"Hither maybe, but I don't think UPS does yon," Susan said. "Seems like a good place to sell a hot article or three. And it's all sponsored by the Chicago Historical and Art Society."

"Who?"

"A very small and very elite club for the upper crust. Gentleman Johnny Marcone is chairman of its board of directors."

"Sounds like smuggling country all right," I said. "How do I get in?"

"You put up a five-thousand-dollar-per-plate donation to charity."

"Five thousand," I said. "I don't think I've ever had that much all in one place at one time."

"Then you might try option two."

"Which is?"

Susan's voice took on a note of satisfaction. "You go with a reporter from the Midwest Arcane on her last assignment for her editor. I talked to Trish and got two tickets that had originally been given to a reporter on the Tribune."

"I'm impressed," I said.

"It gets better. I got us formal wear. The gala begins at nine."

"Us? Uh, Susan. I don't want to sound like an ass, but do you remember the last time you wanted to come on an investigation with me?"

"This time I'm the one with the tickets," she said. "Are you coming with me or not?"

I thought about it for a minute but didn't see any way around it. There wasn't time for a long argument, either. "I'm in. I have to meet the Reds at McAnnally's at eight."

"Meet you there with your tux. Eight-thirty?"

"Yeah. Thank you."

"Sure," she said quietly. "Glad I could help."

Silence stretched long enough to become painful for both of us. I finally broke it at the same time as Susan. "Well, I'd better-"

"Well, I'd better let you go," Susan said. "I have to hurry to get all of this done."

"All right," I said. "Be careful."

"Stones and glass houses, Harry. See you this evening."

We hung up, and I made sure I was ready to go.

Then I went to pick up my second, and work out the terms to a duel I was increasingly certain I had little chance of surviving.

Chapter Seventeen

I put on an old fleece-lined denim jacket and went by my office. The night security guy gave me a little trouble, but I eventually browbeat him into opening the safe in the office to retrieve my envelope from Father Vincent. I opened it and found a plastic case the size of a playing card, like the kind coin collectors use to frame paper money. In the exact center of the case was a single, dirty white thread about two inches long. The sample from the Shroud.