“I think so.” Now was not the time to hesitate. “Her name’s Lisa Tambor.”

The woman checked her directory, frowned. “I’m sorry, sir. No one using the name Lisa Tambor works in the Newlin.”

That would’ve been too easy, he told himself. “What about a man named Kemal Tarragon?”

She checked her file. “Sorry, sir. Neither of those names rings a bell.”

He started to describe Tarragon, switched instead to a more memorable image.

“The woman, Tambor, is a little taller than you. Extremely beautiful, dark skin, very exotic look. Blue eyes.” In this country of largely pallid citizens, Lisa would stand out sharply. “Very large eyes, petite figure but not skinny.”

“I still don’t recognize the name.” The receptionist hesitated, “But I think I may have seen the young lady you refer to.”

Eric’s hands tightened on the edge of the desk, bending the hard plastic. Fortunately the woman didn’t look down;

“She went upstairs with a Mr. Brostow. That would be Canal Imports, I think.” She consulted her list. “Yes. You might inquire about her there.”

“How do I find Canal Imports?”

“Twenty-eighth floor, suites sixteen through thirty.”

“Mr. Brostow. Thank you very much, you’ve been a big help.”

“You’re welcome, sir. No trouble at all.”

Eric moved toward the elevators, at the last instant thought better of it and searched until he’d located the fire stairs. His brain worked feverishly as he climbed. It was too much to hope that Lisa might be here, too much to think he might get a break after everything that had happened. He’d expected to have to find the man who’d eyed him in the hospital, then Tarragon or some highly placed assistant, then Lisa.

But if she’d been brought to England, why not here? Why not this building? He remembered how she’d obeyed Tarragon’s order back in her codo in Nueva York. Would she do the same if the confrontation was repeated? How could he be certain of her reactions?

Then he was at the twenty-eighth floor and peering down a heavily carpeted corridor. One or two severely clad business types crossed from one door to another. From his position by the stairwell he could see the elevator access clearly. There were no signs of any guards.

As casually as possible, he stepped out into the corridor and began scanning suite numbers. As soon as he reached sixteen he began querying receptionists. None had heard of Lisa Tambor, but what had worked below worked equally well on the twenty-eighth floor.

“I think I saw someone of that description, yes,” said the young man behind the narrow desk. “I was coming back from my lunch break and—”

“Which suite?" Eric spoke more sharply than he intended, tried to soften it with a smile.

“It’s strange, you know. At the end of the hall there are two doors, one on the left side, one on the right, and they’re not marked. I think that’s where I saw her, coming out of one of those doors. I say it's strange because I always assumed they led to storage rooms. You know, for janitorial equipment and like that. They’re certainly not connected to any of Canal Imports’ offices.”

“Thank you,” said Eric.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to get inside,” the youth hastened to add. “They’re always locked." He smiled apologeticaly. “I know. I’ve tried myself, out of curiosity.”

“It’s all right,” Eric told him. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Be careful,” the man told him. “Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

“I know, but I have nine lives.” He hurried to the end of the hallway.

As the receptionist had indicated, there were the two opposing, unmarked doors. There was no sign of a buzzer or ringer, and the handgrip was set flush with the surface of the plastic. No twist-proof door was going to stop him, not now. He pushed and pulled sideways simultaneously. Metal protested loudly, then gave with a snap.

He stepped inside, found himself in a narrow hall. As he walked he found himself peering into empty offices. Once or twice individuals emerged, glanced indifferently at him and vanished behind soundproofed doors.

He started trying the doors. When he intruded he excused himself with a quick smile and a few words. As he was beginning to despair, he opened a door which did not admit him to an office. Instead, he found himself staring into a large, comfortably furnished room. Sitting on a couch facing a window overlooking the Thames was a slim figure. The sight sent a shiver through him from toes to fingertips. He closed the door softly behind him.

She likes to look at rivers, he told himself. We’ll have to find someplace that overlooks a river.

She sensed his presence before he could say anything, turned slowly. Recognition sent one hand to her mouth, and those magnificent wide eyes grew wider still.

“Eric,” she whispered. “Eric.”

“Hello, Lisa.” He moved toward the couch, glancing warily to left and right. For the moment, at least, they were alone.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Then, in a completely different tone, “They told me to forget about you, that I’d never see you again.”

“They’re not always right,” he murmured, wondering as always who “they” were.

His body moved of its own voliton and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to step around the couch to sweep her up in his arms. The fervor of her embrace dispelled any final, lingering doubts he might have held. All the agonies and pain of the past week, all the questioning and confrontation were washed away by the tears she poured out on his shoulder.

“I don’t understand you.” He used a gentle finger to wipe tears from the corners of her eyes. “In Nueva York Tarragon tells you to go to your room, and, like some dumb automaton, you comply. You never came out to see what was happening to me.”

She looked back toward the river. “I didn’t want to see what was happening to you because I knew what was going to happen to you.”

“But to leave like that, without a protest, without a good-bye. Why?”

“Because I had to,” she told him simply. “Tarragon is one of my bosses. I have to do what he says.”

“Not anymore you don’t. Not ever again.”

She shook her head sadly. “It’s so easy for you to say that, Eric.” The bitterness in her voice was directed more at herself than at him. “You still don’t know anything.”

“Do you still love me?”

“That’s a stupid question. Of course I love you. It shouldn’t be and I don’t know why I should but I do.”

“It’s simple for me. I know that I should love you and that it should be. It’s right.”

She looked past him, toward the door. “How did you find me here?”

He was too exhausted to feign bravado. “It wasn’t all that hard. I flew in on a plane, had a nice rest in a comfortable bed provided by the State, enjoyed some organized exercise, and here I am.” No need to go into details she wouldn’t believe anyway, he mused. “And now you’re leaving this place, leaving Tarragon and your other ‘bosses,’ to come with me.”

“Where?”

“To Phoenix, of course. We’re going to get married.”

“Then what, Eric?”

“Settle down, have some children.”