Prologue

Jacquelyn Devereux stood in front of the large smoked plate glass window, and surveyed her domain. From the top of one of the high glass towers in downtown Chicago, the telecommunications specialist contemplated her lot with satisfaction.

"Not bad for a second-generation transplant from the back alleys of Marseilles," she thought. "Not bad at all."

Built from nothing, Devereux Communications was now one of the dominant forces in the industry. A satisfying consequences of that was it allowed her and her beloved family and friends to live a life of luxury and style in their large secluded estate north of the city.

It also allowed them to discretely follow their very unconventional lifestyles, which, she thought with glowing contentment, might not always meet the approval of their more conservative neighbors. Or the police, for that matter.

Turning abruptly from the magnificent view of the Chicago waterfront, Devereux went to her mahogany desk and sat in the plush leather seat. After sparing a quick glance around her elegant office, she pulled a key from a small, secret compartment in the desk and unlocked the center drawer. This was where she always kept her special things, secret things. From a stack of slim manila envelopes, she took from the drawer one marked only by a large red 'F', and carefully opened it.

Inside the envelope were six single-page personal summaries, each with an attached small color photograph in the upper left corner. She saw with satisfaction that each photo was the professionally done half-length portrait of a beautiful young woman. She closed the drawer and removed all of the files from the envelope. She then methodically spread the files out across the empty top of the large desk.

"Now, what choices does she have for us this time?" she said softly, her dark eyes glittering slits behind the lowered lids.

Forthingill was very expensive, but her stock was the best in the trade, no question.

"Where does she find them?" Jacquelyn quietly wondered.

She read each of the files carefully. After a quick deliberation, she selected one and returned the rest to the envelope.

The name at the top of the sheet read "Valentine, Athena****." The stars were Forthingill's own estimate of the girl's suitability to her client's needs. Four stars was the highest rating possible.

Forthingill always made it a point to guarantee nothing. Her ratings were a measure of potential, and that was all. With human nature, nothing was certain. But, her estimates were inevitably quite accurate, and well worth the non-refundable, and usually astronomical price.

Jacquelyn went down the girl's statistics: parents divorced, lived from early infancy with strict mother, equivalent high-school degree based on home tutoring, age 18, height 5'6", weight 110 pounds, bust 35", waist 22", hips 34", hair blonde, eyes blue, no distinguishing marks.

She looked at the girl's portrait again. "Perfect," she thought. "Just perfect."