After an elevator ride, Lang and Grumps exited facing a rather poor reproduction Boule chest topped with a worse reproduction of a Ming vase. Even the flowers it contained were silk, not real. Lang knew the condo association's decorator was gay. Strange he had an affinity for reproduction of any sort.

The building's elevators opened onto a sort of foyer with a condominium unit around each corner. Two steps to his right brought Lang to his door where Gurt, Manfred in hand, was talking to a burly man in a sport shirt and slacks, no doubt the contractor the condo association had recommended.

"Mr. Haverly?"

Lang extended his hand to have it encased in a bear's paw. "Mr. Reilly. I was just describing to your missus here what our options might be. You understand we're pretty much starting from scratch."

"Pretty much, if that," Lang replied hurriedly, before Gurt could correct the man's perception of her marital status. "Even fixed up, the place is too small. I'd like to get it done on a reasonable budget as quickly as possible, put it on the market."

While Haverly seemed to be considering this new twist, Lang leaned over and unlocked the door. He shoved it open, releasing the odor of things burned.

Manfred made an exaggerated face, holding his nose. "Phew! Still stinks!"

Grumps snorted his disapproval before taking tentative steps inside.

Lang waited a second for Gurt to join in, grateful when she didn't.

Haverly's eyes were taking in the empty shell of what had been Lang's home when the contractor's cell phone beeped.

"Yeah?"

He turned to Lang. "One of my men's downstairs, says there's a delivery truck from Home Depot."

Lang's sigh was lost in the sound of his grinding teeth. At least this time he would meet face-to-face with a flesh-and-blood employee instead of a sympathetic but totally unhelpful telephone voice.

He handed Grumps's leash to Gurt. "I'll be back in a minute."

Seeing his expression, she shook her head. "Remember, the man is only doing his work. It will do no good to gnaw him."

"Chew him out."

"That either."

Lang used the elevator ride to try to cool off. Gurt was right: Blasting a mere truck deliveryman wasn't going to solve the problem. Maybe he could hold the truck hostage, maybe…

The elevator doors wheezed open and Lang stormed into the building's lobby. And stopped as though he had hit a brick wall. The cool marble was empty except for the doorman and the concierge who were staring at him as they might a man suddenly gone mad. There was no truck waiting on the other side of the glass doors, no one waiting for him here.

"Is there anything wrong, Mr. Reilly?" asked the doorman, whose expression said he thought, yes, there was something very wrong with Mr. Reilly.

"A delivery truck," Lang stammered, "And an associate of Mr. Haverly…"

"Mr. Haverly?" the concierge asked, a note of concern breaking through his professional calm like a rock jutting above the surface of an otherwise placid ocean. He looked out onto the empty circular driveway. "Delivery truck?"

Oh, shit!

Lang urged the gracefully smooth rise of the elevator to greater speed. It seemed to take hours to reach his floor. When he arrived, only Grumps was there to meet him. Gurt, Manfred and Haverly were gone.

V.

Park Place

Seconds Earlier

Gurt was never certain where they came from, the two men with guns. Two things were clear: they knew this Mr. Haverly and they had been waiting for Lang to leave the floor.

Her first thought was for Manfred's safety and her second the Glock. The latter dissolved when one of the men took her purse, emptied its contents and stuck the gun in his waistband.

Wordlessly, the second motioned her outside the condo and to the freight elevator where Haverly was holding the door open. Even as frightened as she was for her child's safety, her professional training did not desert her. She watched the two men as the elevator sank below the lobby toward the underground parking levels of the building. They were clearly tense, if not nervous. Each had his finger on the trigger of his weapon. A professional would have his trigger finger along the barrel of the pistol where it could be moved in an instant but not cause an accidental firing in the meantime. A professional would never have left her purse and its contents on the floor, a clear indication she had not left voluntarily. Someone experienced in this sort of thing would want to cause as much uncertainty as possible, delay any pursuit. Neither were accustomed to handling firearms; neither had experience in an abduction.

That was both the… What was it Americans said? Ach, ja, the good news and the bad news. Nervous amateurs were likely to overreact. Or act hastily. On the other side, these men might not be aware of what a person, a mere woman, could do with bare hands if given the opportunity.

And she was going to do her best to see they did just that.

"Where are we going?" she asked in a trembling voice. "Please, let the child go. I'll come peacefully. Please don't hurt him."

"Lady," one of them said as the elevator came to a stop, "you and the kid do as you're told and neither of you get hurt."

She recognized the line from an old movie she and Lang had watched on television. But these men were not Hollywood actors, and she didn't believe men abducted people without purpose. And she was pretty sure what that purpose was.

Drama had never been Gurt's forte, but she was going to play the part of a terrified female to the best of her ability. She might even manage a tear or two. No one would recognize the difference between tears of terror and those of. rage. In the meantime, she would access what assets she could muster.

Like the BlackBerry in the pocket of her jeans.

Haverly stood beside the open rear doors of an unmarked white van. All but the front seat had been removed. Gurt stopped until she was roughly shoved from behind.

"Remember, lady, you try something and the kid gets it."

She recognized the gun pressed against her son's head as one of the Heckler & Koch P9 "blowback" models. Its muzzle size suggested the.45-caliber version made fear the American market who found the European 9mm either suspect or too puny. The child's eyes were wide with fear and he was manfully fighting back tears. It took considerable effort for Gurt to restrain her rage at the terror inflicted on her son. These men might be amateurs, but that didn't mean they wouldn't do as they threatened.

She climbed into the back of the van, sitting splay-legged with her back against the side. Manfred huddled against her, momentarily shielding her left side from view. She reached into her jeans pocket, felt the BlackBerry and prayed the keys she was punching by touch alone were the right ones.