"Vesa!" Fisher called. "There you are! Is she giving you trouble again?"

Vesa turned, and he stared at Fisher for moment before answering. "She? Oh, yes, the car. Something's wrong with the . . . the, uh . . ."

"The starter? Again?"

"Yes."

As he reached the car, he gave the lot attendant a friendly clap on the shoulder. "We'll be out of here in two minutes." He had no idea if the attendant spoke English, but as he opened his mouth to protest, Fisher smiled broadly and made a shooing motion. "Don't worry about us. We'll take care of it. Thanks."

He turned his back on the man, said, "Get in," to Vesa, then ducked under the hood. The attendant loitered a moment, then shrugged and walked away. Fisher leaned out and looked past him, back down the row of cars, where Qaderi and his companions were being led to a Mercedes-Benz S-Class. Eyes fixed on Qaderi, Fisher kept tinkering with the engine, wiggling hoses and tapping on parts, until he saw the Mercedes' reverse lights come on.

"Try it now," Fisher called.

Vesa turned the ignition, and the engine puttered to life. Fisher slammed the hood, gave the attendant--who had turned back around--a wave, then climbed in the passenger seat and told Vesa, "Go."

28

"NOTtoo fast," Fisher ordered, then adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see Qaderi's car. "Let them pass you."

"Okay," Vesa said nervously.

"You're doing fine," Fisher said.

"Your case is in the back."

Fisher glanced over his shoulder and saw the familiar Pelican case lying across the seat. He said, "First chance we get, I'll let you out and you can hail a cab."

"I can help. I can drive. I am a good driver."

Fisher shrugged. "If that's what you want." Fisher clicked on the dome light, leaned back between the bucket seats, and punched the correct code into the case's pad. He was rewarded with six green lights, a beep, and three mechanical clicks. He reached in and groped around until his hand found the butt of the SC pistol. He pulled it out and closed the case, then loaded the Ajax darts.

Qaderi's Mercedes passed them and got on the E70 and headed north toward Pitesti, where it joined the E81 and continued north into the foothills of the southern Carpathian Mountains. As night fell, and the Mercedes passed Ramnicu Valcea, the highway joined with the Olt River as it wound its way deeper into the mountains, through the villages of Calimanesti, Brezoi, Balota. . . .

"I think he's heading to Sibiu," Vesa said.

"Why do you say that?"

"It's the next biggest city. The man we're following doesn't strike me as someone who enjoys drives in the country. He's a man of purpose."

"You have a good eye."

"It's just logic."

"How far is it from Bucharest to Sibiu?"

"Two hundred thirty kilometers."

About 170 miles,Fisher thought. The Mercedes' range was far greater than that, so there was little hope for a refueling stop.

At Cainarii Mari, the Mercedes' taillights flashed once, twice; then Fisher saw the car's headlights swerving right, taking a fast turn over a bridge.

"Don't slow down," Fisher said. "Keep going."

"They're going to lose--"

"They're checking for tails. Trust me."

As the Opel pulled even with the bridge, Fisher darted his eyes sideways and caught a glimpse of the Mercedes, its lights now off, doing a U-turn on the bridge.

"Were they there?"

"Yes."

"Do you think they spotted us?"

"I don't know. We'll know shortly."

Three minutes passed; then the Mercedes' headlights reappeared in the rearview mirror. Fisher watched closely, trying to gauge its speed; it was gaining ground but not at an alarming rate. Over the next fives minutes the Mercedes continued closing the gap until it was a foot from the Opel's bumper.

"What's he doing?" Vesa said, hands tightening on the wheel.

"Relax. When they pass, make sure you glance at them."

"What? Why?"

"Because it's the natural thing to do when a car rides your tail like a maniac, then passes. Glance at them, gesture, get mad."

Fisher pulled his cap down over his eyes and nose and laid his head back on the rest, letting it go loose as though he were napping. "Let me know when they're passing."

"What if they shoot at us?"

"Then we know they spotted us. The first shot usually misses," Fisher added. "It's harder than the movies make it look. You'll have a second or so before the second, better, shot comes."

"I am not reassured."

"You're doing great."

"He's getting ready to pass us. He's in the other lane," Vesa reported.

"How fast?"

"Not too fast."

"Did he signal?"

"Yes."

"A good sign," Fisher muttered from under his cap.

"They're coming even with us."

"Give them the okay sign?"

"The what?"

"Form your thumb and forefinger to make a circle. Do it."

Vesa complied. After a few moments he said, "They're pulling ahead."

Fisher looked out from under the brim of his cap.

"What did that mean?" Vesa asked. "The circle."

"You called him a zero. Or, worse, an asshole."

"Oh."

Predictably, Qaderi's driver mostly obeyed the speed limit, never straying more than a few kilometers per hour under or over. Vesa's Opel had no cruise control, but he did a good job of keeping the car at a steady pace.

"What are we going to do?"

"Wait. And hope we get a break."

THEYdid, twenty minutes later, as they rounded a bend in the river and pulled into the town of Raul Valc. Again Fisher saw the Mercedes' brake lights flash a few times, but this time the turn was done slowly and evenly. A hundred yards back, Fisher could see the Mercedes had stopped at a gas station/convenience store.

"Drive past," Fisher ordered, and Vesa complied.

When the lights of the convenience store disappeared behind them, Fisher said, "Turn right here. Stop." Fisher reached up, toggled off the dome light, and opened his door. He climbed out and pushed his seat back into its fully reclined position. To Vesa he said, "Get back on the highway and keep heading north. Stay five miles under the speed limit. When the Mercedes passes you, wait until it's out of sight, then turn around and come back for me."

"And if they don't pass me? If they take another road?"

"I'll try to let you know. If it happens, get back as fast as possible. Go on, now."

Fisher slammed the door and started walking back to the convenience store.

HEhad no plan and no time to come up with one, so he kept walking, trusting his training and his experience to recognize an opportunity.

The lights of the convenience store appeared ahead. Ten feet before the sidewalk ended at the driveway, Fisher remembered his cap. He took it off and tossed it into the bushes, then turned into the parking lot. He jammed his hands into his coat pockets, hunched his shoulders, and loosened his gait, letting his right foot slap unevenly on the asphalt. The Mercedes was beside one of the pumps. One bodyguard stood pumping gas. The other stood just inside the store's front door. Qaderi was nowhere to be seen.