“Let’s mount up,” said Shaknahyi.

“If I got time later,” I said, “I’ll drop in and see how y’all are doing.”

“We’ll be fine,” said Pualani. “We know how to do our jobs. You just watch your ass around Chiri.”

“Protect your middle,” said Indihar. “If you know what I mean.”

I waved and headed back to the patrol car. Shaknahyi gave Indihar a little kiss on the cheek, then followed me. He got behind the wheel. “Ready to work now?” he asked. We were still sitting at the curb.

“How long you known Indihar? I never seen you come into Chiri’s club.”

He gave me this wide-eyed innocent look. “I been knowing her for a long time,” he said.

“Right,” I said. I just left it there. It didn’t sound like he wanted to talk about her.

A shrill alarm went off, and the synthesized voice of the patrol car’s comp deck crackled. “Badge number 374, respond immediately to bomb threat and hostage situation, Cafe de la Fee Blanche, Ninth Street North.”

“Gargotier’s place,” said Shaknahyi. “We’ll take care of it.” The comp deck fell silent.

And Hajjar had promised me I wouldn’t have to worry about anything like this. “Bismillah ar-Rahman ar-Raheem, “I murmured. In the name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful.

This time as we rode up the Street, Shaknahyi let the siren scream.

There was a crowd gathered outside the low railing of the Cafe de la Fee Blanche’s patio. An old man sat at one of the white-painted iron tables, drinking something from a plastic tumbler. He seemed oblivious to the crisis that was occurring inside the bar. “Get him out of here,” Shaknahyi growled at me. “Get these other people out of here too. I don’t know what’s happening in there, but we got to treat it like the guy has a real bomb. And when you got everybody moved back, go sit in the car.”

“But—”

“I don’t want to have to worry about you too.” He ran around the corner of the cafe to the north, heading for the cafe’s rear entrance.

I hesitated. I knew backup units would be getting here soon, and I decided to let them handle the crowd control. At the moment, there were more important things to worry about. I still had Complete Guardian, and I tore open the shrink-wrap with my teeth. Then I chipped the moddy in.

Audran was sitting at a table in the dimly lighted San Saberio salon in Florence, listening to a group of musicians playing a demure Schubert quartet. Across from him sat a beautiful blond woman named Costanzia. She raised a cup to her lips, and her china-blue eyes looked at him over the rim. She was wearing a subtle, fascinating fragrance that made Audran think of romantic evenings and soft-spoken promises.

“This must be the best coffee in Tuscany,” she murmured. Her voice was sweet and gentle. She gave him a warm smile.

“We didn’t come here to drink coffee, my darling,” he said. “We came here to see the season’s new styles.”

She waved a hand. “There is time enough for that. For now, let’s just relax.”

Audran smiled fondly at her and picked up his delicate cup. The coffee was the beautiful color of polished mahogany, and the wisps of steam that rose from it carried a heavenly, enticing aroma. The first taste overwhelmed Audran with its richness. As the coffee, hot and wonderfully delicious, went down his throat, he realized that Costanzia had been perfectly correct. He had never before been so satisfied by a cup of coffee.

“I’ll always remember this coffee,” he said.

“Let’s come back here again next year, darling, “said Costanzia.

Audran laughed indulgently. “For San Saberio’s new fashions?”

Costanzia lifted her cup and smiled. “For the coffee,” she said.

After the advertisement, there was a blackout during which Audran couldn’t see a thing. He wondered briefly who Costanzia was, but he put her out of his mind. Just as he began to panic, his vision cleared. He felt a ripple of dizziness, and then it was as if he’d awakened from a dream. He was rational and cool and he had a job to do. He had become the Complete Guardian.

He couldn’t see or hear anything that was happening inside. He assumed that Shaknahyi was making his way quietly through the cafe’s back room. It was up to Audran to give his partner as much support as possible. He jumped the iron railing into the patio.

The old man at the table looked up at him. “No doubt you are eager to read my manuscripts,” he said.

Audran recognized the man as Ernst Weinraub, an expatriate from some Central European country. Weinraub fancied himself a writer, but Audran had never seen him finish anything but quantities of anisette or bourbon whiskey. “Sir,” he said, “you’re in danger here. I’m going to have to ask you to go out into the street. For your own safety, please move away from the cafe.”

“It’s not even midnight yet,” Weinraub complained. “Just let me finish my drink.”

Audran didn’t have time to humor the old drunk. He left the patio and walked decisively into the interior of the bar.

The scene inside didn’t look very threatening. Monsieur Gargotier was standing behind the bar, beneath the huge, cracked mirror. His daughter, Maddie, was sitting at a table near the back wall. A young man sat at a table against the west wall, under Gargotier’s collection of faded prints of the Mars colony. The young man’s hands rested on a small box. His head swung to look at Audran. “Get the fuck out,” he shouted, “or this whole place goes up in a big bright bang!”

“I’m sure he means it, monsieur, “said Gargotier. He sounded terrified.

“Bet your ass I mean it!” said the young man.

Being a police officer meant sizing up dangerous situations and being able to make quick, sure judgments. Complete Guardian suggested that in dealing with a mentally disturbed individual, Audran should try to find out why he was upset and then try to calm him. Complete Guardian recommended that Audran not make fun of the individual, show anger, or dare him to carry out his threat. Audran raised his hands and spoke calmly. “I’m not going to threaten you,” Audran said.

The young man just laughed. He had dirty long hair and a patchy growth of beard, and he was wearing a faded pair of blue jeans and a plaid cotton shirt with its sleeves torn off. He looked a little like Audran had, before Friedlander Bey had raised his standard of living.

“Mind if I sit and talk with you?” asked Audran.

“I can set this off any time I want,” said the young man. “You got the guts, sit down. But keep your hands flat on the table.”

“Sure. “Audran pulled out a chair and sat down. He had his back to the barkeep, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Maddie Gargotier. She was quietly weeping.

“You ain’t gonna talk me out of this, “said the young man.

Audran shrugged. “I just want to find out what this is all about. What’s your name?”

“The hell’s that got to do with anything?” “My name is Martd. I was born in Mauretania.” “You can call me Al-Muntaqim.” The kid with the bomb had appropriated one of the Ninety-Nine Beautiful Names of God. It meant “The Avenger.”

“You always lived in the city?” Audran asked him.

“Hell no. Misr.”

“That’s the local name for Cairo, isn’t it?” asked Audran.

Al-Muntaqim jumped to his feet, furious. He jabbed a finger toward Gargotier behind the bar and screamed, “See? See what I mean? That’s just what I’m talkin about! Well, I’m gonna stop it once and for all!” He grabbed the box and ripped open the lid.

Audran felt a horrible pain all through his body. It was as if all his joints had been yanked and twisted until his bones pulled apart. Every muscle in his body felt torn, and the surface of his skin stung as if it had been sandpapered. The agony went on for a few seconds, and then Audran lost consciousness.