Horatio moved in first, lifting his pistol with an attached silencer. He was forty, broad shouldered like a linebacker but narrow waisted and light on his feet. He'd been severely burned on his neck and lost part of his right ear. He'd never talked about how or why. He kept his bald pate shaved and glistening, and his right arm was entirely tattooed, probably to disguise more scars.

Behind him came Gothwhiler, the scrawny extraterrestrial, pale as a ghost with hair dyed jet-black. He was older than Horatio, wore diamond earrings, and seemed to own only khaki cargo pants. Noboru had never seen him wear anything else in the ten months he worked for the man. Horatio and Gothwhiler were both Brits, former military men (they would not reveal more about that), and had founded a private military company, or PMC, called Gothos and headquartered in the United Kingdom.

Noboru rolled off the bed, started for the window, but Horatio was already crying out, "Don't do it, mate."

He hesitated, glanced back at the hard-eyed Brit.

"Just return the money," said Gothwhiler, lifting his own pistol.

"I took back what was mine. Nothing more."

"We don't care," snapped Horatio. "You're a very naive young man. And trust me. I know what it's like to play with fire. . . ."

Noboru had completed a two-part assassination job for the company, killing the CEO of a competing PMC headquartered in Hong Kong. Once he'd killed the old man, he'd been instructed to kill the man's wife and seventeen-year-old daughter, in order to make a "lasting impression" on the firm's remaining employees, whom Gothos wanted out of the mercenary business.

After assassinating the CEO, Noboru had spent a week studying his targets and realized that he couldn't bring himself to complete the job. He returned and asked for half of his two-hundred-thousand-dollar payment.

Because he had not "completed" the mission, Gothwhiler had refused to pay him anything. With the help of an old friend in the special forces, Noboru hacked the company's account and withdrew half his fee--only the half he believed they owed him.

Consequently, Horatio and Gothwhiler had made it their mission in life to find him, get back their money, and then, of course, make Noboru suffer a long and painful death.

Noboru had no intention of ever returning the money. He had already sent it to his parents in Yokohama, and they had already used it to save their house and get ahead on the bills. And if these two Brits were going to kill him, he'd force them to do it quickly, which was why, without a second's hesitation, he threw himself out the window. Horatio fired and Gothwhiler screamed for him not to, since only Noboru knew where the money was and could return it.

But Horatio was no amateur marksman, and his round had managed to catch Noboru in the right arm just as he'd been passing through the window.

He landed in the garbage below and immediately rolled down the bags and came up, as the first stinging from the gunshot wound took hold. He rose, raced to the brick wall, and glanced down at his bleeding arm.

Then he raced to the main entrance of the building, where he knew Horatio and Gothwhiler would emerge.

They had surprised him in his apartment. He only wanted to return the favor.

Gothwhiler came out first, and Noboru, in one fluid movement, took him from behind, wrapping an arm around his neck and seizing the man's wrist so he could direct his pistol toward . . .

Horatio, forcing both men to hold their fire, if only for a few seconds. Noboru drove his knee into Gothwhiler's spine, and as the man groaned, he shoved him forward, into Horatio, who lost his footing and dropped back onto his rump.

Two old men on the opposite side of the street began shouting, and, in that instant, Noboru made a decision.

Run.

He bolted around a row of parked cars, and, using them as a shield, crouched over and reached the next cross street.

Now he was into a full sprint, weaving his way through the throng of pedestrians, stealing glimpses over his shoulder, feeling the blood dripping from his arm.

His heart was drumming in his ears, rapping hard, sounding strangely like a knuckle rapping on glass.

"What the hell is this, Bruce? Open up!"

Noboru shook awake, his arm throbbing as it had back then, and found himself staring directly into Mr. Louis Moreau's ugly mug and grateful there was a piece of glass between them.

Moreau stepped back from the car and waved him out.

"Maya, wake up. Our runner is here. I don't think you'll be happy."

HANSENand Ames were about halfway to Boutin's apartment when Grim called, and he spoke to her via his SVT and subdermal. "Ben, I need to make this brief. There's been a slight change in how this operation will be coordinated. When your runner arrives, he'll explain everything. I'll be out of touch for a little while."

"Grim, wait. I have questions."

"I wish I could answer them. I really do. Suffice it to say that you need to focus on the job. Good luck, Ben."

"Wait."

She ended the call.

"She says there's been a change in plans, in how we'll coordinate."

"What does that mean?" asked Ames.

"The runner's supposed to tell us."

"WHATis this?" asked Valentina, standing outside their car. She was furious that Moreau et al had lied to them about his whereabouts and probably more. "You were just talking to Kim on the computer, and she said you were back at Fort Meade."

"First, let's slow down, Nurse Ratched--and speaking of which, I've got your uniforms and IDs in the trunk."

"Nurse who?"

"I don't believe it. Are you going to stand there and tell me you have not seen One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest?"

Valentina frowned. "It's a movie?"

"Of course it is, sunshine!"

"I am not familiar with that movie, either," said Noboru.

"Aw, you boys and girls got to be kidding me. When you're drunk or bored sometime, Google it. For now, listen up."

Valentina snickered. "For the second time, why are you here?"

"I'm getting to that. You'll be coordinating directly with me right here in Reims, but we want them to think I'm at 3E headquarters."

"We want who to think?"

"Kovac."

"What're you talking about?"

"He's got his eyes and ears all over us. Grim and I decided that it was more important for me to work hands on this time around. So I brought you the gear and my shining personality, and I'll be staying right here while you track Fisher. You'll have a secure, encrypted link directly to me, and I'll update Grim. Bottom line: Tech operations has just gone mobile. Hallelujah!"

Moreau stood there a moment as Valentina and Noboru faced him, resigned to their fate.

"What's the matter, Nurse Ratched? You're not happy to see me?"

"Thrilled."

"Sir, I am glad to see you. I have been thinking about a nickname for you, and I wanted to share it."

"You're not going to use foul language, Bruce, are you?"

"No, sir. Have you seen the movie Pulp Fiction?"

"Of course I have."

"You are Jules Winnfield, sir. You are a black hit man, but you don't have the Jheri curls. When you retire, you will walk the earth like Caine in Kung Fu."