'You weren't there. Don't make judgments,' the chameleon said. 'My team was composed of three men, sufficient for their original mission. But the target and his hunters amounted to six. The only equalizer would have been pistols. But in so heavily guarded an area as the mayor's house near Carl Schurz Park, if there'd been shooting, the police would immediately have been put on alert and blockaded the district. My team could not take the risk of being captured and questioned by the authorities.'

'What risk?' the sixth man growled. 'Your men knew the rule. If they were captured, before they could be interrogated, they had an obligation to kill themselves.' He tapped his ruby ring and the poison capsule hidden beneath the stone on his and every other ring.

'I wonder,' the chameleon said. 'In my team's place, would you have been eager to take a chance that you knew would fail, with the certainty that you'd have to kill yourself?'

'You bet your soul, I would.'

'No, not my soul. Yours,' the chameleon said. 'I doubt you'd have risked being captured. You're a technician, not a combat operative, and your pride makes you want to live too much.'

'Maybe you don't hate the vermin as much as I do,' the sixth man said.

'I doubt that as well.'

'You're evading the issue. The fire in the apartment. What about it?'

'My assumption is that the other targets had made such a commotion in the apartment building that they didn't dare go back right away for fear of being found by the police. Also it may be that the targets concluded that the man who called himself Joseph Martin had been so scrupulous about hiding his true nature that he wouldn't leave anything incriminating in his apartment. That's all speculation, but this is not. We know that they decided to watch the woman he'd befriended, in case she behaved in a way that suggested she knew his secret. We, of course, watched the woman because she was the only connection we had with the target. She went to the morgue and managed to identify his body. The next day, the detective from Missing Persons took her to the target's apartment. Immediately afterward, she left a roll of film at a one-hour developing service. It doesn't take a genius to conclude that she must have found something of such interest in the target's apartment that she took photographs there and wanted them developed at once. When one of the target's executioners failed to get the photos, he and the others decided that the apartment now had sufficient priority for them to risk going back. Whatever they found, they needed to destroy it. And fire, of course, not only purifies. It conceals theft.'

'But what did they find?' the third man asked.

'My guess?' The chameleon hesitated. 'An altar.'

The fourth man gasped.

'Probably one of their statues. That, above all, they would have to retrieve. Regardless if someone had seen it and taken photographs of it, the revelation wouldn't matter as much as the object itself. The statue would be too sacred to them for it to be allowed to fall into unclean hands.'

The group squinted in disgust.

'God damn them,' the second man said.

'He has,' the sixth man said. 'But now, after having come so close, we've lost them.'

'Not necessarily,' the chameleon said.

'Oh?' The fifth man raised his head.

'You've got a new lead?' the fourth man asked.

'They appear to have become fixated on the woman,' the chameleon said. 'Recent events suggest that they believe she knows too much, especially given the photographs she took and then, of course, her sudden trip to Alexandria, Virginia. As we know from our background check, her father was powerful in the government and had many even more powerful associates with whom her mother remains in contact. It would appear that the woman, Tess Drake, is determined to find out why her friend died. It would also appear that our targets are equally determined to stop her and conceal all evidence of their existence.'

'Wait. A moment ago, you said "recent events".' The sixth man straightened.' What recent events?

'Well,' the chameleon said. 'Yes.' He hesitated. They're the reason I requested this meeting.' His eyes and voice became somber. 'Last night…'

He described what had happened to his counterpart.

'They burned him?' The sixth man turned pale.

'Yes.' The chameleon tasted bile as he stood from the dusty teacher's desk. 'Our watcher had two men working with him. Both were on foot, one hiding behind the mansion in case the woman went out the back, the other farther along the street, among bushes. The latter man saw a silver Corniche leave the mansion. When the car drove by, he managed to get its license number, eventually using his contacts to find out who owned the car. That's how we know that Brian Hamilton was at the mansion. The latter man also saw the assassin rush toward the watcher's car and shoot him. The next thing, the assassin drove the Taurus away. The watcher's backup man hotwired a Cadillac on the street and pursued. He found the Taurus burning in a shopping mall's otherwise empty parking lot. When he realized that there wasn't any way he could help, he left the scene before the police arrived.'

'But if our man was already shot, why did they…?' The second man's voice cracked.

'Set fire to him?' The chameleon grimaced. 'No doubt, to make an example. To demoralize us.'

'In that case, they failed,' the third man said with fury. They'll pay. I'll put them in hell.'

'We all will,' the sixth man said.

'And make them pay for other things as well,' the chameleon said, his mouth tasting sour.

'You mean there's more?' The fourth man jerked upright, inadvertently banging his knees against the top of the small desk.

'Unfortunately. Last night, at the same time our operative was shot while he watched the mansion…"

NINE

Brian Hamilton set down the cellular telephone in the shadowy back seat of his silver Corniche, frowned, and leaned forward toward his bodyguard-driver. 'Steve, you heard?'

The husky, former Marine, an expert in reconnaissance, nodded firmly. 'That was Eric Chatham. You want me to drive to his home.'

'Exactly. Get me to West Falls Church as soon as possible.'

'I'm already headed toward the freeway.'

With that taken care of, Brian Hamilton slumped back and brooded. The story that Tess had told him… and the photographs she'd shown him… troubled him greatly. Whoever the man called Joseph Martin had really been, there was something he'd been hiding.

Or running from. Hamilton was sure of that. Yes. Whatever that something might be, it was as terrible as the blood-stained whip in Joseph Martin's closet and the grotesque sculpture that Tess had photographed.

Back at the mansion, Hamilton had described that photograph as weird, but the adjective understated his severe revulsion. The bas-relief statue filled him with disgust.

He bit his lip, with a deepening apprehension that Tess had become involved in something so twisted and dangerous that it might get her killed. Hadn't she said that she feared she was being followed?

Hamilton's jaw muscles hardened. Whatever was going on, he intended to use all his power, all his influence, every I.O.U. at his disposal to find out what threatened Tess and to make sure it was stopped.

After all, he owed her. For several reasons. Not the least of which was that he'd been her father's friend but had followed orders from his superiors and reluctantly sent Remington Drake to Beirut to negotiate a secret arms deal with the Christians against the Moslems. As a consequence, he'd been responsible for her father's abduction by the Moslems, Drake's torture, and eventual brutal death. It wasn't any wonder that Tess hated him. By all means, she had good reason. But if helping her and possibly saving her life would erase that hate, Brian Hamilton had all the motivation he needed, especially since her mother and he had come to an arrangement. After all, he couldn't very well have a stepdaughter who loathed him.