It was very cold.

Kate was still shivering as Lucian led her out to the Dacia.

“Where's O'Rourke?” she asked. The priest had left shortly after breakfast that morning without saying where he was going.

Lucian shrugged. “Probably still hunting for Popescu.”

Kate nodded. The inaction during the past three days had driven her close to madness. She had not been sure what they would find upon returning to Bucharesta clue perhaps, some sign of Joshua's forced returnbut in the absence of any immediate clue she had done little but huddle in the basement rooms while O'Rourke made forays into the city. It made sense on the face of it; neither of them had visas, the assumption was that the authorities were on the lookout for her, and they could not go to the American Embassy, UNICEF, the WHO, or any other familiar organizations for help.

But O'Rourke could use the few local Catholic churches and the Bucharest headquarters for the single Franciscan order in Romania to make contacts. And their first goal had been to find Mr. Popescu, the administrator of the hospital where Kate had worked and discovered Joshua. There was no compelling reason to believe that the greasy little administrator was part of the plot to kidnap her adopted child, but finding Popescu was a place to start.

But O'Rourke had not found himqueries from priest friends at the hospital had resulted only in the information that Popescu was on leaveand the frustration after three days was driving Kate out of hiding, if not ,actually to the brink of insanity.

The Dacia started after much fiddling with the choke and they bounced out onto the bricks of Bulevardul Schitu Magureanu along the west side of Cismigiu Gardens. Despite the fact that it was only the second week in October, most of the trees bordering the street were bare of leaves. The icy rain pelted against the windshield and only the wiper on the driver's side worked, squeegeeing back and forth with a screech of a single, long fingernail against a blackboard.

“Tell me again about the Arab Student Union,” said Kate.

Lucian glanced at her. His face was mottled with shadowstreaks from the occasional streetlight shining through the rainsplattered windshield. There were few functional streetlights in Bucharest this autumn, but the Dacia had come onto the wide Bulevardul Gheorghe GheorghiuDej and there was some light here. The avenue was all but empty.

“The Arabs attend the university on full scholarship,” said Lucian, “but almost none of them go to classes. They spend their years here changing money and being brokers in the black market. The Arab Student Union is the center for much of this.”

Kate tried to peer out at the street, but the windshield in front of her was a shifting mass of icy rain. She glanced at the dark canal on her right as they turned onto the even broader avenue of Splaiul Independenlei. The incredible mass of the unfinished presidential palace was just visible across nibbled fields and behind tall fences. There were one or two lights on in the huge structure, but these only served to accentuate the hopeless and inhuman scale of the place. Kate shivered. “And the guy we're seeing might know something about Joshua?”

Lucian shrugged. “My contacts say that Amaddi keeps tabs on the Nomenclature. He certainly serves their needs when they deal with the black market. It may be worth our time talking to him . . .” Lucian glanced at her. “It's foolish for you to come along though, Kate. I can“

“I want to talk to him,” said Kate. Her tone left no room for debate.

Lucian shrugged again. He pointed out the University Medical School as they drove past it and they turned north again, past a row of dilapidated dormitories, then down a long alley lined with dark and decaying Stalinist apartment blocks. Ragged curtains blew from shattered windows, and there were holes in the masonry large enough for a person to step through. The rain had let up a bit and Kate could see large rats fleeing from the beam of the headlights. The entrance to the building they stopped in front of had a torn steel mesh dangling from the doorway.

“These are empty, aren't they?” asked Kate.

Lucian shook his head. “No, these are the Arab dormitories. “

Kate cranked down her window and could make out a feeble glow of what might be lantern light behind some of the tattered curtains.

Lucian pointed toward a lower building with no windows, its walls and single doorway spraypainted with graffiti. “That's the Student Union. Amaddi said that he would meet us there.” .

There were no lights in the foyer or outside corridor. Lucian flicked on a lighter and Kate could make out chipped and filthy tile and an inner hallway almost filled with cardboard boxes and crates. Following Lucian as he squeezed past the crates, she realized that the boxes were marked PANASONIC and NIKE and SONY and LEVI'S. At the end of the corridor was a closed metal door. Lucian rapped twice, waited a second, and then rapped once. The door squeaked open and Lucian clicked the lighter shut and stepped aside to let Kate go first.

The room was large, at least twenty meters square, and the perimeter was stacked with more cartons and boxes. Dining tables and plastic chairs lay tossed in a heap to one side, and only a single table with a lantern on it was set out near the far end of the room. The dark and bearded man who had opened the door for them gestured toward the table and stepped back into the shadows.

Three men sat at the table; two were obviously enforcer typesleather coats, necks broader than their skulls, flat staresbut the third was a small man with a poor excuse for a beard and acne scars visible even at a distance. He beckoned Kate and Lucian to the table.

“Sit,” he said in English and waved them toward two folding chairs.

Kate remained standing.

“This is Amaddi,” said Lucian. “He and I have . . . done business before.”

The little man grinned, showing very white teeth. “A Sony Discman . . . an Onkya stereo receiver . . . five pairs of 501 Levi's . . . four pairs of Nike shoes, including the new Nike Air crosstrainers . . . a subscription to Playboy magazine. Yes, we have done business.”

Lucian made a face. “You have a good memory.”

The young Arab's gaze moved to Kate. “You are American. “

It was not a question and Kate did not try to answer.

“What would you like to buy, Madame? Money, perhaps? I can give you a rate of two hundred fifty lei to the dollar. Compare that to the official rate of sixtyfive lei to one dollar American. “

Kate shook her head. “I want to buy information. “

Amaddi raised an eyebrow. “Good information is always a scarce commodity.”

Kate shifted her purse. “I'm willing to pay for this particular commodity. Lucian says that you serve the Nomenclature.”

Amaddi's eyebrow had remained arched. Now he smiled slightly. “In this country, Madame, everyone serves the Nomenclature.”

Kate took a step closer to the table. “I have reason to believe that members of the Nomenclature have kidnapped my adopted child and brought him from America to Bucharest. Or at least to Romania. I want to find him.”

For a long moment Amaddi did not blink. Finally he said, “And why . . . in this land of too many unwanted children . . . why would anyone, Nomenclature or peasant . . . steal another child?”

Kate held the young man's gaze. The light made it seem as if his irises were completely black. “I'm not sure why. My son . . . Joshua . . . was born in Romania a year ago. Although he was an orphan, someone wanted him back. Someone important. Someone with the money and power to send their agents to America. If you have heard about a child brought back here, I will pay for the information.”

Amaddi steepled his fingers. The two men seated beside him stared impassively. The room was very quiet and smelled of cooking spices and strong aftershave lotion.