ROCKENDORF'S IS ONE of the outstanding restaurants in Germany, its art nouveau decor long serving as a symbol of Berlin's prosperity.

When Diane walked in, she was greeted by the maitre d'. "May I help you?" "I have a reservation. Stevens. Miss Fronk is going to meet me here." "This way, please." The maitre d' seated her at a corner table. Diane looked around carefully. There were about forty customers in the restaurant, most of them businessmen. Across from Diane's table, an attractive well-dressed man was dining alone.

Diane sat there, thinking about her conversation with Heidi Fronk. How much would she know?

The waiter handed Diane a menu. "Bitte." "Thank you." Diane glanced at the menu. Leberkds, Haxen, Labskaus?She had no idea what any of the dishes were. Heidi Fronk could explain them.

Diane glanced at her watch. Heidi was twenty minutes late.

The waiter came to the table. "Would you like to order now, fr�ulein?" "No. I'll wait for my guest. Thank you." The minutes were ticking by. Diane was beginning to wonder whether something had gone wrong.

Fifteen minutes later, the waiter came back to the table. "May I bring you anything?" "No, thanks. My guest should be here any minute." At nine o'clock, Heidi Fronk still had not appeared. With a sinking feeling, Diane realized that she was not coming.

As Diane glanced up, she saw two men sitting down at a table near the entrance.

They were ill dressed and mean looking, and the word that came to Diane's mind was thugs. She watched as the waiter went to their table, and they rudely waved him away. They were not interested in food. They turned back to stare at Diane, and with a feeling of dismay, she realized she had walked into a trap. Heidi Fronk had set her up. Diane could feel the blood rush to her head. She looked around for a means of escape.

There was none. She could keep sitting there, but eventually she was going to have to leave, and they would grab her. She thought about using her cell phone, but there was no one who could help her.

Diane thought desperately, I've got to get out of here, but how?

As she looked around the room, her gaze fell on the attractive man sitting alone at the table across from hers. He was sipping his coffee.

Diane smiled at him and said, "Good evening." He looked up, surprised, and said pleasantly, "Good evening." Diane gave him a warm, inviting smile, pleased that he spoke English. "I see we're both alone." "Yes." "Would you like to join me?" He hesitated a moment and smiled. "Certainly." He rose and walked over to Diane's table.

"It's no fun eating alone, is it?" Diane said lightly.

"You're quite right. It's not." She held out a hand. "I'm Diane Stevens." "Greg Holliday."

* * *

KELLY HARRIS HAD been stunned by her terrifying experience with Sam Meadows.

After her escape, she had spent the night walking the streets of Montmartre, constantly looking behind her, in fear that she was being followed. But I can't leave Paris without finding out what's going on, Kelly thought.

At dawn, she stopped at a small cafe and had a cup of coffee. The answer to her problem came to her unexpectedly: Mark's secretary. She had adored Mark. Kelly was sure she would do anything to be helpful.

At nine o'clock, Kelly made the call from a telephone kiosk. She dialed the familiar number, and a female operator with a heavy French accent said, "Kingsley International Group." "I'd like to talk to Yvonne Renais." "Un moment, s'ilvousplait." A moment later, Kelly heard Yvonne's voice.

"Yvonne Renais. May I help you?"

"Yvonne, this is Kelly Harris." There was a startled exclamation. "Oh! Mrs. Harris-" In Tanner Kingsley's office a blue light flashed.

Tanner picked up the telephone. It was three a.m. in New York, but he had resolved not to leave his office until the troublesome problem was disposed of.

Now, as Tanner listened on the phone, he heard the conversation that was taking place in Paris.

"I'm so sorry about what happened to Mr. Harris. It was so awful." "Thank you, Yvonne. I need to talk to you. Can we meet somewhere? Are you free for lunch?" "Yes." "Someplace public." "Do you know Le Ciel de Paris? It's in La Tour Montparnasse." "Yes." In his office, Tanner Kingsley made a mental note.

"Twelve o'clock?"

"That's fine. I'll see you there." Tanner Kingsley's lips puckered into a thin smile. Enjoy your last lunch. He unlocked the drawer, opened it, and picked up the gold telephone.

When a voice at the other end answered, Tanner said, "Good news. It's over. We have them both." He listened a moment, then nodded. "I know. It took a little longer than we expected, but we're ready to go forward now?I feel the same way?Good-bye."

* * *

LA TOUR MONTPARNASSE is a 685-foot tower, built of steel and glass. The building was abuzz with activity. The offices in the building were fully occupied. The bar and restaurant were located on the fifty-sixth floor.

Kelly was the first to arrive. Yvonne came in fifteen minutes later, apologizing profusely.

Kelly had only met her a few times, but she remembered her well. Yvonne was a tiny, sweet-faced lady. Mark had often told Kelly how efficient Yvonne was.

"Thank you for coming," Kelly said.

