Patrick and Marie-Celeste had inspected the wall and not come to any interesting conclusions, so they were forced to wait until they would be told about new developments. Meanwhile, they went to see John play. The forming of legislation and other official tasks were at a standstill with Anna's repeated absences anyway and although Marie-Celeste was eager to do something about it, she could not. They looked down at the court where John was being handed the prize.

"I'm very happy about winning in my home town," said John. "It's always more inspiring to play at home. I've been coming here for fifteen years, but this year the crowd was great. I hope you were all interested in my tennis and not in my love life," he joked.

"Well, easy to see what my big brother is more interested in," Patrick remarked dryly.

"Shhh!" his mother slapped him. "Listen to him." She was proud, naturally, and she did not understand why Patrick made such a remark.

"Although I'd understand you perfectly. Isn't she just wonderful?" John smiled broadly.

"When is he going to thank us?" Patrick asked. He was getting a bit sick now, if even John could speak his mind in public. Undoubtedly he had not made a fool of himself either when he had spoken his mind to Anna, unlike the way he had himself done with Marie-Celeste.

"But I'm digressing from my speech. I'd like to thank my family for being as normal as they could be throughout."

"No dinner for him, Mum," Patrick said to his mother when the entire speech had lasted no more than a minute or two. "Normal!"

Marie-Celeste had been listening to his interruptions silently and she placed one hand on his back, leaning into him a little. "I know you would have liked to be there and you would have held a speech that was ten times as long, but you had bad luck."

Patrick gave her a surprised little smile.

"I think I should play mixed doubles with you," she said gravely. "I watched you play doubles and you need to be hit with that racket more often than the ball. Your brother doesn't hit you, because my guess is that he trains with you? If he fights with you, he loses his hitting partner. But I don't care about that, because I play against Anna, see?"

Patrick gave her another surprised little smile. "You might be right." He had not thought of it that way, but it made sense.

"I'm right sometimes."

"Although I always thought he didn't hit me because he liked me."

"I like you too," Marie-Celeste looked uncomprehending. She did not see his point. "Just a little slap won't hurt. Just to remind you of what you're doing."

The first question at the obligatory press conference was about Anna, as John had expected it to be. "I don't like talking about her half as much as thinking about her," he answered. "You do see what I see in her?" he asked the person who had asked the question. If they did, there was no point in elaborating on it.

"I'm a woman."

"What she sees in me, then, assuming that she hasn't changed her mind since yesterday morning." A day's absence would not change her mind, would it? But he was not as confident as he wished. He had hoped he would hear from her, somehow.

"I understand you cannot celebrate your victory with her?"

"She would find it more important that I did my best and I'm quite pleased that I could do it without her." He patiently answered all of their sometimes stupid and nosy questions, but his hands itched and he wanted to start investigating, although he realised that he was becoming far too well-known to do much of it himself. Was there never one action that had a predominantly positive result? Everything seemed to cut both ways.

As soon as he had handled the administrative hassle with the prize money and he was free, he sat down at his table at home with his notebook and his glasses. This was what he liked, but he would have liked a sounding board right now.

The events had to be connected in a way other than just through Anna. They assumed they were connected because there was one man planning everything, but this was merely an assumption and it still had to be proved. First he made a chronological list of things that had happened, to refresh his memory and so he could glance over them if necessary.

John did not understand why it had taken so long to come up with any kind of reaction to Anna's return and then so little time before the threat had been followed by an actual bomb. Had the two events been planned and prepared at the same time? Or did it not take much time to organise a bombing? That was not a comforting thought. It would take nearly no time at all to prepare a phone call, but it ought to take some time to get hold of explosives and to get them to the right person. Unless it had been done by people who had already had explosives at their disposal.

John frowned. Not legally. In that case they should not be for hire as terrorists. He hoped so, at least. However, illegal possessors of explosives could only be up to bad things and they would probably be for hire as well. He did not really see any gradations in using illegal explosives. It did not come across as a planned, well-structured action, but as something rash. That was his intuitive feeling. Therefore some criminal group must be involved.

He emailed his thoughts to Malling, although he did not think Malling would still be at work, since it was quite late. Unable to concentrate on anything else, he looked up online news sites to see what was being written and seeing that the online articles were superficial guesswork, he went to bed.

Malling arrived back at his office at a rather late hour. His secretary had long gone home and most other people had too, so he checked his mail instead of being briefed in person. Email was only being used for non-secret messages, because it had been revealed that there was one country that intercepted all European communications and it was not really necessary that they should be enlightened about everything.

He could have known that Seton would interfere, he told himself as he read the email. Too bad if Anna was against it -- Seton seemed to offer his services himself. If this should create any domestic conflict, it was not Malling's concern. He was only interested in what Seton had written. It was worth looking into. They could run a check on all organisations who might be using explosives, since the size of the country and the temper of the people did not allow for great numbers of them anyway. Abroad it would be a different matter. He was not really acquainted with the situation there, but he would pass the suggestion on to his colleague of External Operations.

At least Seton had become wiser now and he no longer included any veiled questions about where Anna was, after not having received an answer to his previous emails.

Malling typed out some new orders for his Units, feeling a bit like Seton's puppet in doing so. Tomorrow the boy would have his way and the Units would start working on this track. "And it had better be the right one," he said and realised that it was a little preposterous that half the country was working towards one goal and that was getting Seton the woman he wanted.

He dialled the Commissioner to see if there was any news there.

A lead was quickly discovered when a homeless drunkard in the vicinity of the Palace was interviewed. It was not a shabby neighbourhood, but the drunkard had discovered that some tourists peering in through the gates were generous and this had drawn him to the area. He claimed to have seen squatters -- not very well-dressed and therefore potential competitors in the begging game -- near the wall and after some insisting he was able to provide the police officers with descriptions and drawings.

Armed with these drawings, they visited all the squatters they knew of. There were not many squats in town and most were known to the police, so this was relatively easy. The first three visits were fruitless, but the fourth was more interesting. The fact that the punk hanging about there denied that he had ever seen anybody who looked like that without even looking at the drawing, was suspicious enough to put a little pressure on him.

