Part 10 (1/2)

Needless to say, Darius didn't call. I watched old movies and infomercials all night long.

I slept hard all day Monday, again tossing and turning. This time I was running down endless corridors toward some distant destination that I never reached. In truth, I wasn't born for death but for a ceaseless wandering, and I began sobbing in my sleep. Then suddenly, in my dreams a nightingale sang, the same song perhaps heard by the homesick Ruth when she stood in tears amid the alien fields of Judah. The song called to me with magic notes, a silver bell tolling me back from forlorn thoughts, reminding me of beauty and peace and the hopes that pulled me onward. As long as I could round another bend in the road, what lay ahead as much a gamble as a throw of the dice, I had the strength to go on. Pain and loss could be waiting there, but so could unutterable joy.

Never fear the unknown. Hop onto a raft in the river of time and let it carry you along, the white water and perilous rocks all part of the adventure. You cannot stop the flow. Better, so much better, to be swept with its swiftness into the great churning sea of life, come what may.

When I awoke at twilight, I felt ready and strong. The phone rang before I left. It was Ringmaster, for Hermes. I felt a stab of anger and distrust.

”Everything's in place,” he said.

”How do I know that?” I said.

There was silence for a moment. ”Because I'm telling you it is,” he said, as if I had some nerve even asking. ”Are you you ready?” ready?”

”Yes, but I have some questions about details you seem to have overlooked,” I said, my voice as p.r.i.c.kly as barbed wire. ”Number one, how do I arrange the so-called delivery of the art?”

”You don't,” J answered quickly. ”Tell Bonaventure it will be brought to him the following day.”

”What if he doesn't go along with that, J? Did you consider the possibility that if he makes payment, he may want immediate delivery?”

J's voice snapped back at me. ”Use your brains. Tell him to be reasonable. The pieces need to be properly packed for s.h.i.+pment.”

”No, J, you use yours!” The words slipped out before I could stop them. ”I can't tell Bonaventure what to do, and he would think something's fishy if I try. Is the art really going to be there for him to get? Schneibel said he'd never let Bonaventure have the pieces.” My hand was gripping the phone so hard it hurt.

J spoke very slowly and deliberately. ”What Schneibel wants or doesn't want isn't your concern. Don't worry; if Bonaventure buys the art, he gets the art. And we can use this as an opportunity to plant surveillance devices in those pieces.”

I felt like J just didn't get it. ”You don't understand,” I said, my voice getting higher and more agitated. ”Bonaventure must not get his hands on these things.”

J snorted. ”You can't believe that black magic stuff Schneibel talks about.”

”I do. And you should too.” I was nearly shrieking at him.

He had the nerve to laugh. ”Look, Daphne, the phantoms I worry about are the ones holding a detonation device. And that's all you should be concerned about. And don't get any ideas about playing hero. You don't have all the facts.”

I didn't answer.

”I mean that,” he said, his voice stern. ”Our people are are in place. Just do your part and no more than that. That's a direct order.” in place. Just do your part and no more than that. That's a direct order.”

”Aye-aye, sir,” I said.

”I'll be in contact with you,” he said.

Silence again on my end. Even the sound of his voice p.i.s.sed me off.

”And Hermes,” he said in a voice softer than any I had ever heard from him.

”Yes.”

”Everything's a go in part because of the bugs you planted. You did good. Take care of yourself tonight.”

I dressed casually for this evening, wearing a pair of black slacks with a blue cashmere turtleneck, Jimmy Choo half boots with unG.o.dly high heels, and a black wool coat embroidered with flowers. I would have liked to have worn a good pair of Nikes, but they didn't go with my image. If I transformed later, it wouldn't matter what footwear I had on anyway.

