'Where do you find these people?' Reto asked him.

  Ethan turned and looked through a window. These people, he thought, were some of the most amazing individuals on the continent, but in Reto's world if you didn't climb you weren't worth. . . well, the air you breathed, amongst other things.

  'Kate's dad used to say if you want money, the first thing you need to do is find out where it drinks.'

  Reto laughed, 'They're not letting go of it, dude!' For Reto, money was just something to get him to the base of a rock with decent equipment. 'Me? I'd rather do a whippet than talk to these people.' A whipper was American climbing slang for taking a dive without a rope.

  'A bleeding penguin convention, it is.' Renate muttered in faux English.

  Ethan looked down at his own penguin outfit. 'Is it that bad?'

  Renate laughed, 'It's bad, dude! It's like I don't know you anymore!'

  'So where have you been?' Reto asked him. 'I mean like we haven't seen you for years!'

  'We've been living in France most of the past year. Before that we were hanging out in New York for a few months. Hanging out was Ethan's description of his short stint at NYU after giving up the life of a thief. As it turned out, scholarship, like virtue, hadn't taken. Most of his professors, he had discovered, were singularly without curiosity about certain aspects of the medieval world. Mention the Holy Grail, the Lance of Longinus, the Holy Face of Edessa, or even the Shroud of Turin and they vibrated with a kind of overt anxiety that he had at first found incomprehensible. After a few weeks he figured it out. To an academic, Templar and Grail studies weren't part of serious scholarship. 'If you are looking for the Holy Grail,' his thesis director had told him quite bluntly, 'you're in the wrong place.'

  Ethan dropped out that afternoon - a total of six weeks into the semester. Kate, who was struggling with too much city and not enough rock, threw herself at him, wounding him with kisses. They had settled in France a week later.

  'Where in France?' Renate asked him.

  'We had an apartment in a village a few miles outside of Carcassonne.' A walled, medieval city, Carcassonne was impossible to endure in tourist season, but a different world once the weather cooled and only the locals and the long term visitors settled in.

  'The Pyrenees!' Reto exclaimed with delight.

  Ethan nodded, smiling. 'It was great,' he said.

  Wolfe laughed. 'Americans. . . everything is always great.'

  'What did you like best?' Renate asked.

  Ethan smiled. 'Sun. . . rocks. . . old castles. . . everything! It was. . .' He stopped himself from saying great. To be more precise about what he had liked required confidences he didn't especially care to extend to the likes of Wolfe and Reto. Besides there was no explaining happily-ever-after, especially to a jealous ex-boyfriend.

  'So why leave it for this?' Wolfe asked him. This was cold, dreary Zürich - a good two hours to the base of anything worth climbing.

  'Kate wanted to get Roland's foundation set up, and we both thought it might be nice to come back and see everyone.'

  'Kate!' Reto said. The others, turning and seeing Kate coming toward them, called out to her as well. No one complained to her about the penguins inside. Not one stuffed shirt joke. They told her she looked beautiful, which she did.

  The house,' Karl told her in English, 'is unbelievable.'

  'The paintings are unbelievable!' Renate cooed. 'Three Picassos?'

  'It was Roland's collection. Ethan and I just picked out the wine.'

  They lifted their wine glasses in salute. Wolfe said in English, 'The wine is great, Kate.' His eyes cut mischievously to Ethan.

  'How were the Pyrenees?' Renate asked.

  'Pure,' Kate whispered. 'There are places that haven't changed in a thousand years. And caves! You wouldn't believe what we saw in the caves!'

  'What did you climb?' Wolfe asked her.

  Kate smiled serenely. 'Absolutely everything.'

  'Leave the ropes at home?' Reto asked.

  'What do you think?'

  Kate was a free climber as much as possible. She liked to say it was the only way up a mountain. She trained with ropes sometimes, and some mountains required it, but when she wanted to summit most peaks, she took it as a free climber if it was possible and sometimes even if it wasn't. Ethan usually tagged along with dreadful notions of his mortality nagging at him, but he always made it - close call or not. With Kate it just was not possible to hang back or hesitate. And at the top, you had done it with your own hands and feet, and that was a feeling that took the teeth out of every fear.