They shared money and food and beer here in the squat and even some ideals, such as a strong dislike of society and its pawns. The young punk felt he would be fighting for his cause if he withheld information from the police and he felt a great sense of dignity. Of course he knew what they were after. But he was not going to tell. $#$#$# the authorities. He opened another can of beer and burped.

This attitude would never get him very far and he got the first inkling of that when he was taken to the station for questioning. Though he sang some protesting songs very loudly, nobody paid any attention to it and the policemen did not even see the need to look impressed with his independent spirit. $#$#$# the authorities! I'm different! I refuse to be pigeon-holed!

He was against everything, on principle, and he felt great pity for these slaves of the system. They did not know what free life was like. Nevertheless, his pity did not extend so far that he would actually help them out by telling them his name. No, he was against that on principle.

A long psychological struggle began, for it turned out that the slaves of the system were principled against granting too many favours, notably to those under arrest. He was not allowed to smoke, because his possessions should be returned to him in the same condition as they had been taken from him and naturally if he arrived with ten cigarettes and left with five, they could get into trouble. The toilet was occupied when he asked to use it. His dinner arrived cold and nothing could be done about it. A microwave was too luxurious an asset to be wasted on prisoners and it was continually in use for the policemen's food.

At eleven o'clock the punk declared that he had a statement to make.

The two bald squatters had been apprehended -- it had only taken a day to locate them. However, they could or would not tell the police anything useful. All they admitted was that a man named Jan had contacted them. Since it was a very common name, it could not be considered a very good lead, and they also lacked the descriptive skills that the homeless drunkard had possessed.

So there was somebody named Jan, or pretending to be called Jan, who had contacted them. Who was Jan, apart from looking ordinary? And who had told Jan to do it? He had obviously been a messenger.

Jan had first approached them in a pub, but every one of the regulars there knew about six men called Jan, half of whom also frequented the pub, so it had not really helped to learn his name. Besides, Jan might be a fake name.

It was not going fast enough to John's taste. He was allowed to attend the meeting between Malling and the Commissioner on Thursday, but the detailed elaboration of what had been discovered and especially what had not been discovered yet, tired him.

"I can do it much quicker. It's no use looking for a Jan. He wouldn't have asked some guys from his favourite pub, now would he?" John asked wearily. "Same goes for not asking guys in a completely strange pub. He'd have been there before. How would he have known about them otherwise?"

"But they say they'd never seen him before."

"So? People know everything about a public figure while the public figure never gets to see those people. They needn't have seen him for him to hear things about them," John pointed out. "But he wouldn't have been a regular customer or they would know him. How often did the baldies go to the pub? Were they regular customers themselves?"

"We don't know," said the Commissioner.

"I'll go and ask them," John said in exasperation.

"I'd advise you not to interfere, Seton," said Malling.

"Why not?"

"Because your…" Malling paused. "Your girlfriend would kill me, frankly."

"Excuse me?" John asked incredulously. Anna would kill him?

"I don't know if I can still quote her literally, but she basically accused me of keeping you away from her."

"You are, in a way, since you still won't tell me where you took her. Why did she say that?"

"She asked me if I was going to hire you again and I said I didn't talk about such things. She accused me of thinking that she had come between you and your job -- well done, was she any good, but let's move on -- that sort of thing."

John stared at him. "She said that?" Anna had been afraid of that? So afraid that she would actually voice it? She should not be. He knew she would not like it and that was why he would never go back unless she approved of it. He was not back now -- he was only checking what progress had been made so far.

"Yes, she said that."

"Amazing," John said with a frown. "And what did you reply?"

"I didn't give her a direct reply. She had actually hit pretty close to the truth," Malling admitted. "But you can't sit in a car with her for six hours and not change your mind, even if she did not begin to talk until we were almost there."

"What do you mean, change your mind?" John asked immediately. So Malling had thought that there was not much to the relationship, but it was good that Anna had apparently made him change his mind. How had she done that?

"Well, I'd like to rehire you, but I can I hire her too?"

"What do you mean, hire her?" John narrowed his eyes.

"Not for any interpersonal contacts, mind you."

"What do you mean, not for interpersonal contacts?" John asked. He was becoming awfully repetitive, but he really could not follow Malling.

"You should know her. Of the six hours we sat in the car, she was silent for more than five. Very good receptively, but productively she's a disaster."

If John had not been used to Malling's codes, he would have had to think about it, perhaps, but now he understood it immediately. A disaster? He was about to protest.

"Well," said the Commissioner, interfering for the first time. "But I found that what she finally produces for your sake is very interesting, even if she does seem to care more about you than about herself."

"What do you mean?" John asked in alarm. That sounded rather unhealthy. Although he knew Anna's self-esteem was low. But it was none of their business and he shrugged. "So, will you have the pub checked out again?" he changed the subject.

"Yes, we'll take your suggestions to heart," said the Commissioner. Seton knew very well what he meant, he thought, but it was too much of a delicate item to discuss.

"It was her who took the first step, wasn't it?" Malling asked suddenly. He had been thinking about it for the past minute. "Or did you really act unprofessionally? I tried to question her about your behaviour, but it was very difficult to obtain an answer."

"Does it really have any bearing on this case?" John sighed. "I don't think it does. It's all a matter of perception -- what you'd call unprofessional is probably what she'd call kind. Can we move on now?"

John walked the streets and decided to go to the pub himself. It was better than leaving it up to a few incompetent policemen and what else did he have to do? He had another day until he had to leave for the next tournament, if he was going at all. He had not decided that yet, although he could not claim an injury. Perhaps he would lose in the first round so he could quickly return home again. He would only be away for a few days if he lost in the first round. He did not want to lose, though. More money was always useful now that he had to rely solely on tennis for his income again. Or he would have to find another job. One that Anna approved of.

He entered the pub. It was quiet apart from a few apparently unemployed men who sat at the bar. Perhaps they would not recognise him. He studied the men at the bar. Was one of them Jan? Jan might come there again if he had not heard that the police had been there to look for him. It was possible. The bald guys certainly would not. They were in custody. The men at the bar were discussing the case too.

The barman had heard that the bald men were suspected of being behind the bombing at the Palace and he had just told this to his customers. "Bad publicity," he shook his head. "Now we're going to get a bad name."

