AND SO I FOUND MYSELF a player in a truly bizarre game that was habit-forming for all the wrong reasons. I began to make up my own rules. I brought in new players. I was in this game to win.

Chuck Hufstedler from the FBI offices in D.C. continued to be helpful. The more I talked to him, the more I realized that he’d had a serious crush on Detective Hampton. His loss, and mine with Christine, united us.

I climbed up to the attic late Friday night after watching The Mask of Zorro with Damon, Jannie, Nana, and Rosie the cat. I had a few more facts to check before going to bed.

I booted up the computer, logged on, and heard the familiar message: You have mail. Ever since that night in Bermuda, those words had given me a terrible fright, a chill that tightened my body from head to toe.

Sandy Greenberg from Interpol was replying to one of my e-mails. She and I had worked together on the Mr. Smith case and had become friends. I’d asked her to check on several things for me.

CALL ME ANYTIME TONIGHT, ALEX, AND I MEAN ANYTIME. YOUR IRRITATING DOGGEDNESS MAY HAVE PAID OFF. IT’S VITALLY IMPORTANT THAT YOU CALL. SANDY.

I called Sandy in Europe, and she picked up after the second ring. “Alex? I think we’ve found one of them. It was your bloody idea that worked. Shafer was playing a game with at least one of his old cronies from MI-Six. You were spot on.”

“Are you sure it’s one of the game players?” I asked her.

“Pretty sure,” she shot back. “I’m sitting here now staring at a copy of Dürer’s Four Horsemen, on my Mac. As you know, the Horsemen are Conqueror, Famine, War, and Death. What a creepy bunch. Anyway, I did what you asked. I talked to some contacts from MI-Six, who found out that Shafer and this one chap regularly keep in touch on the computer. I have all your notes, too, and they’re very good. I can’t believe how much you figured out from back there in the colonies. You’re a very sick puppy, too.”

“Thanks,” I said. I let Sandy ramble on for a few minutes. A while back I’d recognized that she was a lonely person, and that even though she sometimes put up a cantankerous front, she craved company.

“The name this chap uses in the game is Conqueror. Conqueror lives in Dorking, Surrey, in England,” Sandy told me. “His name is Oliver Highsmith, and he’s retired from MI-Six. Alex, he was running several agents in Asia at the same time Shafer was there. Shafer worked under him. It’s eight in the morning over here. Why don’t you call the bastard?” Sandy suggested. “Or send him an e-mail. I have an address for him, Alex.”