  'That attitude is going to get you killed someday, girl!' Renate told her.

  'Not Kate,' Reto laughed. 'Ethan maybe, but not Kate!'

  Kate looped her arm into Ethan's and said, 'I want you to meet someone. Do you have a minute?'

  'Bartoli,' she whispered when they were alone.

  Ethan stopped. 'Giancarlo or Luca?'

  'The old man. Watch yourself, Ethan,' she added. 'Giancarlo can read minds.'

  Giancarlo Bartoli was standing at the lake with his back to them as they walked toward him. When Kate called to him, he turned and tossed his cigarette aside. Bartoli was somewhere in his mid-seventies, tall and gaunt with a mop of white hair, deep lines creasing his red face, and pale, grey, merciless eyes that missed nothing. Like Ethan he wore a tuxedo. Against the wind he also wore a yellow cashmere coat.

  Roland had considered Giancarlo one of his closest friends. Kate had told Ethan she had vivid memories from her childhood of visits from Giancarlo when her parents were living in Hamburg - long nights in which the two men drank and talked about art and politics and history. About everything, really. Roland would send her off to bed and then laugh at her when she would sneak back and find a seat on her father's lap again. As she listened to their talk - always in Italian - Kate had always imagined that the two men controlled all of the important things in the world.

  Ethan could understand the friendship between the two men. Kate's father had been an affable man with a salesman's instincts for putting people at ease. He had also possessed a razor-sharp intellect - to keep things lively. As a young man he had been like Kate - audacious and always searching for new challenges. By the time Ethan knew him, Roland had settled into a world of his own making. He was getting grey, but not so much slowing down as savouring things.

  For his part Giancarlo Bartoli was a good deal more than a shrewd businessman. Like Roland, his passions were varied and complex. He loved art, opera, and history above all else, but he was well versed in languages and law. At university he had toyed with a career in higher mathematics before settling on the more practical aspects of that discipline. As a young man he went often to the mountains - skiing nearly at the level of an Olympian and climbing with the same enthusiasm as Roland had in his prime. As an older man Bartoli had taken up sailing, circumnavigating the globe once on a twelve man team that he captained.

  Shortly after Kate was born, Giancarlo Bartoli had stood with her parents to take his vow as her padrino - godfather - at the christening. Kate was not Bartoli's only godchild, of course, he probably had twenty or so, but she was his favourite, and he made no attempt to disguise his special affection. Every year at her birthday - at least until she was completely grown - he would send her some elegant gift that showed genuine care in its selection. With it came long, handwritten notes that gushed with grandiloquent laments at time's passing or gave stirring anthems to the beauty of youth that fades before it is ever truly discovered in a mirror. Ethan knew enough Italian to be impressed with Bartoli's poetic accomplishments. He also understood that to Kate he was family.

  Giancarlo greeted Ethan warmly in very good English. Ethan answered him in Italian. Hearing an American speaking Italian pleased Bartoli no end. Had Ethan lived in Italy? No, Ethan told him, but when he had first met Kate she had told him she could never marry a man who could not speak Italian. 'I took my first lesson the next day.'

  Bartoli laughed with pleasure at this, turning to Kate. 'I like this man, Katerina! 'I'm just sorry to have missed your wedding. . . but of course I was not invited. . .'

  'It was a small wedding,' Kate answered. She was blushing. 'The two of us, a witness and a priest.'

  'You only needed to call. You know that. I would have been there to make it five if I had to travel halfway around the globe!'

  'It was my fault,' Ethan told him. 'Once I got her to say she would marry me, I didn't want to give her time to change her mind.'

  Bartoli asked them about their year in France and wanted to know about the mountains they had climbed. Talk about the mountains went on for a while, and then he wanted to know about their plans for the future. Were they going to stay in Zürich or return to France?

  Kate looked at Ethan. 'We're going to spend the summer in Zürich. Then, who knows?'