John could see why the barman feared that. The interior of the pub surprised him. It was not a lower-class pub. It looked more intellectual, with newspapers and magazines on the tables. It was odd that this had been the place where the terrorists had been approached.

"Just because they struck a deal here?" a fat man with a cigar asked the barman.

"What can I get you?" asked the barman of John.

"A beer. I'm looking for the guy who paid the two bald men to blow up the Palace wall," he announced casually. He had nothing to lose. The police would be coming later with the same questions anyway. "I'm also looking for people who knew that the bald guys had explosives."

They all stared at him in shock. "Why?" the man with the cigar demanded with a mix of interest and disapproval. "Do you want to blow up something?"

"Yes, I'd like to blow up the person who's behind it." The barman gave him his beer and he paid for it. "And for that I need the other guy."

"We are not a meeting place for criminals," said the barman. "I don't want that in my pub."

"You already did," John remarked. "It's a pity that you didn't notice, or the criminals might already have been caught."

The fat man puffed at his cigar pensively. This was by far the most interesting thing that had happened that day. He had missed the police inquiries due to a visit to the dentist. "And what are you going to do with this guy?"

"Question him."

"Are you with the police?"

"No."

The barman polished a glass and the two other men stared at their beers. Only the fat man looked at John. He waved his cigar. "I hadn't thought so. What are you then?"

"I'm nobody."

"This is just your personal crusade against crime," the fat man nodded.

"Against this particular crime only," John answered. "They don't work fast enough for me." He wondered what the two bald squatters had been looking for here. This place looked as if personal acquaintances of the PM himself might visit it. "How did squatters end up here?"

"They came to read the newspaper," said the barman reluctantly. He had already told this to the police and he wondered why this man wanted to know. Was it alright to tell him? "They always wanted to hang up posters as well."

"What kind of posters?"

"For idealist organisations against this and that, but the walls here are not an advertising board, so I always said no."

"Who would know they had explosives?"

"Everyone," said the fat man with the cigar after an uneasy silence. "They were always talking about becoming more radical and bombing Parliament, but we all thought it was bravura."

"Do you know anyone who knows the Prime Minister?" John asked, switching to another track.

"Well, his lawyer lives around the corner," said the barman, polishing another glass. He could not connect this switch to the Palace, or else he might have hesitated to answer. "I suppose he'd count."

"His lawyer?" John asked pensively. "What's his name?"

"Miltz."

"Hmm," said John, drinking his beer. That was a connection worth investigating. The lawyer would be involved now with all the accusations against the PM, but had he been involved before?

Eliane and Marie-Celeste had contacted a few acquaintances around the world to see how the situation was perceived in other countries. Eliane knew many people from when she had been queen and many more people knew her than knew Marie-Celeste. Although the most beautiful conspiracy theories had been offered, Eliane had not yet heard anything useful and neither had Marie-Celeste, or it had to be that their Prime Minister had always been seen as very ambitious.

"I spoke to Seton," said Raine. "He gave me some stuff to check out and I told him to go wherever he had to go. It's better for him not to interfere. He'd only get worked up because things aren't going as smoothly as he wants."

"Where did he go?"

"Portugal. He shouldn't come back until Anna is back. I wonder that Malling didn't suggest that they take a romantic break together."

Hegge chuckled. "And never to be heard of since!"

"What did he give you?" Gris asked.

"The PM's lawyer."

"If people weren't so…" Gris grimaced as he searched for the right word. "…so…mindful of the PM's status, they would have put him in jail already, but now he's being treated as though once respectable is always respectable."

"I'll check out the lawyer," said Hegge, who had taken some time off at the veterinary clinic he worked at sometimes. "Nathalie will help me. You two work out the financial things then."

"Can't you have him declared insane?" Marie-Celeste asked the Minister for Home Affairs. "Is that a possibility?"

"His doctor would have to do that. I'm afraid we can't do much at this point. We don't have any legitimate reasons to have him tested."

"But you do! I'm sure you can accuse him of something. And if you can't, then you're going to have to order his doctor. He really cannot be allowed to continue his scheming."

"I agree with you, but --"

"It's nonsense that we should have to show respect to such a man. No golden handshakes, no ribbons, nothing. He deserves a prison cell. Even that might be too luxurious for him. Is Elba still available? There's still a prison on the neighbouring island. I read about that. Can't we ask the Italians to --"

"Madam --"

"It's too wild, I know," Marie-Celeste sighed. "But why should my sister be the only one to suffer when she hasn't done anything? When she can't do anything? How do you think it feels -- everybody knows you and they're all watching you and you can't run? And when you do the only thing you can do, it gets worse, as if you didn't have the right to do that. Why should she have to be the one who's forced to go into hiding?"

"Didn't she want to go herself?" the Minister asked.

"No, it was the men…they didn't even wake her up right after the bomb went off because they thought she'd become hysterical." Marie-Celeste straightened her papers with a contemptuous look. "But anyway, I'd like it very much if you could have the man certified so he can't do any more harm. The family are behind me."

Eliane had been called by her brother, who thought he had seen Anna. He had read that she had gone abroad, but he had not expected to see her all by herself, so he was not really sure if it had been her. Eliane had begged him not to disclose the location over the phone, because she was afraid that somebody was listening in. Nevertheless, she had guessed where it was after he had given her a few hints.

It relieved her enormously to know where Anna was, but still she could not be completely at ease. Her brother had said that he had seen Anna alone. How could she be alone? Was she not supposed to be under protection? Anna had to get away from there, even if she would have to go there herself to pick Anna up.

Nathalie turned out to know the lawyer's name. "He does some criminal cases too," she said as they walked through town.

"Is that how the PM gets his shady connections?" Hegge wondered.

"Could be."

"I don't know if Seton really went to Portugal," he said suddenly. He did not know why he suddenly brought that up.

"Why not?"

"Because he'd think it selfish of him to do so, I think. But then again, he might have gone, because he gave Raine his notes. I don't know."

"We won't know till we see him," Nathalie shrugged. She studied the street they were on. It was nothing out of the ordinary, a regular, mixed, nineteenth-century neighbourhood. If a house was in a good state, it was likely to be a dentist's practise. If it was in disrepair, it was probably being rented out to students.

