“Of course.”

“Great. Can you draw out a thousand and meet me?”

“I don’t think I have that much.”

“Whatever you can spare.”

“OK. Where do I find you?”

“I’m hiding out near a little town called Monroe. You know it?”

“Near Glen Cove.”

“Right. Come there and wait near the pay phone in front of Memison’s restaurant right on the main drag.

I’ll call you on that phone at two and tell you where to meet me.”

“Doug, this sounds like something out of a bad spy movie.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. But I don’t have anyone else to turn to. Please, Nadia. Hang in with me on this one and I’ll explain everything once we’re face-to-face.”

Face-to-face… God, she wanted that. More than anything in the world. She wanted to see Doug, touch him, make sure he was all right.

She glanced at the clock. Go to the bank, rent a car, drive out to Long Island… she’d have to get moving if she was going to make it by two.

“OK. I’m on my way.”

“Thank you; thank you! I love you. And you won’t regret this, I promise you.”

She double-checked the name of the restaurant, then hung up and hugged her mother.

“He’s all right! I’m going to meet him!”

“Where is he? Why can’t he come here?”

“I’ll explain everything later, Ma. The main thing is he’s all right! That’s all that matters!”

“Call me when you meet him,” her mother said. “Just to let me know that you are all right.”

“Sure! Soon as I give him a big fat kiss!”

She felt almost giddy with joy and relief as she ran to find her pocketbook.

9

The rain came in tropical style. One minute it was simply threatening; the next Jack was treading through a waterfall. Tried to run the remaining quarter-mile to the entrance but his banged-up legs and bruised ribs allowed for a trot at best. Arrived soaked and mud-splattered and in a foul mood. At least the main tent was still up, although the front flap was down and no one was selling tickets. Place looked pretty much deserted.

Jack slipped through the flap. The stale air trapped under the leaking canvas was redolent of wet hay and strange sweat. His feet squished within his wet deck shoes as he made his way toward Scar-lip’s cage but stopped short, stopped stone-cold dead when he saw what was behind the bars.

Scar-lip, all right, but the creature he’d seen thirty-six hours ago had been only the palest reflection of this monster. The rakosh rearing up in the cage and rattling the bars now was full of vitality and ferocity, had unmarred, glistening blue-black skin, and bright yellow eyes that glowed with a fierce inner light.

Jack stood mute and numb on the fringe, thinking, This is a nightmare, one that keeps repeating itself.

The once moribund rakosh was now fiercely alive, and it wanted out.

Suddenly it froze and Jack saw that it was looking his way. Its cold yellow basilisk glare fixed on him. He felt like a deer in the headlights of an 18-wheeler.