There were still bodies in the farther reaches of the tunnels, some lying in pools of water dripping from overhead hatches, others tumbled behind hastily erected barricades at the junction of the underground avenues. The stone vaults smelled like a meat locker.

“Securitate,” said Fortuna and spat on one of the brown-shirted men lying facedown in a frozen pool. “They fled like rats down here and we finished them like rats. You know?”

Father O'Rourke crouched next to one of the corpses for a long moment, head bowed. Then he crossed himself and rose. There was no shock or disgust on his face. I remember someone having said that thebearded priest had been in Vietnam.

Dr. Aimslea said, “But Ceausescu did not retreat to this . . . redoubt?”

“No.” Fortuna smiled.

The doctor looked around in the hissing white light. “For God's sake, why not? If he'd marshaled an organized resistance down here, he could have held out for months. “

Fortuna shrugged. “Instead, the monster, he fled by helicopter. He flied . . . no? Flew, yes . . . he flew to Tirgoviste, seventy kilometers from here, you know? There other peoples see him and his bitchcow wife get in car. They catch.”

Dr. Aimslea held his lantern at the entrance to another tunnel from which a terrible stench now blew. The doctor quickly pulled back the light. “But I wonder why . . .”

Fortuna stepped closer and the harsh light illuminated an old scar on his neck that I had not noticed before. “They say his . . . advisor . . . the Dark Advisor . . . told him not to come here.” He smiled.

Father O'Rourke stared at the Romanian. “The Dark Advisor. It sounds as if his counselor was the devil.”

Radu Fortuna nodded.

Dr. Aimslea grunted. “Did this devil escape? Or was he one of those poor buggers we saw back there?”

Our guide did not answer but entered one of the four tunnels branching off there. A stone stairway led upward. “To the National Theater,” he said softly, waving us ahead of him. “It was damaged but not destroyed. Your hotel is next door. “