I left the apartment as shadows fell on Manhattan. I walked aimlessly through the streets, ending up on Broadway in the Seventies with its storefront restaurants and neon-lit pharmacies. I found an unoccupied bench in the center island and practiced a form of mediation, a traffic mediation, I called it. No thought. My focus concentrated on car after car anonymously pa.s.sing by. I wasn't very successful. My mind wandered back to my conflict over whether or not I should kill that night. I do hold all life, in any form, sacred. I have the ability to kill as easily as humans squash a bug. However, might doesn't make right. I especially have ”issues,” you might say, about humans' callous treatment of animals. I agreed with my mother on that. Their irrational hatred of bats tops my list of outrages.

Finally I hailed a cab. Bonaventure's apartment lay on the other side of Central Park, and it was a swift ride with few traffic lights. I arrived on time and didn't see any sign of J or his team-no commercial vans parked in the area, n.o.body disguised as a Con Ed worker digging up the street. Maybe somebody was stationed in an apartment across the avenue. I guessed I shouldn't be able to spot a professional surveillance setup. I did half expect Louis to be leaning against a No Parking sign hiding his face behind a copy of the Daily News Daily News. Perhaps he was coming with Benny.

The doorman announced me and sent me up in the elevator. Tanya greeted me once again. Suitcases filled the hall when I entered Bonaventure's apartment. ”Somebody going somewhere?” I asked the unsmiling Tanya.

”The master is waiting for you,” she said, and didn't answer my question.

Bonaventure was in the library, agitation or excitement evident in the tenseness of his movements. He wore no tuxedo this time, but still looked impressive in riding pants and high boots. He greeted me with a white-toothed smile, looking like a fat wolf waiting for Little Red Riding Hood. Neither Issa nor the odious Bockerie was in attendance, which bothered me. I wondered where they were.

”Miss Urban, come in! Sit! We have much business to attend to and, my apologies, not a great deal of time.”

”You're traveling tonight?” I asked.

”Yes, yes. My country estate. I may need to discuss that with you later. But first, here are my bids.”

He handed me the file with the photos. I looked over his offers on the back of each. As I expected, he wanted them all. I was slightly surprised at the amount he offered. He wasn't taking a chance that Schneibel, if the old man could be tempted by money at all, would refuse. The total for the sixteen items was $50 million million.

”Can you confirm Mr. Schneibel's acceptance immediately? The offer will stand only until nine P.M. tonight. After that it will be withdrawn,” Bonaventure said.

”He's waiting for my call,” I said, knowing full well that this transaction was in the hands of the U.S. government, not Schneibel's. I a.s.sumed they had instructed him to be available tonight. I pulled out my cell phone. The icon for ”No Service” appeared.

”Unfortunately, my mobile phone doesn't have reception,” I said.

”I apologize, Miss Urban, but my security devices interfere with cell phone transmission. You may use a house phone. Let me have Tanya escort you to one you may use in privacy.”

”Thank you. That would be perfect,” I said.

Tanya took me into what I a.s.sumed was Bonaventure's office. It held a modern desk that was merely a kidney-shaped slab of gla.s.s atop a stainless steel pillar with no drawers, a fax machine, a computer, and a bank of telephones. The walls were covered with large photographs of the Ukraine and Croatia by a photographer named Wilton Tifft. The pictures swept like a panorama around me; the images of miners and priests, churches, rustic cottages, misty hills, icons, and graveyards were as poignant as they were beautiful. They left no doubt that Bonaventure's heart remained in Eastern Europe.

The room offered no opportunity for snooping: The only files, if any existed, were in the computer. Except for a blank notepad with a pen beside it, not so much as a sheet of stray paper lay anywhere in the room. Either Bonaventure was a neat freak or he had sanitized the place before my arrival. I dialed Schneibel's number.

The old German answered. ”Yessss?”

”This is Daphne Urban. Mr. Bonaventure has kindly let me use a phone in his apartment.”

”Yessss,” he said.

”He has made an offer. All the items, fifty million dollars. You had told me you need some time to consider it. Unfortunately, Bonaventure needs a reply quickly. May I phone you back in, say, an hour?”

”Yessss,” he said.