“We're not sure we'd be welcomed properly via the usual routes,” said O'Rourke. Kate could feel his leg against hers in the cramped rear bench. There were boxes piled on the floor and seat next to him.

“Ahhh,” said Balan, as if that explained everything. “We know that feeling. “

O'Rourke rubbed his cheek. “Have things gotten better for the Rom since the revolution in Romania?”

Balan glanced at his father and both men looked over their shoulders at the priest. “You know our name for ourselves?” said Balan.

“I've read Miklosich's research,” said O'Rourke. His voice sounded ragged with fatigue. “And I've been to India, where the Romany language probably originated.”

Balan chuckled. “My sister's name is Kalian ancient Gypsy name. The man who wishes to purchase her for a wife is named Angar, also an honorable Gypsy name. India . . . yesss. “

“What do you usually smuggle?” asked Kate. She realized too late that it was not a diplomatic question, but she was too tired to care.

Balan chuckled again. “We smuggle whatever will bring us the best price in Timisoara, Sibiu, and Bucharest. In the past we have smuggled gold, Bibles, condoms, cameras, guns, Scotch whiskey . . . right now we are carrying X-rated videotapes from Germany. They are very popular in Bucharest, these tapes.”

Kate glanced at the boxes next to O'Rourke and under their bags in the back.

Voivoda Cioaba said something in rapidfire Magyar.

“Father said that we have frequently smuggled people out of Romania,” added Balan. “This is the first time we have smuggled anyone in.”

They were crossing rolling pastureland. The dim lights illuminated only the slightest trace of ruts between rocks and eroded gullies.

“And this route is secure?” said O'Rourke. “From the border guards, I mean.”

Balan laughed softly. “It is secure only as far as the baksheesh we pay makes it secure.”

They bounced along in silence for what seemed like hours. It began to rain, first as an icy drizzle and then hard enough that Balan turned on the single wiper blade in front of him. Kate snapped awake as the Land Rover suddenly bounced to a stop.

“Silence,” said Balan. He and Voivoda Cioaba stepped out and closed the doors without slamming them.

Kate craned but could barely make out the other vehicles pulled in behind low shrubs. A river was nearby: she could not see it in the dark, but could hear the water running. She cranked down her window and the cold air lifted a little of the fog of fatigue that hung over her.

“Listen,” whispered O'Rourke.

She heard it then, some sort of massive diesel engine. Sixty feet above them, an armored vehicle suddenly came into sight along a highway or railway bridge. A searchlight joggled on its forward carapace, but it did not sweep left or right. Kate had not even known the bridge was there in the rain and darkness.

“Armored personnel carrier,” whispered the priest. “Russianbuilt. “

Another vehicle, some sort of jeep, followed, its headlights illuminating the gray flank of the armored car ahead of it. Kate could see the rain as silver stripes in the headlight beams: One of the men in the open door of the jeep was smoking; she could see the orange glow.

They must see us, she thought.

The two vehicles rumbled on, the sound of the diesel audible for a minute or more.

Voivoda Cioaba and Balan got back in the Land Rover: Without speaking, the young man engaged the fourwheel drive and they bounced down into the river itself. The water rose only to the hubs. They rocked and teetered along on unseen rocks, passing under the bridge. Kate could see barbed wire running down to the water to their right and left and then the fence was behind them in the darkness and then they were roaring up a grade so steep that the Land Rover spun wheels, slid, and almost rolled before Balan found traction and brought them over the lip of the bank.

“Romania,” Balan said softly. “Our Motherland.” He leaned out his open window and spat.

Kate did sleep for what might have been hours, awakening only when the Land Rover stopped again. For a terrible second she did not know where she was or who she was, but then the sadness and memory rolled over like a black wave. Tom. Julie. Chandra. Joshua.

O'Rourke steadied her with a strong hand on her knee.

“Get out,” said Balan. There was something new and sharpedged in his voice.

“Are we there?” asked Kate but stopped when she saw the automatic pistol in the Gypsy's hand.

The sky was growing lighter as Balan led O'Rourke and her away from the Land Rovers. A dozen of the other men stood there in a circle, their dark forms made huge by the large sheepskin jackets and caps.

Voivoda Cioaba was speaking rapidly to his son in a mixture of Magyar, Romanian, and Romany, but Kate followed none of it. If O'Rourke understood it, he did not look happy at what he heard. Balan snapped something back in sharp Romanian and the older man grew still.

Balan lifted the pistol and pointed it at the priest. “Your money,” he said.

O'Rourke nodded to Kate and she handed over the envelope with the other sixteen hundred dollars in it.

Balan counted it quickly and then tossed it to his father. “All your money. Quickly.”

Kate was thinking about all the cash in the lining of her carryon bag. More than twelve thousand dollars in American bills. She was reaching for the bag when O'Rourke said, “You don't want to do this.”

Balan smiled and the gleam of his real teeth was more eerie than his father's gold grin. “Oh, but we do,” said the thin Gypsy. He said something in Magyar and the men in the circle laughed.

O'Rourke stopped Kate from opening the bag with a touch of his hand on her wrist. “This woman is hunting for her child,” he said.

Balan stared, impassive. “She was careless to mislay him.”

O'Rourke took a step closer to the Gypsy. “Her child was stolen. “

Balan shrugged. “We are the Rom. Many of our children are stolen. We have stolen many children ourselves. It is no concern of ours.”

“Her child was stolen by the strigoi,” said O'Rourke. “The priculici . . . vrkolak.”

There was a subtle stirring in the circle of men, as if a colder wind had blown down the river valley.

Balan racked the slide of the automatic pistol. The sound was very loud to Kate. “If the strigoi have her child,” the Gypsy said softly, “her child is dead.”

O'Rourke took another step closer to the man. “Her child is strigoi, “ he said.

“bevel, “ whispered Voivoda Cioaba and raised two fingers toward Kate.

“When we meet our friends in ChisineuCris, we will pay you an extra thousand dollars because of the danger you have faced tonight,” said O'Rourke.

Balan sneered. “We leave your bodies here and we have all of your money.”

O'Rourke nodded slowly. “And you will have shown that the Rom are without honor.” He waited half a minute before going on. The only sound was the unseen river gurgling behind them. “And you will have given the strigoi and the Nomenclature bureaucrats who serve them a victory. If you let us go, we will steal the child from the strigoi.”

Balan looked at Kate, looked at the priest, and then said something to his father. Voivoda Cioaba replied in firm Magyar.

Balan tucked the automatic pistol out of sight in his rumpled blazer. “One thousand American dollars cash,” he said.

As if they had just stopped so that everyone could stretch their legs, the men returned to their vehicles. Kate found that her hands were shaking as she and O'Rourke followed Balan and his father back to the car. “What is a strigoi?” she whispered.

“Later.”

O'Rourke's lips were moving as the Land Rover began rolling toward the weak sunrise and Kate realized that he was praying.

The village of ChisineuCris lay on Romania's E 671 Highway north of Arad, but the Land Rovers did not go beyond the edge of the city.