DIRK AND SUMMER LEFT PERLMUTTER’S HOUSE satiated with good food and wine and piqued by the Barbarigo’s strange fate. The dinner had been a welcome respite from their worries about their father, which returned the minute they said their good-byes.

“We best get back and see if Rudi and Hiram have had any luck with the port authorities,” Dirk said.

“I’ve been thinking we should reexamine the possibility that the Adelaide traveled west.”

As they walked to the street, they heard a car door shut, and Dirk noticed two men sitting in a white van a few spaces behind the Packard. Dirk fired up the Packard with the first press of the starter and flipped on the headlamps. While the Woodlites looked great by daylight, their nighttime performance didn’t match the rest of the car. Easing away from the curb, he drove slowly down the street, watching in the rearview mirror as the van’s lights flicked on when they reached the end of the street.

Dirk turned right and mashed down the accelerator, speeding down a tree-lined street. A few seconds later, the van screeched around the same corner.

Summer noticed Dirk’s focus on the mirror and glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t want to sound paranoid,” she said, “but that same van may have been parked in the NUMA lot when we left the building.”

“One better,” Dirk said. “I think it was also parked next to Dad’s hangar this morning.” He meandered through the wealthy Georgetown neighborhood, turning down O Street and heading west. The van followed his every move, staying a dozen lengths behind.

“Who would be following us?” Summer asked. “Someone related to the people in Madagascar?”

“I can’t imagine. It might be someone interested in Dad. Maybe we should just ask them?”

He slowed the car as they approached a cross street. Just beyond was a pillared and gated pedestrian entrance to Georgetown University. Portable barricades were normally in place to prevent vehicles from entering the gateway, but they had been removed for a delivery truck exiting the campus. As the truck pulled clear, Dirk hit the gas and skirted around it through the open gate.

A security guard gaped as the antique Packard zipped by. A few seconds later, he had to jump back as the white van barreled through in pursuit. Dirk followed the road across the grounds a short distance to a circular drive. A statue of the university’s founder, John Carroll, sat at its center, facing the entrance gate. Footlights illumined the statue in a yellow haze, lending a lifelike aura to the long-dead bishop.