"Look. A wounded pigeon," Hegge pointed at a pigeon hopping around near a parked car.

"What are we going to do with a wounded pigeon?" she asked cautiously. And how could he see it was wounded?

Hegge lifted it up carefully and studied it. There was something wrong with its wing. "Take it to the vet's, but first…we shall try to catch a glimpse of Mr. Miltz's agenda."

"How?"

"By ringing his bell and asking him for a box for the pigeon. Who knows, he might let us in." The lawyer would not let them into his office, probably, but perhaps there were other interesting things to see in the house.

"Thomas, did you plant that pigeon there this morning?" Nathalie asked. It seemed too good to be true that there should be a wounded pigeon in front of the house of a suspect who was about to be checked out by a vet.

"No, it's purely a coincidence," he grinned. "But a welcome one, wouldn't you say? Come, baby."

"I hope you were talking to the pigeon," she commented.

"Of course," he said innocently. "Will you ring the bell, Nathalie?" The door was opened by a middle-aged woman, either Mrs. Miltz or a secretary or a partner in the firm. Anyway, she was a woman and this was advantageous. "Hello. Sorry to bother you, but we found this pigeon on the street and it's wounded and we wondered if you'd maybe have a comfortable box to transport it in. It's a bit awkward carrying it all the way to the vet."

The woman looked concerned. "Well…" she hesitated and thought. "I think I might. Why don't you come for a second while I take a look?"

Hegge shot Nathalie a triumphant look behind the woman's back and they followed her inside. The house was either an office or Miltz did not have any children. It was immaculately clean everywhere and there were no stray objects lying around. The woman showed them into the kitchen and asked them to wait while she went to the garage to look for a box. As Nathalie studied the calendar on the wall and what appointments were written on it, Hegge took a good look at the back door and if there was an alarm or not. There was. But that only meant a burglar would have to get himself inside before the alarm was put on and that would not be too difficult if the door to the living room was closed. One could easily walk in then and go on directly to the hall and the stairs, perhaps hide in the meter cupboard. It might not be necessary to do all that, he told himself, but it might be useful to know such things just in case. Then he noticed something and he chuckled. It was a fake alarm. Burglars would think it was real if they looked quickly, but he knew it was not. He had seen those things before. Easy!

Despite what Hegge thought, John had gone to Portugal anyway. He always flew business class for the leg space, not for the drinks, and he went unrecognised until he was at the hotel. There he met a few players he knew and they wanted to know about the week before. He did not want to shut himself up in his room most of the time that he was not playing, because he knew what would happen. If he was out and busy, he would have fewer opportunities to think about whether he was doing the right thing or not.

In the evening, Hegge and Gris broke into the lawyer's house. They worked quickly and photocopied interesting documents. Nobody would hear them do that. It would be unlawfully obtained evidence, but they would find a way around that. Now at least the police would know that it might be useful to get an official search warrant.

As she was walking towards the dining room, a panic suddenly struck Anna. She did not know why or how, but she suddenly felt very afraid that someone would come for her now that she was here all alone. She pressed her back against the wall and looked fearfully at everyone who moved. Usually these attacks came at night and this was the first time that it happened during the day. She knew they would pass, but she still could not suppress the feelings of fear and anxiety.

"Are you alright?" asked the woman from the room opposite her, noticing Anna's nervous, jerky movements and her trembling fingers.

"No." Anna bit her lip. "I don't know what's happening. I'm afraid someone might do something to me."

"They wouldn't." The woman looked at Anna uncertainly. She did not know what to do. What was happening?

"That's what I was always thinking," Anna said softly. "But I was wrong. It's made me paranoid. I'm messed up forever." Anna dropped into a chair in the dining room, nearly hyperventilating. She wanted to go home. She missed home. Here she was all alone with nobody or nothing she knew and she had barely spoken to people for fear of betraying anything about her background, so it was solely her fault that they were always chatting to each other and leaving her out, but it still made her feel even worse.

There were other people around, but they dared not approach her as she started sobbing. They were much too shocked. With trembling fingers she wiped her eyes with the napkin. After three deep breaths she was sufficiently recovered and she became calmer. Her eyes were still unfocused and she had no idea who were around her, but her vision was quickly restoring itself and she began to digest what she saw. The woman from room 18 sat at her table when there were still free seats at other tables, amazing. Anna looked at her hesitantly. She feared she had been acting very childishly for someone her age and she was a little ashamed of herself.

"You have to go," Eliane pleaded. "And I want to come."

"No. You'd better not."

"She's my daughter!"

"I know she is…but we can't arrive there with a huge group of people and not draw any attention to ourselves."

"Two people!"

"I'll bring her back."

"I don't see why I can't come," Eliane protested.

"Eliane…"

"I want to come!"

As soon as the press had figured out that John was in Portugal, they came over to see if Anna was around. By now, he recognised some of them and because he had nothing to hide, he did not run away from them. Half of them were only in it for the thrill, he assumed, and they would soon be bored with someone who gave them no trouble. Hotel security kept throwing them out and he could not leave the hotel without them following him to see if he had any romantic dates.

In the absence of Patrick he played doubles with another Englishman. Years ago there had been a group of them that he had got along with very well, which had made him choose to play for Great Britain when he had to make the choice. After all, it was better to be part of a group than to be alone with no facilities. Most of them had given up already, but Jeremy, whose wife was ten years younger and still playing well, did not want to stay home alone when she was away.

Jeremy had been observing the commotion with interest. "What on earth do they want with you? You're not hiding her in your room, are you?"

"Would I be here in the bar?" John asked rhetorically. They were playing snooker, since there was very little else to do at night that they liked. There was dancing in the piano bar, but they did not feel like dancing with each other.

"Well, if you didn't want to let on that you had her, you would," said Jeremy, circling the table.

"Wait," John frowned. "I would be here." Anna might like snooker and if she did not, she might watch. It was only eight o'clock. Too early to go to bed. Or perhaps they would have gone out to dinner and they would be in a quaint little restaurant with candlelight and no nosy people.

"Here? Or in the piano bar?"

