“Uh, sorry,” she said, and then repeated it in French. “ Pardon, pardon.I thought you were someone else.”

A male voice spoke up immediately behind her. “Mademoiselle? Is there something wrong?”

Annja jumped at the sound, not having seen anyone approach, and turned to find a gendarme standing nearby, his gaze on both of them. The officer’s hand was uncomfortably close to his pistol and it didn’t seem to be the kid who had him upset.

She smiled and tried to look embarrassed, which wasn’t hard to do, considering. “I’m sorry,” she said. “There’s no problem. None at all. I thought I saw an old friend and was trying to get his attention. I didn’t mean to make anyone upset.”

The kid spouted off an angry stream of French, determined to tell his side of the story. As the gendarme listened to the kid’s explanation of what had happened, which included more than one reference to the “crazy American lady,” Annja stared over their heads at the crowd, searching for the person she had seen.

But aside from a number of bewildered tourists, there wasn’t anyone there.

DUMPING THE SWEATSHIRT INTO a nearby trash bin was all it took to transform the Dragon into someone else. Disguises work best if they are simple and this was as simple as it got. Looking like a completely different individual now, the Dragon was even able to walk directly past the Creed woman without her being the slightest bit the wiser.

With that kind of anonymity, the Dragon could have stepped right up and slipped a knife into her back without her even suspecting that anything was wrong until the cold blade pierced her flesh. It gave the Dragon a certain sense of heady power and it was only the orders that precluded the woman’s death that prevented it from happening.

Another time, the Dragon thought, and reveled in the superior feeling all the way down the stairs, across the complex and out into the street.

Exiting the tourist attraction, the Dragon hailed a cab and went directly back to the Creed woman’s hotel, intending to take a good look around the room while she was still dealing with the gendarme.

The Dragon had long ago learned that looking as though you belonged allowed you to get away with being somewhere you didn’t almost ninety percent of the time. It was all about acting the part and having the right attitude. The employees at the hotel where the Creed woman was staying were no different than those anywhere else in the world; the Dragon marched straight through the lobby and into the elevator as if it were the most natural thing in the world and no one said a word.

Once inside the hotel, it was a simple matter to “accidentally” bump into a maid and pick the passkey right out of the pocket of her uniform. A quick trip up the stairs, a knock on the door to be certain no one was in the room and not ten minutes after entering the hotel the Dragon was standing inside the Creed woman’s suite, just as easily as the night before.

This time, however, the Dragon didn’t waste any time pondering the situation but set to work immediately to try to find the sword. The weapon had been described as a plain, unadorned broadsword and something like that could only be hidden in a few areas. The safe was out of the question; it was far too short and shallow. The shelf above the safe, on the other hand, was long enough and that was where the Dragon began.

From there the search progressed through the room. Under the bed. Under the mattress. Behind the curtains in the corner of the room. Under the cushions of the sofa. Inside the entertainment center. Behind the bathroom door.

The Dragon looked everywhere that made sense, even taking the time to stand on a chair and look inside the heating vent, but it was no use.

The sword was nowhere to be found.

A glance at the clock said it was time to get out of there; almost half an hour had already passed and the Creed woman might return at any moment.

But still the question nagged.

What had she done with the sword?

ANNJA SAT IN THE BACK of a cab, trying to decide what to do next. The misunderstanding in the chapel had put her on edge, that was for sure, but Annja was determined not to let it ruin the rest of her day. She’d have enough tension once she had the opportunity to speak with Roux, she knew; for now, she needed to stop being so paranoid and enjoy herself. It wasn’t as if the Dragon was after her, anyway; it was Roux who should be worried.

Having satisfied her need for architecture, she decided to take in some of the city’s art. She directed the cabbie to take her to the Musée d’Orsay, overlooking the Louvre along the left bank of the River Seine. The building itself had once been a railway station serving Paris-Orléans, so she hadn’t fully escaped the tug of form and design, but it now housed one of the more formidable displays of art in all of Paris, short of the Louvre itself. Once there she spent hours wandering up and down the long rows of displays, drinking in the creative talents of Renoir, Degas, Monet and van Gogh, just to name a few.

Her visit was marred, however, by the memory of the figure she’d seen in the chapel and the now-constant feeling that she was under observation. More than once she tried to catch someone in the act, but each time she looked, she was unable to see anything or anyone out of the ordinary. No one turned away too quickly. No one let their gaze linger too long. The museum was full of patrons and they had their eyes on the paintings, not on her. Yet the feeling persisted and made her uncomfortable enough that she eventually decided to call it a day.

She returned to the hotel around sunset, took some time to freshen up and to calm her nerves and then, after picking up her rental car, she headed out of the city for her rendezvous with Roux.

The drive south passed without incident and it wasn’t too long before she was pulling up in front of the massive gates that guarded the entrance into the estate.

As usual, once inside the house, Henshaw led her to the study, where she found Roux seated in the leather chair behind his desk, reading the day’s copy of Le Monde.

Seeing her, he rose and smiled. “Annja, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

She had already decided to play it straight. “I wanted to talk to you about last night.”

“Of course.” Roux ushered her over to a pair of leather armchairs and offered one to her while settling into the other one himself. “Before you say anything else, let me apologize for my boorish behavior at the end of the evening. My remarks were totally uncalled for and I hope you let them pass as the angry grumblings of a man whose home had just been invaded by thieves.”

He smiled pleasantly and Annja realized that he was being sincere; he really did feel bad for the things he had said to her. She gracefully accepted his apology and moved quickly past it to the reason she’d made the drive all the way out here.

Reaching into her backpack she withdrew a cardboard box in which she had safely tucked away the paper dragon, then withdrew the latter from inside the box. She stood the little paper dragon on the table between herself and her host.

“What’s this?” Roux asked, picking up the dragon and turning it over in his hands. “What a marvelous specimen. I didn’t know that you did origami.”

“I don’t,” Annja replied. “I discovered it in the display room last night while helping to clean up in the wake of the attack.”

Roux stopped looking at the figure and turned his head in her direction instead. She wasn’t surprised by his carefully blank expression—after all, he was a world-class poker player—but the very fact that it was there told her what she needed to know.

Roux understood the significance of what he was holding.

He wasn’t going to make it easy, though. “I’m sorry?” he said, as if he hadn’t heard her correctly.