  'Any chance I can talk you two into forming a business partnership with Luca and me?'

  'What kind?' Kate asked him.

  'An associate of mine saw a very fine Cezanne last summer in a private home in Malaga. Reasonable security, but nothing the two of you couldn't get past.'

  'We are out of that line of business for good,' Kate told him.

  This raised a curious eyebrow and Bartoli turned his gaze on Ethan. 'My fault again,' Ethan said. 'I finally figured out stealing things was probably not the safest way to make a living.'

  'Well, I can't say I disapprove,' Bartoli told him, his eyes cutting back to Kate. 'There comes a point when the risk is greater than the reward. I suppose if you have earned enough to be comfortable it's time to get out.'

  'We appreciate the offer,' Ethan told him, not daring to look at Kate, who he feared would be interested. He had lost his taste for stealing after their last job and had even told Kate they either stopped or he was leaving. To his surprise, she took him at his word. His fear at this point was she had accepted his ultimatum with the idea that she could change his mind eventually.

  Kate turned to Ethan. She hated to say it, but one of them probably needed to make sure everything was all right inside. Did he mind?

  Ethan turned to Bartoli. 'We could all three go in, if you want. Have a look at the collection Roland put together. . .'

  Bartoli said he was going to have to take off soon. Besides, he was familiar with most of Roland's collection. He had only wanted to stop by and wish them well. He added that if the two of them ever wanted to visit him, all they had to do was give him a call. He would make time for them no matter what.

  The two men shook hands and then Ethan headed back for the house.

  *

  Without taking his eyes from Ethan as he walked away from them, Giancarlo told Kate, 'I like him.'

  'I like him, too.'

  Bartoli turned and looked at her with his steady gaze. He did not say it, but he seemed to wonder if that was all she felt. 'I'm glad he has convinced you to give up the life, Kate.'

  'There was a time when I needed it. It was the only thing that really made me feel alive. Even now, I can't say I don't miss it.'

  'When one is good at something, it is hard to stop.' He let this settle, before asking, 'I assume you have told Ethan what happened on the Eiger?'

  Kate turned toward the lake and crossed her arms. She had known this was coming, but she was still uncomfortable with the subject. 'I told him after we were married. I was tired of keeping secrets from him.'

  Giancarlo was quiet, as if considering the implications. 'You promised me you would tell no one.'

  'And you promised me you would find out who sent those men to kill Robert.'

  'I told you I would try.'

  'No,' Kate answered. 'You told me you would never stop looking for Robert's killer.'

  'I was upset. Robert was my friend, too.'

  'Robert was not my friend, Padrino. He was my husband.'

  Giancarlo gave a thoughtful look in the direction of the house. 'Are you willing to lose another for this passion of yours?'

  'That sounds like a threat.'

  'You know better than that. I just meant that it was a mistake to tell Ethan.'

  'I don't think it was.'

  'I expect he is determined to help you find Robert's killer.'

  'Is there something wrong with that?'

  Bartoli fixed his gaze on the churning water. 'You risked your life to find out the truth, Katerina. I told you that eleven years ago, and you said you didn't care. You said there was nothing you would not risk. I am simply wondering if that is still the case.'

  'Nothing has changed.'

  'Perhaps it ought to. Life goes on, you know. What you feel now is a raw nerve. If you will only quit irritating it, the pain will grow dull.'

  'Someone paid those men to climb the Eiger and find Robert.'

  'You have made some very dangerous people uneasy, Katerina.'

  'Have I really?'

  'This is not something that should please you. These are the kind of people who come out of the shadows and you are dead before you understand how close they are!'

  'You seem to know a great deal, Padrino. Does that mean you can give me a name - the person responsible?'

  'If you push to know the truth, Katerina, I simply cannot protect you anymore, . . or Ethan.'

  'Who is going to hurt me, Padrino? You can tell me that, can't you?'

  The old man shook his head. 'Robert was involved in a great deal more than you know.'

  'So you have been keeping things from me?'

  Bartoli shook his head sadly. 'You are not hearing me.'

  'You are telling me you know who killed Robert.'

