Leaving his aides to their work, Gerrard took Tess, Craig, and Kelly back to the central cabin. 'There's more. Much more,' he said. 'A press room, although on this trip I'm not allowing reporters. Two galleys with gourmet cooks who can serve us Trout Almandine or anything else we want. Enough food for a week. A missile avoidance system. Special shielding to protect the jet's controls from electromagnetic bursts from nuclear explosions. Eighty-five telephones. Fifty-seven antennas. A six-channel stereo system. Two hundred and thirty-eight miles of wiring. A crew of twenty-three. Their quarters are above us. Here, I know that Tess doesn't smoke, and Lieutenant Craig, my researchers tell me you wisely gave it up, although I can still hear the congestion in your lungs, but as souvenirs, why don't you take these?'

Tess gasped and stared down at a packet of matches. They were labelled ABOARD AIR FORCE TWO. As well, she received napkins, memo pads, and playing cards with the same inscription.

'I don't know what to say.' Craig shook his head with apparent gratitude. 'I'm honored. I've never been much for collecting souvenirs, but I'll treasure these.' He pocketed the objects.

The next instant, he abruptly swung his attention toward the increasing shriek of the jet's four engines.

'It seems that we're about ready,' Gerrard said.

A servant took their glasses.

'Your attention, please,' a voice said through the intercom. 'We're cleared for take-off. All passengers be seated.'

Ten seconds later, the Secret Service agents as well as Gerrard's aides came through the aft door, chose seats, and buckled themselves securely.

Tess and Craig did the same.

'I usually stay in my cabin during take-off, but with the two of you on board, it's a special occasion. If you'll allow me…' Gerrard took a seat beside them. As a flight attendant explained the exits and the escape procedures for this Boeing 747, the vice president leaned toward Tess.

'Obviously you're curious,' he said. 'Why did I send for you? You must be wondering, Why are you here, en route to Spain?'

Tess resisted the drop in her stomach as Air Force Two moved smoothly across the tarmac toward the take-off strip. She knew that the jet's special shielding prevented Father Baldwin from hearing the transmission from the miniature radio built into the heel of one of her shoes. All the same, she had to know.

'That's right, Alan. What are we doing here?'

The jet reached the runway, its four engines gaining power, roaring now instead of shrieking, propelling the aircraft with such force that Tess was shoved back against her seat.

At once the nose tilted toward the sky. Now the pressure Tess felt was downward again as the 747 gained altitude. At the same time, from beneath the fuselage, she heard a whir and thump as the wheels retracted into the wings and undercarriage. Craig had the window seat, but Tess was able, by leaning across him, to peer out. Amazingly soon, the lights of Andrews Air Force Base became glowing specks far below. Cities blazed to the right and left. Then the night enveloped the aircraft.

'The reason I'm here,' Gerrard said, 'the reason I'm flying to Spain is that the Spanish president died this morning. A heart attack. A tragic loss not only to Spain but the European Economic Community. I'm being sent as America's official representative at the funeral. But you and Lieutenant Craig are here because I can't think of any place safer for you than aboard this plane. If Air Force Two can survive a nuclear war, the two of you certainly don't need to worry about being attacked while you're with me. All these Secret Service agents – I've instructed them to make sure you're not harmed. Until we sort out this mess, your protection is guaranteed.'

The logic was attractive. If Tess hadn't felt ambivalent toward Gerrard, if she hadn't been worried that he was an enemy, her fears would have been subdued. In theory, in the present circumstances, she was absolutely protected, as safe as possible.

'Since your mother's home was attacked last night,' Gerrard said, 'I've had my investigators working overtime. I've learned about the death of your friend in Manhattan last Saturday night. Burned.' He shook his head, appalled. 'I've also learned that you and Lieutenant Craig have been trying to determine why he was killed.'

Tess debated, then nodded in agreement.

Gerrard continued, 'You flew to Washington to see your mother in Alexandria yesterday evening, which makes me suspect that you planned to use your father's contacts to help you investigate, and which in turn also makes me suspect that the attack on your mother's house and the attack on your friend are related, that you're the common denominator. More, I believe that Brian Hamilton's death has something to do with this. My investigators found out from his secretary that you called Brian at his office yesterday and that he missed a reception for the Soviet ambassador last night so he could visit your mother – translation, to visit you. After you spoke with Brian, he was killed in a freeway accident while en route to see the FBI director. I know that Brian phoned from his car and asked for that appointment because the FBI director told Kenneth Madden at Arlington Cemetery this afternoon, and Madden later told me. Finally an attack similar to the one at your mother's house occurred in Washington this afternoon. The owners of the house are missing, but one of them, Professor Richard Harding, taught you art history at Georgetown University. Again you're the common denominator. The coincidence troubles me. Were you there, Tess? No, don't look away. This is too important. Tell me. Be honest. Were you at Professor Harding's home this afternoon?'

Tess slowly, reluctantly, nodded again, inwardly flinching at the memory of the nightmare.

'The pattern is obvious. Tess, to be blunt, who's so desperate to kill you and in the process to kill the people you've recently contacted? Why ? It almost makes me nervous to be in touch with you myself.' Gerrard's latter remark was obviously somewhat exaggerated, given the presence of the Secret Service. No matter. The vice president continued to look intense.

'Your investigators are very thorough, Alan.'

'That's why they work for me. They're the best.'

'Then maybe they've figured out why I'm in danger.'

'No. Otherwise I wouldn't be asking you. Is it the heretics? Do they want to kill you?'

Tess felt her cheeks turn pale. 'The heretics…?'

She hadn't expected…

She couldn't believe…

Straining to keep her breathing steady, she managed only to stare.

'Your friend who was burned in Manhattan? My investigators conducted an in-depth background check. He was a heretic,' Gerrard said. 'We've known about them for some time. At first, there were merely rumors. International gossip. But then a pattern began to be evident. Unusual diplomatic decisions. Puzzling changes in the policy of foreign nations, especially in Europe. Assassinations. Unexpected deaths of foreign diplomats, perhaps even the death of the Spanish president. Something – we don't know what – is happening. Blackmail. Extortion. Votes are controlled. Politicians are subjected to irresistible pressure. Major industries are afraid because several top executives have been murdered. It's not the Soviets. That system's collapsing. It's something else. A new threat looms now that the cold war seems to be over. All because of a group of fanatics who somehow survived from the Middle Ages and decided to preserve their religious theories by disguising themselves and burrowing into the mainstream of international corporations and major governments. We have trouble identifying the heretics – they've had centuries of practise in hiding – but we recognize their trail, and we know that they're determined to destroy both democracy and capitalism. They might be a greater threat than the Soviets – whom I still think are raising a smoke screen and trying to conceal their true aggressive intentions – ever were.'