Much farther away, a line of Tarom airline jets sat along a weedinfested taxi strip. These jets looked like crude Boeing 727s that had seen better days before being abandoned: they were rusted, there were patches on the wings and fuselage, and one had two flat tires. Kate suddenly noticed the armed guards pacing beneath the planesthe bored men trying to keep out of the heavy rainand she realized with a start that these aircraft were almost certainly still in service.

She was very glad that she had paid almost twice as much to fly PanAm to Warsaw and Frankfurt rather than take the Romanian national airline.

“Mrs. Neuman?”

She whirled to find two security men in black leather coats standing behind her. Three soldiers with automatic weapons stood nearby. “Mrs. Neuman?” the taller of the two security men said again.

Kate nodded. She found it impossible not to think of old war movies where the Gestapo interdicted travelers. She shivered inwardly as she thought of traveling in such a society with a yellow Star of David on one's coat, the word Juden stamped in one's passport. She expected these latter=day Gestapo types to ask for her papers.

“Your passport,” snapped the tall man. His face showed the cratered terrain of a smallpox survivor. His teeth were brown.

She handed him her passport and tried not to flinch with anxiety when he put it in his jacket pocket without glancing at it.

“This way,” he said, and gestured her toward a curtained alcove in the security area she had just passed through.

“What is this . . .” began Kate and then broke off as the other security man touched her elbow. She pulled her arm away and followed the taller man across the littered floor. The other passengers watched passively, smoke rising from their cigarettes.

There was a woman security guard waiting in the curtained alcove. Kate thought that the woman looked like a humorless version of Martina Navratilova with a bad haircut. Then all flippant comparisons fled as Kate was overcome with the certainty that this butch monstrosity was going to stripsearch her.

The pockmarked security man pulled her passport out, inspected it for a long momenttaking care to look at the seams where the document was stitchedand then snapped something in Romanian to the other two guards. He turned toward Kate. “You are adopted child, yes?”

Kate was puzzled for a moment, not certain if the man was making a bizarre joke or not. Then she said, “I have adopted this child, yes. He is my son now.”

Both men peered at the passport and the wad of papers and carbons that were tucked into it. Finally the tall, pockmarked one looked up and stared at her. “There is no parent sign.”

Parent signature, Kate realized he was saying. New Romanian laws demanded the signature of at least one of the biological parents whenever a Romanian child was adopted. Kate had wholeheartedly agreed with the law. “No, there is no signature,” she said, speaking slowly and enunciating carefully, “but that is only because no biological parents were ever found. He is a child of an orphanage. Abandoned.”

The pockmarked security man squinted at her. “For baby to adopt, you must have parent sign.”

Kate nodded and smiled, using all of her will to keep from screaming. “Yes, normally,” she said, “but it is believed that this child has no parents. No parents.” She reached out and touched the documents. “You see, there is a waiver here saying that no parent signature is required in this case. It is signed . . . here . . . by the Deputy Minister of the Interior. And here by the Minister of Health . . . you see, here.” She pointed to the pink form. “And here it is signed by both the administrator of the original orphanage where Joshua was found . . . and here by the Commissioner of District Hospital One. “

The security man scowled and riffled through the documents almost contemptuously. Kate sensed the dirtdeep stupidity under the thug's arrogant demeanor. Oh, God, she thought, I wish Lucian were here. Or someone from the embassy . . . or Father O'Rourke. Now why did I think of O'Rourke? She shook her head and stared at the three security people, showing a calm defiance but no provocation. “Alles ist in Ordnung,” she said, not even realizing that she had slipped into German. Somehow it seemed appropriate to the moment.

The female guard held out her hands and said something.

“The baby,” said the pockmarked man. “Give her the baby.”

“No,” Kate said calmly but firmly. She felt anything but calm. Saying no to Securitate thugs was still an invitation to violence, even in postCeausescu Romania.

The two male guards scowled and stared. The woman snapped her fingers with impatience and extended her arms again.

“No,” Kate said firmly. She had the image of the female guard carrying Joshua through the doorway while the other two restrained her. She realized how easy it would be for her never to see her son again. “No,” Kate said again. Her insides were quaking but her voice remained firm and calm. She smiled at the two men and nodded toward Joshua. “You see, he's sleeping. I don't want to wake him. Tell me what you need and I'll do it, but I'll keep holding him.”

The taller guard shook his head and said something to the female. She folded her arms and snapped something at him. The tall man responded harshly, tapped Kate's passport, rustled her other documents, and said, “Take baby's blanket and clothes off.”

Kate blinked, felt the anger hanging in the air like charged ions before a storm, and said nothing. She removed Joshua's blanket and unsnapped his terrycloth jumper.

The baby awoke and began to cry.

“Shhhh,” whispered Kate. With her free hand she set the blanket and jumper on the filthy counter.

The woman guard said something. “Diapers off,” translated the security man.

Kate looked from face to face, trying to find a smile. There were none. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly as she undid the safety pinseven the embassy had not been able to provide her with disposable diapersand lifted Joshua free. The baby looked even more frail without his clothes, his skin pale, ribs visible. There were bruises on his skinny arms where the i.v.drip and transfusion needles had been. His tiny penis and scrotum were shrunken in the cold, and as Kate watched, goosebumps broke out on his arms and upper chest.

Kate hugged him close and glared at the woman. “All right? Satisfied that we aren't smuggling any state secrets or gold bullion?”

The female guard gave Kate a blank look, pawed through the jumper and blanket, carefully avoided the diaper, said something to the pockmarked man, and left the booth.

“It's cold,” said Kate. “I'm going to put his clothes back on.” She did so quickly. Beyond the curtained alcove, the shrill public address system announced her flight in a burst of static. She heard the other passengers clattering down the stairs to the boarding area.

“Wait,” said the pockmarked guard. He set Kate's passport and papers on the counter and left with the other man.

Kate rocked Joshua and peered out through the curtain. The departure area was empty. The single clock above the door read 7:04 A.m. The flight was scheduled to leave at 7:10. None of the three security guards who had been with her in the booth were visible.

Kate took a ragged breath and patted the baby. His breathing was rapid and liquid, as if he were catching another cold. “Sshhh,” whispered Kate. “It's all right, Little One.” She knew that the tractor that pulled the passenger trailer out to the aircraft would be leaving in a moment. As if to confirm that, an unintelligible but urgent announcement echoed out of the terminal speakers.

Without looking back, Kate grabbed her papers, held the baby tightly, left the booth, and walked across the endless expanse of terminal with her head high and eyes forward. Two lounging guards at the head of the stairs squinted through cigarette smoke as she approached.