  'I said nothing of the kind.'

  'Tell me this. Are you protecting someone?'

  'I have always tried to protect you, Katerina, but I am afraid you are making it impossible.'

  'How long have you known about these dangerous people, Padrino?'

  The old man met Kate's gaze. He seemed to be wrestling with how much he wanted to tell her. Finally he said, 'A great many years, I'm afraid.'

  'So you were lying to me when you said you had not given up?'

  'I was protecting you, but it seems now that you have found someone who thinks he can find Robert's killer. . .'

  'I am going to find out the truth, Padrino, and these very dangerous people had better understand one thing. I swore an oath to God that nothing was going to stop me, and I meant what I said.'

  'Then pray God helps you, Katerina, because I cannot.'

  The moment Giancarlo Bartoli returned to the limousine, Carlisle greeted him in Italian. 'Is she involved?'

  A few years shy of fifty, David Carlisle was tall and handsome with a silver mane of hair and sun-darkened skin. Bartoli settled himself opposite Carlisle and stared at the house that had once belonged to Roland Wheeler. He was not a happy man. 'It is exactly as you thought,' he said at last.

  Their car pulled away from the kerb and entered heavy traffic at the top of the hill. 'I suppose you told her to let go of her feelings?' Carlisle asked. There was an edge of sarcasm to this that Bartoli did not care for, and he fixed his eyes on the younger man.

  'I do not mean to tell you your business, David, but Kate cannot find you without Thomas Malloy's resources. Eliminate Malloy, and you are safe again.'

  'I listened to you once about what I should do with her, Giancarlo, and you see where it has got me.'

  Bartoli gave his friend a curious look. 'So you are determined to kill all three of them?'

  'I don't really think I've been given any other choice.'

  Bartoli offered him a sardonic smile. 'You might give the matter some thought before you try something that you could end up regretting. As I recall, the last time you decided to murder her, Kate tossed your assassins off a mountain.'

  Carlisle laughed pleasantly as if he had heard a fine joke. He turned to watch the streets of Zürich as they slipped past. 'This time she won't see it coming.'

  'I told her that. She doesn't seem to care, David, and from

  the look in her eyes, I am thinking you are the one who might not see it coming.'

  'She thinks she is close to finding out what happened. That's Malloy's doing. He imagines Jack Farrell can be made to talk.'

  'Are you so sure he can't?'

  'Quite positive. But tell me something I don't know, Giancarlo. You met Kate's new husband. Do you think she is in love with him?'

  Bartoli turned the palms of his hands up and lifted his shoulders. 'A woman arrives at a certain age, David, and suddenly she understands love quite differently. If she is honest with herself, she knows there is only one man she ever truly loved. It is why her husband is so eager to help her with this. He wants to take the place of his predecessor. He wants all of her love. Of course, he knows he can never have it, but he persuades himself that if he helps her that somehow he will be closer than before.'

  'Lord Kenyon, I think, was a very fortunate man.'

  Giancarlo Bartoli reflected on this observation. 'More than he knew, I expect.'

  'A shame he had to die so young.'

  'I have always thought so.'

  Kate found Marcus Steiner as he was leaving the party. She spoke to him in High German, using the formal Sie of strangers as she shook his hand instead of kissing his cheek as an intimate. To her thinking, Marcus Steiner was the quintessential Swiss, charming, reserved, diplomatic, and true to his word - especially in his criminal enterprises. 'Did you enjoy yourself, Captain?'

  'Very much, thank you, Mrs Brand.'

  'By the way, I'm curious. Are you still. . . ?'

  A look of recognition, a pleasant shrug of the shoulders. 'Nothing has changed since you have been out of the country,' he said.

  'Is my credit any good?' she asked sweetly. 'Or will you need cash in advance for my order?' 'If anything it has improved after today.'

  'I'm sorry I haven't given you much notice, but I am going to need something very soon, I think. I've put a wish list in your coat.' Marcus Steiner looked at his coat in surprise. 'Over your heart,' she told him, taking the lapel and laughing as if it were a fine joke.