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wanted to give him? Who the hell were these two and what was their game?
He tried to keep himself from feeling both devastated and enraged. He felt as though he had been used—by Colette, Freich, even by Larry Buchanan.
    “Are there more than two coins that you are aware of?” Caine inquired, attempting to plant doubt in their minds and to keep the conversation going. He theorized that Beekman and Freich might be collectors of some sort.
    “Not to our knowledge,” Colette answered with a slight frown.
    “It would seem likely,” Caine said, softly nudging the doubt along.
    “But then again, they could be the only two of their kind in the entire world,” said Freich.
    “In that event, they would have to be considered among the rarest objects on Earth,” said Caine. “Making this,” he added, picking up the jewel box from the desk, “a true objet d’art.”
    Freich nodded noncommittally. “Would it be asking too much for you to jot your conclusions down in a letter, Montaro? We could have it picked up at your office some time next week, if you would be so kind.”
    Caine’s mind reeled. Apparently, he had been had. He had given far more than he had intended and had received far less than he had expected. The compensation Freich and Beekman were going to give him was irrelevant, and so was their vague interest in Fitzer, which now struck him as little more than a con; he still knew nothing that he needed to know. Beekman and Freich had awakened a curiosity in him that had lain dormant all these years; it would distract and nag at him, and yet he still had no way to resolve it.
    Colette raised her palm to Caine, who transferred the jewel box to her outstretched hand. Touching her soft, warm hand distracted himmomentarily. The physical exchange, to both their surprise, somehow turned into a prolonged, tender handshake. “Thank you again, Montaro. It was good of you to take the time away from your busy schedule to help us,” she said. “You can send the invoice to our attention at the Waldorf. They’ll forward it to us.”
    Caine made no reply.
    Turning, Colette moved toward the door where Freich waited.
    “Good-bye, Montaro,” Freich said, with a wave of his hand.
    Caine nodded. He kept his eyes on Beekman’s legs as she moved through the outer office.
    When Freich closed Borceau’s office door behind him, Montaro buzzed Gina Lao, and over the intercom ordered her to find her boss as soon as possible. Within minutes, Borceau arrived out of breath. Without skipping a beat, Caine ushered him into the laboratory, where he showed him a few minuscule fragments of the coin he had purposely set aside, slivers containing the unknown elements.
    “I want to know everything you can tell me about these,” said Caine. He made no mention to Borceau of the coin or the other elements, of what he was looking for, or of what he thought Borceau might find.
    Caine then returned to Borceau’s office, where he immediately got on the intercom with Gina again. “Get me Dr. Michael Chasman’s office at M.I.T.,” he told her. A few moments later, Caine was put through to Dr. Chasman’s secretary, Madeline Pitcar.
    “Hello, Madeline. How are you?” Caine said into the phone. As he spoke, he tried to envision the flirtatious, bleached-blond secretary of his former mentor; she had to be pushing sixty by now.
    “Hello, I’m fine. How are you?” Madeline responded uncertainly.
    “I’m O.K., but I’d feel a lot better if I was sure you hadn’t forgotten me. It’s Monty Caine—Montaro Caine.”
    “Oh my, Monty, forgive me,” she said. “What a pleasant surprise, but Dr. Chasman is not here.”
    “I’ve got to talk to him. It’s urgent,” Caine said.
    “I’m sorry, I don’t know where he is. He’s away.”
    “It’s absolutely critical, Madeline.”
    “I don’t know what to tell you, Monty. He’s out of town; I just don’t know where. He said something about Europe.”
    “I’ve got to track him down. Does