John was drawn out of his dream of Anna smiling at him. "I don't like dancing," he replied, nearly pocketing one of the balls. "Here, I suppose."

"I was wondering if you would suddenly excel at snooker too now that you have a girlfriend, but I see I needn't be afraid. Thank you for placing that ball just right. Still as helpful as ever."

"You're welcome. Whoa, there's Max without Anita," John whistled softly. Anita was Maximilian's very possessive girlfriend. She was much too afraid that Max would find a girl with a more admirable character and therefore never let him out of her sight.

"You must be joking." Jeremy glanced at the entrance. "You're not joking. Did he finally see the light?"

"Nah, I think she just died."

"He's not crying."

"Who would be crying over Anita's death?" John asked, again rhetorically.

"Max."

"But he isn't."

"Then she's not dead."

"She has to be dead. She's not here." He knew the type from personal experience. They did not give up unless they saw a more attractive victim.

They abandoned their game for a moment to stare at Max. "She's undercover," Jeremy suggested and bent over the table again. "Maybe her hair fell out after all those peroxide treatments."

"Could we still call it hair?" John chuckled.

"Rope might be better. Does hair live? If it ever lived, it's dead now. Oops."

"Hi John." Anita perched herself on the edge of the snooker table three seconds later. She did not acknowledge Jeremy.

He was surprised that Anita actually knew his name and wondered what he had done to deserve this sudden attention. It was probably Anna. "Did Max dump you?" he asked indifferently.

"No," she opened her eyes very wide in an innocent manner. "That's not nice of you."

"Oh, I'm not nice. Ask Jeremy. He's only playing with me because he can beat me." But he really was not nice to people whom only now showed an interest in him.

Jeremy nodded. "I hate him. I'd rather bash him over the head with the cue, but they'd kick me out of the bar if I did. What brings you here?"

She looked from one to the other uncertainly, not knowing whether they were serious or not. "I only wanted to say hi."

"Don't do it," Jeremy advised. "He's not going to say hi back."

"No, it's not a word I use," John agreed. "Could you…" he gestured. "…get off the table? You're in the way."

Anita was in a huff and stalked off to the bar. The two men gave each other a high five and continued the game without wasting any more words on the matter.

"I'm sorry," Anna said to the woman from room 18.

"It happens," the woman answered as if to say that she did not mind. "My name is Valérie."

"Ann--" she hesitated and decided to drop the final A. "Anne." Anne was French and she was supposed to be French.

"My ex-husband frequently made me feel like that," Valérie shrugged. "Until I got rid of him."

Anna looked startled. The woman could not mean that she had murdered her husband, surely? Nobody would admit that if they had not been caught. "You killed him?" she asked incredulously.

"No! I divorced him. That scumbag was not worth going to jail for. I didn't give him the chance to drag me down with him. Imagine him laughing in his grave!" she laughed bitterly.

Anna looked perturbed. She could not imagine anyone feeling like that, although she was not very fond of the Prime Minister. But killing him was different and she saw Valérie's point. "Oh," she said, feeling incapable of offering any sort of helpful or suitable comment.

"What should I tell them if they ask?" Valérie asked with a sideways glance in the direction of the men. They were the only two women.

"Tell them I'm having my period," Anna shrugged. "Isn't that what they always blame everything out of the ordinary on? Tell them that if they ask. They needn't know me. I'll be gone anyway if my boyfriend comes to collect me."

"Will he come?"

"No," Anna said in a sad voice. "I don't think he will." He did not know where she was. She knew he did not know, but still she hoped he would somehow find out and come here to pick her up, even if that might be dangerous. "But I'm not afraid if I'm with him." She had no idea where he was at the moment. The television set had been broken and she had not been able to watch anything. When it had been fixed, she concluded that it did not make a difference. All channels were French and they would not have broadcast any tennis from other countries. Even on teletext the sports news was marginal, but she checked it daily. Up till now she had not yet come across his name.

Malling studied the documents that Hegge and Gris had photocopied. "Interesting," he murmured. "Quite interesting." There were detailed address lists and even copies of letters that the lawyer had sent out to people.

One name was of a fraudulent accountant whose case had successfully been defended by the lawyer. The Commissioner recognised his name and several others. "If we can link these people to the plotting, we have a nice case."

Anna looked through the window at the group of business executives making clay figures. She sighed and traced her finger along the bark of the tree she was leaning against. This was homesickness. She had never been away from home without anything to remind her of it, but here she was completely alone and living in a small cell, forced to wash herself with cold water -- well, not very warm -- and forced to start the day with porridge and kitchen duty, washing the porridge bowls.

The businessmen were an annoying crowd and unfortunately there were not many other people. Apart from them there were a few people who seemed to have come only for the peace and quiet and she had not quite figured out their occupations, except that one man seemed to be a scholar working on a book and Valérie who was recently divorced and trying to find the true self that had been oppressed by her ex-husband. They had kitchen duty with her, officially, although the man had helped exactly once and Valérie always only complained about men not doing anything, while she did not do much herself either.

The courses and workshops were open to everyone and not obligatory, although Anna never joined the assertiveness one. She could hardly motivate her reasons for wanting to become more assertive and she did not feel like concocting a lie about her occupation. The people were all French, but they might still know her. She went by Anne here to appear more French.

Sometimes she joined the handicraft workshops, if she felt like it, but today she did not. She longed for home. "You're so lucky," she whispered to the tree. "You'll never move until you're dead." There was no snow here unlike at home and the landscape was bleak and bare. Still, she liked it. The watery sun did its best to warm her and she smiled back. The sun was the same everywhere. Finally there was something familiar. It cheered her and she went back inside.

However, inside the feelings of loneliness assaulted her once again. The interior decoration made her nervous. It was meant to stimulate introspection, but it unsettled her. She sank into a lazy chair in the entrance hall, which was by far the most agreeably coloured room. Also, the paintings there were not as abstract as in the other rooms. If she closed her eyes she would not see them. The only thing that would remain to annoy her was the awful New Age muzak that was capable of making people very assertive indeed, assertive to the point of vandalism directed at the loudspeakers. They had been informed by a leaflet that the music would work on their subconscious and that it was like a medication. I didn't come here to be medicated, Anna thought to herself. I came here to hide.

