THERE WERE AMBASSADORS, cabinet members, business leaders everywhere, chatting in crowds, sipping champagne. Any second a bomb could go off. The vice president was being moved to safety. But Charles Danko could be any-where. What he had in mind, God only knew. We didn't even know what the bastard looked like now!

Molinari handed me a walkie-talkie dialed to his fre-quency. "I've got the wanted sheet. I'll go left. Keep in touch with me, Lindsay. No heroes tonight." I started to weave through the crowd. In my mind I drew an image of Charles Danko thirty years ago and transposed it onto every face I saw. I wished I'd asked the dean at Reed for some kind of current description. Everything had happened too fast. It still was going too fast.

Where are you, Danko, you son of a bitch?

"I'm searching the main room," I spoke into the walkie-talkie. "I don't see him."

"I'm here in the annex," Molinari replied. "Nothing so far. But he's here."

I was staring intently at every face. Our only advantage was that he didn't know we knew. A few Feds were quietly escorting people toward the exits. We couldn't cause a panic and give ourselves away.

But I didn't see him anywhere. Where was Danko? What was he planning tonight? It had to be big - he was here himself.

"I'm heading in to the Rodins," I told Molinari. There were large, recognizable bronzes on marble pedestals all around me, and people sipping champagne. I came upon a crowd gathered near one of the statues.

"What's going on here?" I asked a woman in a black gown.

"The vice pres............