Moving quickly through the empty airport, they made it to a waiting cab; Jennings catnapped as they moved slowly through a downpour toward the other side of the city. Thorn sat in numbed silence as they passed the lighted statuary of the Via Veneto, remembering how he and Katherine, once young and full of hope, wandered hand in hand down these very streets. They were innocent and in love; he remembered the smell of her perfume and the sound of her laughter. They discovered Rome in the way that Columbus discovered America. They claimed it as their own. They made love in the afternoon here. Now, as Thorn gazed into the night, he wondered if they would make love ever again.

"Ospedale Generate," said the cabdriver as he came to an abrupt stop.

Jennings awoke and Thorn squinted out into the night, his face filled with confusion.

"This isn't it," Thorn said

"Si. Ospedale Generate."

"No, it was old. Brick. I remember."

"Is it the right address?" asked Jennings.

"Ospedale Generate," the driver repeated.

"E difierente," insisted Thorn.

"Ah," replied the driver. "Fuoco. Treanni piu o meno."

"What's he say?" asked Jennings.

"Fire," replied Thorn. ''Fuoco is fire."

u Si," added the driver. "Treanni."

"What about fire?" asked Jennings.

"Apparently the old hospital burned down. It's been rebuilt."

"Treanni piu or meno. Multo morte."

Thorn glanced at Jennings.

"Three years ago. Multo morte. Much death."

They paid the cabdriver and asked him to wait. He refused at first, but then, seeing the kind of money they shoved at him, he readily agreed. Thorn told him in broken Italian that they would like to keep him with them until they left Rome. The driver wanted to go call his wife, but promised to return.

Inside the hospital, they were immediately frustrated. As it was quite late, the people in charge would not be returning until morning. Jennings moved off on his own, seeking someone in authority while Thorn found an English-speaking nun who confirmed that the fire three years ago had reduced the building to ruins.

"Surely it didn't destroy everything," Thorn entreated. "There must be some records . . ."

"I was not here," she replied in broken English. "But they say it took everything."

"Is it possible that some of the papers were stored elsewhere?"

"I do not know."

Thorn grimaced with frustration as the nun shrugged, unable to offer more.

"Look," Thorn said. "This is very important to me. I adopted a child here, and I'm looking for some record of its birth."

"There were no adoptions here."

"There was one. It wasn't an actual adoption."

"You are mistaken. Our adoptions are done through the relief agency."

"Are there birth records? Do you keep records somewhere of the children born here?"

"Yes, of course."

"Maybe if I gave you a date "

"It's no use," interrupted Jennings.

Thorn turned to see him approaching, his expression set in despair.