She had three meals a day here and there was no need to go to the village, so nobody knew she was here. It was perfectly safe to sit here in the hall, in full view of the entrance.

Count de Messange de la Rochouliez, also known as Eduard de Trigny van Resse-Lichtenburg, had driven very fast. Nobody had been able to follow him. He did not know if they had tried in the beginning -- it had been too busy on the roads to see. Nobody knew where he had gone except Eliane and nobody knew that he had gone to pick up Anna. He saw her sitting there and something tugged at his heart to see her unhappy face. "Anna."

She opened her eyes and looked at him in astonishment. "Eduard!" She never called him uncle. He did not like that. And she did not call him Eduard in public either. "What are you doing here?"

"Picking you up."

"How did you know where to find me? I thought it was a secret?" she whispered in alarm. It made her happy to see somebody from home, nevertheless.

"Your mother told me that her brother had seen you and she guessed where you were. We didn't feel comfortable about you being so far away."

Anna's eyes widened, but she said nothing. She must have misheard that. They would have felt that separately. And she had not seen her uncle. Where and when had he seen her?

"Or do you like it here?"

"No. I'm even beginning to talk to trees!" Which, according to the staff, would probably be an excellent thing to do to get in touch with nature.

"Then come with me."

"Where to?" she asked and rose eagerly.

"My home."

There was a question nagging her, but she dared not ask him. It was her silly sentimentalism that was influencing her, she told herself, wiping away a tear of joy at being loved and cared for.

Eduard noticed her happiness and he was relieved. He had not known how she would react. He briefly looked at Anna's face and then back at the floor. She was pretty. Just like her mother. She resembled her mother so much. He remembered seeing Eliane get married and thinking he would never know another happy day in his entire life. And then she was going to have her baby and everyone had been worried because it was early. But not Eliane. Eliane had remained calm. Well, as calm as she could be under the circumstances. And he had known it then.

Alexander had never suspected. Why should he? Eduard was younger than Alexander. He was even a year younger than Eliane. They had both been post-war babies. He had been the youngest of his mother's children. The two others were girls and though his mother had been in her forties, she had wanted a son. He had been in his teens when he had first become an uncle and in his early twenties when a bride had been found for his cousin Alexander: a very shy French girl of excellent family, who only spoke French and who looked at everyone with frightened dark eyes, but whose greatest asset seemed to be that her mother and grandmother before her had aged beautifully and it was expected that she would too.

She had not had the strength to object -- marriage was her only future -- and she had become engaged rapidly. She was locked up for ten hours a day with the most eminent professors who were to teach her other languages, but she made no noticeable progress. He had become her friend when one time he had caught her smiling at a joke when she feigned to misunderstand everything else. He had smiled at her then, to let her know that her secret was safe.

If the family had never suspected anything because they thought he was too young for marriage, they should have seen that Eliane was too, but they had not. They had only thought of Alexander. He was glad for that. After the marriage he had had to give Eliane up, naturally, and he had needed a few years to reconcile him to the guilt that he felt. Together they were deceiving the entire world, for the widely welcomed heir to the throne was not Alexander's and therefore not the rightful heir to the throne at all. Until Alexander would have a son or Christian changed the rules of succession, the rightful heir was little Charles-Louis since he was the son of the younger son, unless nobody found out about Anna and she would succeed her father in default of brothers. He had hoped that they would have a son next, Eliane and Alexander, but then they had Marie-Celeste, who as her name indicated, was Celeste's granddaughter, whereas Anna was Anna's granddaughter. He did not know if Eliane had done that consciously, but it was a remarkable coincidence nevertheless. He still could not rest easily. Anna was still the first in line and according to the rules, she had no right to be so. Of course as far as blood was concerned, she had the same amount of royal blood as her sister -- their fathers were on the same line in the family tree.

He had wondered about Eliane. She was reserved and nobody knew if she was happy or not. They assumed that she was. She had two beautiful little girls and a popular husband, lived in a palace and did not have to lift a finger. But there were no more children, despite the fact that the pressure to produce a son was not to be ignored. He later asked himself if it had not been a mental block, wishing it had been that rather than the consequence of a loveless marriage. And then she had become pregnant again so many years after Marie-Celeste, but again it had been a girl.

He had been a diplomat, but somehow he had unconsciously been working towards one goal. When Alexander became king, he had taken on the job of grandmaster on a whim. He could not explain it to his sisters, but he could motivate his choice very well to himself. Eliane was the reason. He had spent years abroad and he had not seen her in person, but she was still as lovely as ever, if withdrawn. To the others she had always been withdrawn, but he knew better. He recognised the burden that lay on her shoulders. It had consequences for the way she treated her daughters: cautiously and not too affectionately, so that she would not betray anything.

Little Anna took after her mother. She too could look at people with that cautious, frightened stare, although she was a teenager when he saw her again. The spirit of the time had changed and there was no longer any pressure on her to get married right after finishing school. He had persuaded Alexander to send his daughters to university so they would be well prepared. He knew Eliane would have wanted to go if she could do her life over again.

He was not often alone with her and when it happened, they were reticent and did not allude to the past. It was difficult, but if he had to choose between this and not seeing her at all, he would choose this, even if it was torture. And then Alexander had died. He felt guilty for having secretly wished it and yet he had not wished it at all. It seemed that nothing in life was either good or bad. Life was not black and white -- it was grey and the grey hurt because Anna was not ready to succeed Alexander. He did not know if Anna would ever be ready, but this was definitely too soon. She cried at the funeral because it was going to be her turn now. He had seen it all, of course. He had to know if she had cried because she had loved Alexander. He did not think so. They had not really had a strong bond.

The first days had been awful. All Anna had done was cry. It had annoyed him and at times he had wondered how she could be his daughter, but he had always realised she would benefit more from help than from rebuke. He would not do the same as Alexander. That had obviously had a bad effect. Yet he could not overdo it. She was barely aware of the family relation between him and Alexander and she had only always seen Alexander play the superior. He could not suddenly change things with Anna if she did not know who he was.

