The Matarese Circle [antikvár]

WE THREE KINGS OF ORIENT ARE, BEARING GIFTS WE TRAVERSE AFAR... The band of carollers huddled at the corner, stamping their feet and swinging their arms, their young voices penetrating the cold night air between the harsh sounds of automobilé horas and police whistles and the metallic strains of Christmas music blaring from speakers above garishly lighted store fronts. The snowfall was dense, snarling traffic, causing the hordes of last-minute shoppers to shield their eyes and somehow manage to side-step suddenly lurching automobiles as well as mounds of slush and each other, Tyres spun on the wet streets; buses inched in maddening starts and stops, and the bells of uniformed Santas kept up their incessant if futile clanging. FIELD AND FO UNTAIN, MOOR AND MO W-AN-TEN... A dark Cadillac sedan turnéd the corner and crept past the carollers. The lead singer, dressed in a costume that was somebody's idea of Dickens9 Bob Cratchit, approached the right rear window, his gloved hand outstretched, his face contorted in song next to the glass. FOLLOWING YA-HON-DER STAR ... The angry driver blew his horn and waved the begging caroller away, but the middle-aged passenger in the back seat reached