Charities cannot survive scandals nowadays, you know that. You did a story on that house for teenage runaways a fine institution destroyed by one man's indiscretions. I'm sorry, Sara. I cannot risk the Cancer Center. It's too important."

Sara just stared.

"Then you are not going to do anything, are you, Father?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." Sara grabbed her cane and stood. The silent Cassandra stood with her.

"I'm going to do whatever it takes to find the truth behind this whole mess. And I don't give a shit if I have to drag down my own father, half of Washington, and the damn Cancer Center to do it."

She stormed out of the room.

Jennifer picked up the phone on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Jen."

She recognized Harvey's voice instantly.

"Hello, Harvey. How are you?"

"Been better."

"I can imagine. How is Sara holding up?"

"As well as can be expected, I guess."

"Give her my love, will you?"

"Sure. How is everything out in Los Angeles?"

"Good."

"You're doing okay?" he asked.

"Yes."

Pause.

Harvey cleared his throat.

"Listen, Jen, I hate to rush you off the line "

"I have a package from Bruce," she interrupted.

"What?"

"On the day he died," she continued slowly, "Bruce sent himself a package to his post office box at the main branch of Los Angeles' post office."

"Did you open it?"

"Yes. There were medical files in it."

"How many?"

"Six."

"Do you have them right there?"

"Yes."

"Can you read me the names?"

She picked up the files.

"Krutzer, Leander, Martino, Singer, Trian, and Whitherson."

Another pause. Then a whisper: "Jesus."

"Harvey, are you all right?" "I'm fine," he said, but his voice still sounded dazed.

"Was there anything else in the package?"

"Blood samples. Two vials for each patient, labeled A and B."

Harvey thought for a moment.

"Listen to me very carefully, Jen, okay? I need you to send me the entire package here by overnight mail."

"Does this have something to do with Michael's kidnapping?"

"I can't say for sure until I see the entire package. Jen, you have to send me that package right away, okay?"

"It's after six. The post office is closed."

Harvey looked at the clock, realized the hour, and cursed himself out loud.

"I tried to reach you earlier," Jennifer added.

"I know, it's my fault."

"I can send it to you special delivery first thing tomorrow morning."

"Thanks, Jen."

"Will you let me know what happens?" "Sure." He paused.

"I hope you're happy, Jen. I still care about you, you know."

"I care about you too."

Jennifer hung up the phone, afraid of what more might be said. Then she picked up the white envelope marked

"Susan" and stared at it for a very long time.

20.

Sara's mind churned in confusion and anger as her fingers dialed the 83rd Street Precinct.

"Police department."

"Lieutenant Max Bernstein, please?"

"Yeah, hold on a sec."

Her father. Stephen Jenkins. Raymond Markey. And Ernest Sanders. An unholy alliance who had done what exactly?

She could not say for sure. And what should she do now?

How should she follow it up? She was not sure. She knew that she needed to do something, anything, before she lost her mind completely.

Max would know. He would have a good idea what their next step should be.

Sara had considered confronting Sanders and Markey head on, but in the end she had decided against it. If the sons of bitches had denied any wrongdoing to their own co-conspirators, they were certainly not going to tell her anything new more likely, she would either warn them of impending danger, or worse, scare them into doing something catastrophic.

The sergeant manning the desk came back on the line.

"Sorry, lady," he said.

"Lieutenant Bernstein is not around." "Can you page him for me?" Sara asked.

"It's important."

"No can do. He is on official police business and cannot be reached."

Cannot be reached?

"Do you know where he is?"

"Can't say, ma'am. I'm not at liberty to discuss his whereabouts."

"But I need to reach him."

"That's just not possible right now. If you would like to leave a message, I am sure Lieutenant Bernstein will be calling in."

Sara scratched her head. Where could Max be that he could not be paged on his beeper?

"Please ask him to call Sara Lowell immediately. Tell him it's important. If I am not at home he can reach me at the clinic."

"At the clinic. Okay, Ms. Lowell, will do."

"Thank you." She replaced the receiver and considered her next move.

Narita Airport.

Max gladly disembarked the Japan Airlines' Boeing 747-300 that had carried him nonstop from New York to Tokyo for the past fourteen hours, checked the departure screens, discovered that his connecting flight was leaving from a nearby gate, and walked toward it. To be fair, the flight had been comfortable; in fact, the on-board service had been second to none. It was just that being trapped in any metallic tube 30,000 feet above the earth for fourteen hours had a way of wearing on a person even if they did show two movies and serve three meals.

As Max walked through the terminal, he glanced out the floor to-ceiling windows and saw a dozen or so JAL Boeing 747-300s lined up by their respective gates. Each plane had a boarding tunnel running from airport to aircraft like some gigantic umbilical chord that would have to be cut before the plane could be set free.

Max was not as tired as most of his fellow passengers. Though his mind had whirled with thoughts of how to free Michael, he had managed to sleep a good six hours. He checked his watch and realized that he still had about an hour before his connecting flight took off for Bangkok, the exotic capital of Thailand. Just as well. He had some important things to do in the meantime.

He followed the yellow sign that read

"Overseas Telephone," conversed with the operator for a moment, then went into a small booth and lifted the receiver. Within seconds the call was connected. One ring later the phone was picked up.

"Hello?"

Sara's voice came in a nervous half-shout. It was late in New York, almost two in the morning, but Sara Lowell sounded very much awake.

That did not surprise him. He debated what he was going to say and decided to be as vague as humanly possible.

"Sara?"

"Max? Where the hell are you? I've been trying to reach you all day."

"I'm sorry. I've been indisposed."

"Where are you?"

"In Tokyo."

"What?"

"Well, technically speaking, I'm not in Tokyo. I'm at Narita Airport.

That's about an hour and a half from downtown Tokyo."

"I don't need a geography lesson," she interrupted.

"What are you doing in Tokyo?"

Max began to wrap the phone cord around his arm.

"I'm on my way to Bangkok."

A small pause.

"Why?"

"Something has come up."

"Involving Michael?"

Vague, Max. Don't want to get her hopes up.

"Maybe. Look, I don't know what it means. I'm just tracking down a lead."

"What kind of lead?"

"Stop playing reporter, I don't have the time. I'll call you if anything happens."

"How long will you be gone?"

A good question.

"I hope to be coming home right away.

Anything new?"

"A lot."

"I'm listening."

Sara recounted her conversation with her father and Senator Jenkins.

Max listened in silence. He wrapped the telephone cord around his mouth now and gnawed. Tasted rubbery. The Japanese woman in the next booth frowned at him. Max smiled apologetically and let the wire fall loose.