I PUSHED MY WAY UP to where he'd been standing seconds ago. Gone! I scanned the room. "I lost him," I spat into the walkie-talkie. "He must've ducked into the crowd. Son of a bitch!" For no good reason, I was mad at myself.

I didn't see Charles Danko anywhere. All the men were wearing tuxedos, looking the same. And all those people were exposed to danger, maybe even death.

I badged my way through a barricade and ran down a long corridor that led to the closed-off section of the museum. Still no sign of Danko. I ran back to the main ballroom and bumped into Molinari.

"He's here. I know he is, Joe. This is his moment."

Molinari nodded and radioed that no one, under any cir-cumstance, was to leave the building. I was thinking that if any kind of device went off in there, with all those people, it would be a total disaster. I'd die, too. And Molinari. It would be worse than the Rincon Center.

Where are you, Danko?

Then I caught a glimpse of him again. I thought so any-way. I pointed toward a tall balding man. He was circling away from us, ducking in and out of the crowd. "That's him!"

"Danko!" I yelled, pulling my Glock from its shoulder holster. "Danko! Stop!"

The crowd parted enough for me to see him remove a hand from his jacket pocket. He caught my eyes again - and then he smiled at me. What the hell did he have?

"Police!" Molinari shouted. "Everybody down!"

Charles Danko's fingers were wrapped around something. I couldn't tel............