled glass on the other. Even the chaos behind them seemed to muffle under the weight of the historical treasure preserved behind the glass, one of the nation's most important icons. It lay unfurled on a sloped display, a tatter of cotton and wool a quarter the size of a football field. Its dyes had faded, but it remained a dramatic piece of

American history, the flag that inspired the national anthem.

Pierce ? Kowalski moaned, beginning to comprehend. That's the Star-Spangled

Banner.

Gray placed the can of paint on the floor and began to twist open the cap on the gallon of highly flammable paint thinner.

Pierce you can't mean to not even as a distraction.

Ignoring him, Gray turned to Elizabeth. Do you still have your lighter?

8:32 P. M.

Sitting in the security office of the National Zoo, Yuri felt the weight of his seventy-seven years. All the androgens, stimulants, and surgeries could not mask the heaviness of his heart. A numbing fear had turned his limbs to aching lead; worry etched deeper lines in his face.

We'll find your granddaughter, the head of security had promised him. We have the park closed down. Everyone is looking for her.

Yuri had been left in the office with a blond young woman who could be no older than twenty-five. She wore the khaki safari uniform of a zoo employee. Her name tag read TABITHA. She seemed nervous in his presence, unsure how to cope with his despair. She stood, coming out from behind the desk.

Is there anyone you'd like to call? Another relative?

Yuri lifted his head. He studied her for a breath. Her apple-cheeked youth the years ahead of her. He realized he'd been little older than the girl when he'd stumbled out of the rattling truck into the highlands of the Carpathian mountains. He wished he had never found that Gypsy camp.

Would you like to use the phone? she asked.

He slowly nodded. Da. He could not put it off any longer. He'd already alerted

Mapplethorpe, not so much to report to him, as to gain the cooperation of the

D. C. policing authorities. But the man had been distracted, busy hunting down what had been stolen. Mapplethorpe had mentioned something about Dr. Polk's daughter. But Yuri no longer cared. Still, Mapplethorpe had promised to raise an

Amber Alert for the missing child. All D. C. resources and outlying counties would be alerted. She had to be found.

Sasha

Her round face and bright blue eyes filled his vision. He should never have left her side. He prayed she had just wandered off. But among a park full of wild animals, even that best scenario was not without its dangers. Worse yet, had someone taken her, abducted her? In her current state, she would be pliable, easily suggestible. Yuri was well familiar with the number of pedophiles out there. They'd even had trouble at the Warren with some of their early employees.