And yet...

The sudden shrilling of the telephone made Hal jump. He checked his watch, surprised to find that it was one minute short of midnight. Time had slipped away from him, and he was still no closer to an answer than he had been hours earlier.

He grabbed it on the second ring and fairly shouted down the wire. "Hello?"

"I'll bet it's lonely where you are." A man's voice, gloating, evil.

"Who the hell is this?"

"Just shut your face and listen, huh? That's better. We'll be calling back. You be there."

And the link was broken, the mindless dial tone buzzing in his ear like some demented insect. Brognola gripped the receiver in a stranglehold, white-knuckled, trembling with fear and rage. As he returned it to the cradle, he restrained himself from ripping loose the cord and flinging the telephone across the room.

It was his only lifeline now, his only means of finding out precisely what had happened to his family. "I'll bet it's lonely where you are." The message had been crystal clear, and there was no escaping its significance. The bastards had his wife, his children, and Brognola had no way of knowing where — or even who — they were. As for the motive, he would have to wait until they called again, and pray that they would not decide to pass on him, to simply slaughter Helen, Jeff, Eileen.

The bastards wanted him, and he would make himself available, but only at a price. The safety of his family, guaranteed, for openers. Whatever happened after they were safe was secondary, less than insignificant. His own life scarcely mattered in comparison.

But if the bastards didn't call again...