"I would do anything I could to-Mr. Harris was such a wonderful man. Everyone at the office adored him. None of us could believe what-what happened." "That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Yvonne. You were with my husband five years?" "Yes." "So you got to know him pretty well?" "Uh, yes." "Did you notice anything in the last few months that seemed strange? I mean, any change in the way he acted or what he said?" Yvonne avoided her eyes. "I'm not sure?I mean? Kelly said earnestly, "Whatever you say now can't hurt him. And it might help me understand what happened." Kelly steeled herself to ask the next question. "Did he ever talk about Olga?" Yvonne looked at her, puzzled. "Olga? No." "You don't know who she was?" "I have no idea." Kelly felt a sense of relief. She leaned forward. "Yvonne, is there something you're not telling me?" "Well? The waiter came up to their table. "Bonjour, mesdames. Bienvenue au Ciel de Paris. Je m'appelle Jacques Brion. Notre chef de cuisine a prepare quelques specialites pour le dejeuner d'aujourd'hui. Avez-vous fait votre choix?" "Oui, monsieur. Nous avons choisi le Chateaubriand pour deux." When the waiter left, Kelly looked at Yvonne. "You were saying?" "Well, in the last few days before-before he died, Mr. Harris seemed very nervous. He asked me to get him a plane ticket to Washington, D.C." "I know about that. I thought it was just a routine business trip." "No. I think it was something very unusual-something urgent." "Do you have any idea what it was about?" "No. Everything suddenly became very secret. That's all I know." Kelly quizzed Yvonne for the next hour, but there was nothing Yvonne could add.

When they had finished their lunch, Kelly said, "I would like you to keep this meeting confidential, Yvonne." "You don't have to worry about that, Mrs. Harris. I won't tell a soul." Yvonne stood up. "I have to get back to work." Her lips trembled. "But it won't be the same." "Thank you, Yvonne." Who was Mark going to see in Washington? And there had been the strange phone calls from Germany and Denver and New York.

* * *

KELLY TOOK THE elevator down to the lobby. I'll give Diane a call and see what she's found out. MaybeAs Kelly reached the front entrance of the building, she saw them. There were two large men, one on each side of the door. They looked at her, then grinned at each other. As far as Kelly knew, there was no other nearby exit. Could Yvonne have betrayed me?

The men started moving toward Kelly, roughly pushing past the people coming in and out of the building.

Kelly looked around frantically and pressed against the wall. Her arm was bumping something hard.

She looked at it, and as the two men moved closer, Kelly picked up the little hammer attached to the fire alarm unit on the wall, broke the glass, and the fire alarm clanged throughout the building.

Kelly yelled, "Fire! Fire!" There was instant panic. People came running out of offices, shops, and restaurants, headed for the exit door. Within seconds, the hall was jammed, with everyone fighting to get out. The two men were trying to find Kelly in the crowd. When they finally got to where they had last seen her, Kelly had disappeared.

* * *

ROCKENDORF'S RESTAURANT WAS getting crowded.

"I was waiting for a friend," Diane explained to Greg Holliday, the attractive man she had invited to her table. "It looks like she wasn't able to make it." "Too bad. Are you in Berlin on a visit?" Yes.

"It is a beautiful city. I am a happily married man, or I would offer to be your escort. But there are some excellent tours in Berlin that I can recommend." "That would be nice," Diane said absently. She glanced toward the entrance. The two men were walking out the door. They would be waiting for her outside. It was time to make her move.

"As a matter of fact," Diane said, "I'm here with a group." She looked at her watch. "They're waiting for me now. If you wouldn't mind walking me out to a taxi-" "Not at all." A few moments later, they were heading out the exit.

Diane felt a deep sense of relief. The two men might attack her alone, but she did not think they would attack her with a man at her side. It would attract too much attention.

When Diane and Greg Holliday stepped outside, the two men were nowhere in sight.

A taxi was in front of the restaurant, a Mercedes parked behind it.

Diane said, "It was nice meeting you, Mr. Holliday. I hope-" Holliday smiled and took her arm, gripping it so tightly that Diane felt an agonizing pain.

She looked at him, startled. "What-?" "Why don't we take the car?" he said softly. He was pulling Diane toward the Mercedes. His grip tightened.

"No, I don't want to-" As they reached the car, Diane saw the men from the restaurant sitting inside, on the front seat.

Horrified, Diane suddenly understood how she had been trapped, and she was filled with an overwhelming terror.

"Please," she said. "Don't. I-" She felt herself being shoved into the car.

Greg Holliday moved in beside Diane and closed the door.

"Schnell!" As the car pulled into the heavy traffic, Diane found herself becoming hysterical. "Please-" Greg Holliday turned to her and smiled reassuringly. "You can relax. I am not going to hurt you.

I promise you that by tomorrow, you will be on your way home." He reached into a cloth pocket attached to the back of the driver's seat and took out a hypodermic needle.

"I'm going to give you a shot. It's harmless. It will put you to sleep for an hour or two." He reached for Diane's wrist.

"Scheisse!" the driver yelled. A pedestrian had suddenly darted in front of the Mercedes, and the driver jammed on the brakes to avoid hitting him. Caught unaware, Holliday's head slammed against the metal framework of the driver's headrest.

He tried to sit up, groggy. He yelled at the driver, "What-?" Instinctively, Diane grabbed Holliday's hand that was holding the hypodermic needle, twisted his wrist, and plunged the needle into his flesh.

Holliday turned to her in shock. "No!" It was a scream.

With growing horror, Diane watched Holliday's body go into spasms and then stiffen and collapse.

He was dead within seconds. The two men in the front seat turned to see what was happening.

Diane was out the door and seconds later in a taxi, headed in the opposite direction.