“Lots of luck.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “I believe it can happen,” she said. “I believe that good people can make the Catholic Church speak to its congregation’s true spirit if only they can strip away the rules of man and return to the word of God.”

Her words electrified him. Their meaning resonated in his heart. Finally, Seth asked, “What happened to your father? And why are you here?”

“My father died,” she said without emotion. “I inherited his duty.”

Ridgeway looked into her eyes for a long time and then got up. “I may know where the painting is. Then, again, I may not. But you’ll never find out unless I know more… a lot more.” He turned around to see what effect his words might have had.

While they measured each other, a nondescript rented sedan glided slowly into the parking lot at the end of the pier and nosed into a space some twenty yards west of Weinstock’s limousine. A cinder-block building containing public rest rooms sheltered the sedan and its occupants from bodyguard Benjamin, who had been watching the Valkyrie intently.

Unseen by Benjamin, two men dressed in yellow rain slickers got out of the rear of the car. Two others, similarly dressed, stayed in the front with a clear view of the Valkyrie.

“It’s your life,” Rebecca told Ridgeway again.

“It’s my life, yes. So?”

As she nodded, all hell broke loose. First the telephone rang. Its buzz cut through the tense silence of the Valkyrie’s cabin and startled both individuals. Ridgeway reached over and grabbed the telephone from the cradle. “Yes?”

“Seth? This is Tony Bradford.”

The voice pulled Ridgeway back to his mundane reality. He looked at the brass clock on the cabin wall. His philosophy class should have started seven minutes ago.

“Seth? I hoped you wouldn’t answer. Then at least I could assume you were on your way here, that maybe you’d hit on a legitimate delay.”

“Tony, I—”

“Forget it, man. I hate to do this, but as of right now you’ve been suspended. I want your office cleaned out by the end of the day and I want that huge box of your personal mail out of our storeroom. We’re not a goddamned post office box for your convenience. If it’s not out of here this afternoon I will personally go down there and throw the stuff away.” The line went dead before he could answer.

Ridgeway was still looking at the dead instrument in his hand when the portable radio crackled in Rebecca’s pocket. She fumbled to get it out. “Hello, Benjamin?” Panic was in her voice. “Benjamin, are you there?”

There was no answer.

Seth turned. Distant movement caught his eye. He looked out the porthole and through the tangled sheets of rain he saw a man in a yellow storm slicker close the door to Rebecca’s limousine. The man turned and spoke to a second man, also in a yellow slicker, who had walked around from the rear of the car. The second man leaned over to look through the window of the door for a moment and nodded. The two men exchanged words, then started toward Ridgeway’s dock.