Eliane had opened up a little more after her husband's death, but she would not even do something as going riding with him. She was not sure of herself and she had the three girls to consider. He understood that. Perhaps given time she would allow herself to feel more and do more than just play tennis with him and other people twice a week.

And then Anna had disappeared. Anna was his only child and he had been beside himself with worry, unable to show it except to Eliane. He had not known about the exercise. Presumably they had not told him because they had known he would have objected. Of course he would have objected -- he had become very fond of the girl.

The proud Eliane had given in to tears in private. He had seen them. The rest of the family thought she was heartless, but they had not known which concerns plagued her. For hours she sat in the meditation room, the former chapel, just staring at the paintings and the sculptures, ignoring the members of the staff who came to say brief prayers for Anna's safe return. He had nothing to do if Anna was not there and he had gone to look for Eliane. She had not ignored him, but she had looked at him pleadingly. Her eyes had been full of tears. He had sat with her, listening to her murmur to herself in French about her past mistakes. He could only tell her that they had done what had seemed best at the time. It was no use regretting things.

They had met in there every day; sometimes they talked and sometimes not, but in any case they knew what the other was thinking. They had been there when someone came to inform them that Anna had returned. Eliane had begun to cry and he had locked himself up in the lavatory for a good half hour. Eliane had not gone to see Anna until her tears were dry and her calm had been restored and she had not been the first of the family to greet her. The sad result was that people thought she took it all very lightly.

He had immediately recognised a change in Anna. He had to get used to having her contradict him now and then, but all in all it was a good thing that she was taking charge herself. He admitted to thoroughly being an aristocrat and although with his history he could not comment on Anna's premarital affair, in the beginning he had wondered if it was wise to associate with a young man who used public transport. But she was wild about him and he about her. We learn from our mistakes, he thought. At least the girl would not go through the same as her mother. Perhaps Eliane would have been happier if she had married him, but then she would not have had Marie-Celeste and Alexandra, whom she loved as much as she loved Anna. One could never tell how life would have turned out if things had gone differently. It had happened and one could not change the past. He sighed. Only the future.

Anna had packed her things and led him to the side exit. "I don't want any questions. There's supposed to be a French agent, but I have no idea who or where he is and if he will stop me if he sees me."

"Good girl," Eduard praised, carrying her suitcase. He had been wondering about the French agent, but he had not even seen any other people in the conference centre except for the nun at the entrance, let alone agents.

She sighed a relieved sigh when she sat next to him in the car. They were a long way from home, but they would go there and that was good. "I don't suppose I could see John?" she asked in a small voice.

"I don't know where he is." He regretted saying it, but it was the truth.

"I miss him," she said softly.

"And he misses you," he said reassuringly.

"How do you know?"

"I just know. You always miss someone dear to you."

He had driven away from home early in the morning and he had to fill his tank again, so he stopped at the first petrol station. "I'll pay," said Anna. "I speak French."

He spoke French too and he was amused that the shy Anna would offer to open her mouth. She had improved. "Would you buy me a sandwich?" he asked when he saw she was set on paying.

She returned without one. "They looked disgusting," she explained. "I really couldn't buy one for you. It would make me sick just knowing you were eating it. We'd better go to the restaurant. It will be another while before they find out I'm gone, so we have plenty of time."

They sat down at a table with their food. Anna looked around herself. Some of the travellers stared at her, but she assumed it was because they stared at any female under forty. Not that she looked so attractive, she thought. She was wearing jeans and her hair was in a ponytail. "Why did you come for me?" she asked.

Eduard shook his head for some mysterious reason. "I didn't like the idea of you being so far away."

"Did my mother send you?"

"No, although she did want to come." He had had to promise Eliane that he would bring Anna back even if she did not want to come and he had had a hard time dissuading her from coming.

Anna looked a little helpless when it turned out that he had spoken with her mother and that her mother had wanted to come. She chatted about things in the restaurant to hide her confusion about this apparent friendship. He listened to her chat and to her surprise they reacted in the same way sometimes. The stern Count was able to raise his eyebrows ironically if it suited him and the entrance of a colourful group of people was an excellent occasion. As Anna eyed him in wonder -- for she had always known him as serious -- he indicated a man who belonged to the colourful group. "Doesn't he look a little like John?"

Anna looked offended, because the man in question wore earrings and looked tacky in general. "How could you say that?" she asked in dismay. "He's got earrings!"

"And your fellow doesn't?" His eyebrows shot up again.

"No, I'd -- I'd --" She tried to think of a suitable punishment for the unlikely event that John would decide to take earrings.

"Take them out?" he suggested.

Anna shuddered. "Yes, eeeuuw."

"At first I had my reservations about him," Eduard admitted. "But your mother likes him very much and I've seen him at work now too."

"At work? Playing tennis?"

"No. I shouldn't have let you appear in public holding hands with him, much less let him open his mouth, but it had such a good effect on you." He looked at her fondly, but Anna was staring at the table. "Shall we continue our trip?" he asked.

"As if we didn't already have enough to deal with, we've got another complication. Don't tell Seton that Anna checked out of the convent," Malling warned his subordinates. "I just had word from our colleagues in France and their agent reported that Anna packed all her things some time this morning and left with her father."

"I think that French agent is seeing ghosts," Hegge commented. "Considering that her father is dead."

Malling had had the same reaction when he had first heard that, but he had been thinking about it. "I think the agent mistook the man for Anna's father, because she went along with him without protesting."

"Shouldn't the agent have followed them?" Gris asked.

Malling sighed. He would have preferred that too, but that had not been part of the agreement. "Never in the case of a voluntary departure. The French are not so stupid as to waste manpower on somebody like that. They don't have a clue who Anna is. I'm hoping that she was clever enough to realise that she can't go home with just anybody. I don't think her mother ever told her not to accept sweets from strangers, because I don't think she ever played in the street as a child."

"What about a tighter border control?" Raine suggested. "She might be coming back." He realised that she was not a fugitive criminal and that she had every right to go where she liked -- even as a queen, he assumed -- and that she might resent the measure.

"No results so far. They might have crossed off the motorway. We can't check all the small crossings. Let's hope she sends words that she's alright."

"It's not like her to run off," said Raine. "Are you sure it wasn't Seton who took her?" That would be a much likelier explanation, although Seton would never be mistaken for her father.

