"Such rough words from so careful a politician," the caller said. "But that's the beauty of parenthood, isn't it? When a child is threatened, nothing else matters. Not fortune nor health."

Hausen said, "If you have a fight, it's with me."

"I know that, Haussier," the caller said. "Alors, the truth is I've tried to stay clear of teenage girls. Such trouble. You understand."

Hausen was looking at the tile floor but was seeing the young Gerard Dupre. Angry, lashing out, hissing his hate. He couldn't succumb to fury himself. Not even in response to calculated threats against his girl.

"So you plan to judge me," Hausen said, forcing himself to calm down. "However far I fall, you'll fall farther."

"Oh, I don't think so," said the caller. "You see, unlike you, I've put layers upon layers of willing employees between myself and my activities. I've actually built an empire of constituents who feel the way I do. I even hired one who helped me follow the life and works of Richard Hausen. He is gone now, but he provided me with a great deal of information about you."

"There are still laws," Hansen said. "There are many ways in which one can be an accomplice."

"You would know, wouldn't you?" the caller pointed out. "In any case, on that Parisian matter time has run out. The law can't touch me or you. But think of what it would do to your image when people find out. When photographs from that night begin appearing."

Photographs? Hansen thought. The camera-- could it have captured them?

"I just wanted you to know that I plan to bring you down," the voice said. "I wanted you to think about it. Wait for it."

"No," said Hausen. "I'll find a way to fight you."

"Perhaps," said the caller. "But then, there is that beautiful thirteen-year-old dancer to consider. Because while I have sworn off teenagers, there are members of my group who--"

Hausen punched the "talk" button to disconnect the caller. He shoved the phone back in his pocket, then turned. He put on a shaky smile and asked the nearest employee where the lavatory was. Then he motioned for Lang to take the others down without him. He was going to have to get away, think about what to do.

When he reached the bathroom, Hausen leaned over the sink. He cupped his hands, filled them with water, and put his face in it. He let the water dribble out slowly. When his hands were empty, he continued to hold them to his face.

Gerard Dupre.

It was a name he'd hoped he never hear again, a face he never wanted to see again, even in his mind's eye.

But he was back, and so was Hausen-- back in Paris, back on the darkest night of his life, back in the shroud of fear and guilt it had taken him years to shake.