He thought again of the priest and his warning. "He will kill the unborn child while it slumbers in the womb. Then he will kill your wife. Then when he is certain to inherit all that is yours . . ." He closed his eyes, trying to force it out of his mind. He thought of Tassone, dead on the pole, of the phone call from Jennings, of his unreasoning panic as the hearse overtook him on the highway. The psychiatrist was right. He was under a strain and his behavior proved it. Kather-ine's fears had spread to him; her fantasies were somehow contagious. He could no longer allow it to happen. Now more than ever, he must be clear and rational.

Feeling physically weak, he moved to the stairs, climbing upward in darkness. He would sleep and in the morning awake refreshed, with renewed energy, able to deal with things.

Reaching the door to his own room, he paused, gazing down the darkened hall toward Damien's. The soft glow of the nightlight spilled outward from beneath the door. Thorn imagined the child's face in the peaceful innocence of slumber. Longing to see him he moved slowly toward Damien's room, seeking reassurance that there was nothing to fear. But as he cracked open the child's door, he came upon a scene that made him shudder. The child was asleep, but he was not alone. One one side sat Mrs. Baylock, her arms folded as she gazed resolutely into space, and on the other side was the massive form of a dog. It was the dog he had told her to get rid of, but it was back now, sitting at attention, as though standing guard over the sleeping form of his son. With his breath coming shallow, Thorn silently closed the door and backed down the hall until he made it to his room. He stood there, trying to quiet his breath, aware he was shaking. Suddenly the silence was shattered. A phone was ringing, and he raced to his bedside to pick it up.

"Hello..."

"It's Jennings," a voice said. "You know, the one whose camera you busted?"

"Yes."

"I'm at the comer of Grosvernor and Fifth in Chelsea, and I think you better meet me here right away."

"What do you want?"

"Something's happening, Mr. Thorn. Something's happening that you ought to know."

Jennings' apartment was in a slum district and Thorn had trouble finding it. It was raining, the visibility poor, and he was about to give up when he spotted the infrared glow high in a turret above the street. Jennings was in the window and waved to him, then turned, realizing he should have cleaned up before being visited by such a distinguished guest. He kicked some clothes into a closet and smoothed the blanket on his bed, then opened the door and waited for Thorn. The Ambassador appeared out of breath, from the walk up five flights of stairs.

"I've got some brandy if you like."

"Please."