“I know of no such child,” Amaddi said slowly. “But I have a client who is very high in the . . . how shall we say it? The unofficial Nomenclature. If anyone had knowledge of such an improbable event, my client would be that person.”

Kate waited. She was marginally aware of Lucian trying to catch her eye, but she kept her gaze locked with the young Arab student's. He spoke first.

“My client is a very powerful man,” he said softly. “Giving you his name would entail much risk on my part.”

Kate waited another thirty seconds before saying, “How much?”

“Ten thousand,” Amaddi said, his face impassive. “Ten thousand American dollars.”

Kate shook her head almost sadly. “This information is not the commodity I need. It guarantees me nothing. This man may know nothing about my child.”

Amaddi shrugged.

“I would pay five hundred American dollars for his name,” said Kate. “To show my willingness to do business with an honest man such as yourself. Then, if other information became available to you . . . information of some real value . . . we would discuss such serious amounts.”

Amaddi took out a matchbook, opened the cover, and cleaned between his side teeth. His gaze darted toward his companions for an instant. “Perhaps I have understated the importance of this person,” he said. “Few others . . . if any . . . know that he is a member of the Nomenclature. Yet he is so highly placed that no action of the Nomenclature occurs without this person's approval. “

Kate took a breath. “Is this man then a member of the strigoi as well as the Nomenclature The priculici?” She struggled to keep her voice level. “The vrkolak?”

Amaddi blinked and lowered the matchbook. He snapped something in Romanian at Lucian. Kate heard the word strigoi. Lucian shook his head and said nothing.

“What do you know of the Voivoda Strigoi?” Amaddi demanded of her.

In truth, Kate knew nothing. When she had asked O'Rourke the meaning of the Romanian and Slavic words he had used when bargaining with the Gypsies for their money and lives, the priest had answered, “Strigoi translates roughly as warlocks, although it also implies evil spirits, vile ghosts or vampires. Priculici and vrkolak are Romanian and Slavonic for vampires.” When Kate had pressed O'Rourke on why the naming of these words had impressed the Gypsies, the priest had said only, “The Rom are superstitious folk. Despite rumors that they have served the strigoi for centuries, they fear these mythical rulers of Transylvania. You heard Voivoda Cioaba say Devel when I suggested that Joshua was of the strigoi. “

“And he gave me the sign to ward off the evil eye,” Kate had said. “And then he let us go.” O'Rourke had only nodded.

Amaddi stood up and smashed his palm flat on the table, shaking Kate out of her reverie. “I asked, what do you know of the Voivoda Strigoi, woman?”

Kate resisted the urge to flinch in the face of the young Arab's intensity. “I think they have' stolen my child,” she said, her voice steady. “And I will have him back.”

Amaddi glared at her a long minute and then laughed, the sound echoing off cement walls. “Very well,” he said. “In the face of such courage, you will have the person's name for five hundred American dollars. And we shall do further business in the future . . . if you live.” He laughed again.

Kate counted out the five hundred dollars and held it until Amaddi took a Cross fountain pen from his pocket and wrote a name and address on a slip of paper. Lucian looked at the name, glanced at Kate, and nodded. Kate released the money.

Amaddi walked them to the door: “Tell your American friend the old Romanian proverb,” he said to Lucian. “Copilul cu mai multe moase ramana cu buricul ne taiat.”

Lucian nodded and led the way down the dark corridor.

In the Dacia, with the rain falling heavily again, Kate let out a breath. “You recognized the name he wrote?”

“Yeah,” said Lucian, his usual smile absent. “He's well known in Bucharest. My father knew him.”

“And you think he might actually be a member of this secret Nomenclature?”

Lucian started to shrug but visibly stopped himself. “I don't know, Kate. I just don't know. But it gives us a place to start.”

She nodded. “And what was the proverb that Amaddi threw at me?”

Lucian started the car and rubbed his cheek. “Copilul cu mai multe moase romana cu buricul ne taiat . . . it's sort of like, what is it? `Too many cooks spoil the soup'? Only this one translates as, `A child with too many midwives remains with his navelstring uncut.' “

“Haha,” said Kate.

They drove back through the empty streets in silence.

O'Rourke was waiting in the cold and shadowed basement room when they entered. He looked redeyed and unshaven, although still dressed in his black priest suit and Roman collar. He sat sprawled in the sprung armchair and only stared at Lucian as the two bustled around to light the coal fire in the other room and put a pan of soup on the hot plate.

“Did you find Popescu?” asked Kate.

“No. I was in Tirgoviste all day.”

“Tirgoviste?” Then Kate remembered that the city about fifty miles northwest of Bucharest had been the site of the orphanage from which Joshua had been transferred. “Did you find anything?”

“Yes,” said O'Rourke. His voice was thick with fatigue. “The officials at the orphanage still don't have any information about Joshua's parents. He was found in the alley near the orphanage.”

“Too bad,” said Lucian, tasting the soup with a wooden spoon. He made a face. “I hope you two like your swill on the bland side.”

“But I did bribe a custodian there to give me a description of the two men who arranged Joshua's transfer from Tirgoviste to Bucharest,” said the priest. “The custodian could describe the two men because they came in person to make the transfer.”

“And?” said Kate. She pulled the slip of paper from her coat pocket. If the gods were kind, Lucian would be able to tell if the man named there matched this description.

“One was middleaged, short, overweight, officious, with slickedback hair and a penchant for Camel cigarettes.”

“Popescu!” said Kate.

“Yes,” said O'Rourke. “The man with Popescu was young, also Romanian, but with a flawless American accent. The custodian said that he heard the younger man joke in English with the orphanage administrator. He said that this younger man wore expensive Western jeans . . . Levi's . . . and the kind of American running shoe with the curving wave on the side. Nikes. He and Popescu drove Joshua away in a blue Dacia.”

Kate turned and stared at Lucian.

The young man set the wooden spoon back in the soup. “Hey,” he said. “Hey. There are a million blue Dacias in this country.”

O'Rourke stood up. “My custodian eavesdropped on part of the conversation while they were getting Joshua ready to travel,” he said softly. “The young Romanian with the flawless American English said that he was a medical student. The joke in English was that if he couldn't find a rich American to buy the baby, he would sell the child to the vivisectionists at the University Medical School.”

Lucian backed away from the hot plate, toward the door. Kate blocked his way.

“The custodian said that Popescu called the younger man by name when they were counting the money to bribe the orphanage administrator,” said O'Rourke. “He called him Lucian. “