Who would it be? Fisher wondered. So far he recognized two of the three opposing players. Would he recognize the other two? He'd know soon enough. He tried to look ahead, tried to visualize the surrounding streets as a chessboard, placing Kimberly and Ames on their respective squares. Vin was still moving, probably circling the block; they'd want to triangulate on the cars' position. . . . There.Vin appeared at the intersection to the west and stopped, taking up a static overwatch post. That meant the team leader and the remaining team member would be coming from the north, probably down rue Jeanne d'Arc.

As if on cue, two figures turned the corner opposite Vin and started toward the cars. Fisher remained perfectly still. The team would be at its most alert now, as it reunited. Eggs in a basket.

When the new pair was fifty feet from the cars, Vin, Ames, and Kimberly left their posts, collapsing toward the cars. The newest pair, a man and woman Fisher could now see, reached the Opel. The woman, a blonde, peeled off and walked around to the driver's side. Vin was right behind her, getting into the rear as the woman unlocked the doors. The man walked around the front of the Renault to the driver's door. Kimberly walked past Fisher's position, got in the front passenger seat as Ames got in the rear. Fisher lifted the AstroScope, focused on the Renault's driver, shot a burst, then lowered the camera.

Within seconds, the cars pulled out and drove down the block. At the intersection the Renault headed north, the Opel south. Once the engines faded, Fisher called up the last batch of shots on the Canon's LCD. In all but two of the pictures the driver's face was partially obscured by a patch of reflection on the Renault's windshield. The last two were enough. Fisher smiled. Ben Hansen.A decent choice for team leader. Nice to see you alive, Ben.Fisher hoped he didn't regret playing a part in this.

HANSENwould want to talk to the still-recuperating Doucet and company, but it was after midnight, well past visiting hours at the Centre Hospitalier Universitaire, so the visit would have to wait until morning--assuming they'd gotten into Reims late. If so, that left Hansen two options: settle in for the night or visit Doucet's warehouse and see what they could see. Fisher guessed the latter; Ben Hansen was proactive, to put it mildly. A "bulldog" was perhaps a better term. Though the police wouldn't have found anything of use at the warehouse, Team Hansen would be looking for altogether different evidence.

Fisher let five minutes pass, then walked back to Boutin's block. It was time for another field exam. From the trees beside the kebab restaurant, he watched Boutin's courtyard for fifteen minutes. Nothing moved. He moved in.

In the glow of his red-hooded penlight, he lifted the doormat. The tremble sensor had been moved, ever so slightly. Fisher checked the cell phone. It, too, showed signs of having been touched. Fail, he thought. Someone--probably Hansen--had either spotted or looked for the sensor. Having found it, he and his team should have doubled back and set up on Boutin's courtyard to see if anyone came to collect the device. So far, it was a mixed report card: some good tradecraft but some dumb mistakes and a missed golden opportunity.

FISHERdrove to Doucet's warehouse and drove around the industrial park until he spotted the team's cars; this time they'd parked a quarter mile apart. Hansen was learning.

He found a scrap yard, parked beside the hurricane fence enclosing the lot, then shook the fence a few times until certain no guard dogs were present. He then climbed atop the car, scaled the fence, and dropped down to the other side. On the west side of the dirt lot was a car compactor, next to it a crane with a glassed-in control booth. He climbed the ladder and slipped inside. A quarter mile to the north, over the tops of the stacked cars, he could see Doucet's warehouse. He lifted the Canon to his eye and zoomed in. For five minutes nothing moved, and then, from the skylight hatch on the roof, a darkened figure appeared. Then a second. They padded across the roof and down the same air-conditioning unit he'd used to gain entry two nights earlier.

In the corner of the AstroScope he saw a glimmer of light. He panned that way but saw nothing, so he returned his focus to the warehouse. Another glimmer. He snapped around in time to catch it.

In a parking lot across the street from Doucet's warehouse, a lone black Range Rover sat under a tree. Fisher zoomed in and adjusted the NV contrast until two man-shaped silhouettes came into view. He couldn't make out faces, but there was no mistaking the object the passenger was holding: a spotting scope. Aimed at Doucet's warehouse.

4

HUSSIGNY-GODBRANGE , FRANCE

FOLLOWINGthe extended arm of the lot attendant, Fisher pulled his rental car into the parking space and got out. He handed the rental agreement to the attendant, waited while she checked the car's mileage and condition, then took the receipt, grabbed his blue duffel bag, and started walking. The bus station was two blocks away; twenty minutes later he was heading west toward Villerupt.

He was exhausted. It was, in fact, hell getting old, Fisher decided. True enough, he was in far better shape than 90 percent of the people half his age, but the little aches and pains that at one time went unnoticed were harder to ignore now. The same went for sleep deprivation, but that wasn't anything that couldn't be cured by a tall cup of dark roast. And so far the aches were no match for a couple of tabs of ibuprofen. He checked his watch. Not quite eleven. Once he reached his destination he'd catch a couple of hours' sleep, then prep for the border crossing.

The night before, in Reims, he'd sat in the crane's control booth and watched until the rest of Hansen's team emerged from Doucet's warehouse and rallied back at their cars, with the mysterious Range Rover following, headlights off, at a discreet distance. The watchers themselves were being watched. But by whom? It was a question that would have to remain unanswered for the time being. Fisher watched from his perch until one of the team's cars and the Range Rover disappeared east down the D980, then headed back toward Reims, returned to his hotel, slept for four hours, and got up and headed north.

He pulled into the Villerupt terminal just before noon and checked into a hostel using one of Emmanuel's clean passports. No credit card was required. He paid cash for three days. Unless something went wrong, he would be staying only the afternoon.

ATthree o' clock Fisher left the hostel and walked a half mile west to the Sixt office on place Jeanne d'Arc and rented a sun yellow Chevrolet Aveo using Louis Royer's driver's license and one of Emmanuel's sanitized Master-Cards, then drove to a Lacoste outlet store and paid cash for three outfits: a red polo shirt over green trousers, a yellow polo over sky blue trousers, and khaki trousers with a long-sleeved navy blue button-down shirt. He completed the ensembles with a similarly mixed-and-matched trio of designer baseball caps and sunglasses. He used the changing room to don the red and green outfit, then stuffed the rest of the clothes in his rucksack and left.

Finally, he took the D16A northeast two miles to Russange, which straddled the border along with the Luxembourgian village of Esch-sur-Alzette, just two miles north up the D16/18. He found a local bike-rental shop, made the necessary arrangements, and then, following his guidebook, he found the Cafe Entrepot on rue Napoleon 1er and parked. Out his passenger window, a quarter mile to the northeast, he could see the France-Luxembourg border crossing.