"He doesn't know where she was. Nobody knows where she was, unless Anna phoned them herself," said Malling. "She must have phoned this particular man, although she was surprised to see him. Anyway, it wasn't Seton, because he is too young to be taken for her father and the French agent specified that he didn't look like a lover. He might not even know about this."

"Another man?" Raine asked skeptically.

"Who doesn't look like a lover," Hegge added critically. "But don't forget that the French might have a different opinion on lovers. However, I don't think so. He's more likely to be a trusted friend or a relative. Why aren't we allowed to tell Seton?"

"If he hears about this, he's going to burst."

It struck Hegge as a bit odd that Malling seemed to be afraid of Seton. "Even though nobody is to blame? Except Anna herself, but that's a problem for the two of them to solve and they're pretty forgiving towards each other."

"Once someone gives them a push in the right direction," Gris added.

"The investigations are going well," the Commissioner reported to Marie-Celeste. "We're rounding up the network very nicely."

"Does that mean that Anna is no longer in danger?"

The Commissioner coughed. She introduced his problem very soon. "We should like to ask you where your sister is."

"What?" Marie-Celeste nearly exploded. It was impossible that he should not know where Anna was. They were the ones who should know.

Patrick placed a hand on her shoulder. He could almost feel her blood begin to boil through her skin and clothing. "Calm down."

"You lost Anna?"

"We don't know where she is." The Commissioner concluded that Marie-Celeste did not know that either. Who, then, had Anna gone with? "A middle-aged gentleman took her. Do you happen to know anyone --"

"If they could tell his age, then surely they could have prevented him?" Marie-Celeste asked in agitation.

"No, because your sister was under protection on a voluntary basis. She was free to leave and she could not be prevented from leaving."

"Amazing." Marie-Celeste shook her hand in dismay and wanted to say more, but Patrick stopped her.

"Think if you know any middle-aged men Anna would leave with," he said.

Marie-Celeste was unable to think, except that it was a gross stupidity to allow an unknown man to take Anna, even if Anna had gone willingly. Anna was a bit too naive to be able to discern good and bad motives. "Where was she?"

"I don't know that personally."

"Who does?"

"Mr. Malling does, but he didn't tell anybody."

"And yet somebody found out? Isn't that a crucial oversight on his part?" Marie-Celeste demanded. "I can't believe how carelessly Anna was dealt with!"

"I agree with you, Madam."

"But you can't do anything about it and it was not your fault," she continued with a sigh. "You're probably right, but it still vexes me."

"Wouldn't Anna know that her family would be concerned if they heard she disappeared?" Patrick asked. "Surely your mother would be worried? Wouldn't she tell her mother?"

"My mother hasn't told me anything yet."

"Would she?"

Marie-Celeste frowned. "Well, I think so…don't I have the right to know?"

"Really? Would your mother think that too?" Patrick asked. "Your mother doesn't seem to care one way or the other, so would she care that you'd want to know?"

The Commissioner felt it necessary to interrupt. It had been his impression that Eliane cared very much and he was curious to find out if she knew anything. She would perhaps not tell her other daughters -- he could think of reasons why she would not -- so he should not attach too much importance to the fact that she had not told Marie-Celeste anything. "Where is your mother? I should like to tell her in private."

"She's in her apartments, I suppose," Marie-Celeste answered. "Maybe it's indeed better that you tell her yourself that you messed up."

He decided not to react to that remark. There was no use in doing that. "Where are her apartments?" Marie-Celeste called a lackey to show him the way. He reflected on her reluctance to communicate Anna's disappearance to her mother. Was she afraid of how her mother would react? He would personally be more afraid of the grandmother's reaction. That would be a guaranteed example of illogical reasoning. Perhaps Marie-Celeste just did not like to get involved in any emotional situations.

Eliane greeted him politely but with a certain reserve, looking at him cautiously. He wondered if this meant that she knew anything or that she was afraid that he was bringing her bad news. "I don't know how to put this," he began.

"You don't know where Anna is," she said.

He narrowed her eyes at her. Was this merely an accurate guess or did she really know more? Her self-control was back in place and it was impossible to look into her mind. "How do you know?"

"Anna is safe."

"Where?" How on earth had she located Anna and taken her away from there? It was nearly impossible unless Anna had contacted her.

"Why should I tell you if you didn't want to tell me?" she asked calmly.

That was a good point. "I didn't know it either. But how did you know where she was? Did she contact you? I didn't think she would be that thoughtless." Perhaps being less than complimentary about her daughter would induce her to say something. After all, her daughter did the same if one was less than complimentary about Seton. It was worth a try.

Eliane shrugged. "The person who thought of the location should have considered where I was born. It's a small world, as they say. People are all too apt to think that I started existing the moment that I came here, to this country," she said in a slightly bitter tone. "But they forget that I grew up somewhere else, in another family, and that they are still living and that I'm still their sister and aunt and whatever and that Anna is their niece, whom they recognise."

"Do you mean one of your relatives saw Anna?"

"Yes."

The Commissioner bit his lip and tried to suppress a smile of relief. He had not thought it would be as simple as that. It was a ridiculous coincidence, really. But he felt sad for Eliane's sake. "Is it your mother-in-law you're referring to? I noticed she was a bit hostile towards you."

"I don't possess my mother-in-law's talent to blend into the family as if I were born into it," she answered. "Nor do I particularly want to. She forgets that I have relatives living and that she did not when she married."

"Who went to pick up Anna?" he asked. Her talking about her relatives made him think that the middle-aged gentleman might have been her brother. "Was it your brother?"

"It was not my brother."

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" It did not look as if she was going to.

"If I tell you, you'd want to know where she is and you'd get her away from there. She is with someone I trust and I'm her mother, so you may be sure that the person she's with is trustworthy. I wouldn't have…would I entrust Anna to just anyone? She is not a child anymore, but she's still my daughter. I'll help her if I have to. Do you have any children?"

"I have two daughters," the Commissioner replied. His daughters were younger, so he did think that Eliane was a little too fussy, although he could understand her concern. But Anna was capable enough on her own, he should think.

"Then I'm sure you'd do the same."

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