“Something about a very bad man who came to see you.” She moved toward the bed, leaned down, undid the clip and let her long hair fall into his face.
He breathed in the scent and said, “I’m going to find him. And I’m going to kill him.”
She pulled back. “You’re not afraid?”
“No.”
“You’re a strong man. I wish we weren’t here. I wish we were someplace else.”
“Me, too.”
“This man who did this to you… he must be so strong.”
“No, he’s just a smart bastard. Very smart.”
“How’re you going to find him?”
“I’m not sure.”
“In my business, I know a lot of people on the street. Maybe I can help you. Is there a reward?”
“There could be. But are you going to keep talking or take off your clothes?”
Valentina smiled and undid the rest of the buttons on her uniform. She moved back toward the bed and pressed her cleavage into his face. Doucet groaned softly. She rolled her eyes. She pulled back once more and said, “What does this guy look like?”
“White guy. About six feet. Longish hair. Unshaven for a week. His French was excellent, but something tells me he’s an American.”
“That could be anyone. You’ll never find him. Maybe a police artist could draw a picture for me.”
“We’re not using the police. I do this my way.”
“Okay. I’m sorry to talk about this. I’m here to make you feel better.”
“Then climb up on top of me, and take my pulse.”
She grinned, and just as he reached out to grab her wrist, the curtain wrenched open, and in walked a gray- haired, potbellied nurse who took one look at Valentina’s exposed black bra and screamed, “Who are you? Not another stripper on my floor! Get out! We’ve banned you people, you should know!”
Noboru was standing behind the woman, giving Valentina the high sign with his eyes.
She quickly folded her blouse closed and slipped past the nurse, dropping in behind Noboru. They raced to the end of the hall, turned right, and hit the stairwell.
“I’m sorry, Maya,” Noboru said as they charged down. “One of the nurses saw you close the curtain. I tried to distract her.”
“It’s all right. I got what we need. It was definitely Fisher.”
“He didn’t touch you, did he?”
She gritted her teeth. “Don’t worry about me.”
They reached the ground floor, and Valentina took a few seconds to finish closing her blouse.
“I am worried about you,” Noboru insisted.
“Why?”
“Because my life depends on you.”
“All right, I guess that’s a pretty good reason. Maybe…” She winked.
“That was kind of fun.” Noboru looked at her, then smiled weakly.
“Keep working on that smile. It’s still rusty.”
They pushed through the heavy exit door and started across the parking lot. “Ben?” Valentina called after activating her OPSAT. “No surprise: Doucet got his ass kicked by Fisher. I just wish Fisher had finished the job. That guy is scum.”
As Hansen cruised down another impossibly narrow street, he told Valentina to meet them back at the hotel. He and Ames wanted to make one more pass by Boutin’s apartment.
They had a couple of surveillance images of the man taken several years ago. Abelard Boutin was pushing sixty, and if you described him as being taller than five feet four, you were being generous. He squinted like a rodent through dark-rimmed glasses and attempted to cover his freckled and pockmarked skull with all of sixteen long, gray hairs in the classic comb-over style that fooled no one but has remained inexplicably popular for centuries. He was a gnome, a savant whose singular talent lay in the perfect artistry of his work.
And after all these years and all that work, the best he’d been able to afford was a basement apartment in Reims. Was he hoarding all the money? Helping to support someone? Or did he have certain…
Boutin’s apartment was located just west of the center of Reims, on the corner of rue de Vesles and Marx Dormoy, behind a clothing store and several other storefronts. Hansen was glad they’d made a dry run, since there was no parking at all on rue de Vesles because of some road construction and repair. There were signs posted up and down the street, with red railings fencing off the torn-up cobblestones. The maps had not revealed that.
A tunnel-like alley called the passage Saint-Jacques lay between a small pharmacy and several ATM machines. A wrought-iron gate with a security touch pad secured the entrance to the tunnel, and that gate stood in sharp, contemporary relief against the passage’s ornate stone arch, which made you feel as if you were walking through someplace very ancient and somehow sacred. Hansen and Ames had already decided that at least one, possibly two, of them would gain entrance to the courtyard beyond, either by hopping the gate or picking the lock. A second inspection revealed motion detectors, so those and the lock would have to be neutralized.
Hansen took them around the block one last time. Within the courtyard near Boutin’s apartment was an old church, and behind it an ornate carousel ride with bright lights and gleaming horses. Once again more fences lay between them and the courtyard where Boutin’s apartment was located, so entrance from the north would also require some climbing or lock picking. No big challenge. Just a nuisance.
Ames finished taking his pictures and lowered the camera. “You see the ass on the girl back there?”
“No, I was too busy reconnoitering the target and considering our plans for tonight.”
Ames shrugged. “You missed quite an ass.”
“Where in the training manual for covert field operatives does it say that you need to be loud, the class clown, and the center of attention?”
“Dude, it’s in the footnotes. You don’t read the footnotes?”
Hansen snorted. “If you don’t take this operation seriously—”
“Benjamin? Are you trying to seduce me?”
“Shut up! Listen to me. The quips are just irritating and they need to stop.”
“Whatever you say.”
“And leave the women alone. Maya will kick your ass, and I won’t stop her.”
“I’m just trying to have some fun. You people are so uptight. We could die out here because, yeah, maybe this whole thing’s a setup. Maybe Grim’s a traitor. Maybe we’re being used, so we might as well have a little fun along the way — because you know what, Mr. Hansen? Life’s too goddamned short. All it takes is one little spark, one little flame, and it’s all burned away… ”
“You don’t think I know about that?” Hansen asked, wishing he could fix Ames with a hard look but keeping his eyes on the road. “We’re all spies here. You found out Gillespie slept with Fisher the same way I found out about your family dying in a fire, about that Zippo you carry around, about your little problem with anger management. I even read Fisher’s report about you and your bad temperament.”
Ames began shaking his head and laughing. “You really think you know me, huh? You really do!”
“You’re about as uncomplicated as they come.”
“All right. I’ll accept that. Just a blue-collar kind of guy…”
Hansen stole a glance at the man and just sighed.
Anna Grimsdottir stiffened as the door opened and in strode Nicholas Andrew Kovac, deputy director. Kovac had an expression on his face that he assumed would intimidate her — but he should have thought again.
She nodded curtly at the regal-looking man, his hair the color of sea salt and perfectly coiffed, his eyes stunningly blue and suggesting he’d had no trouble with the ladies in his youth. His suits were tailor made, his shoes professionally shined, his ties picked out by his personal assistant. His watch cost more than the average
