Ames returned to the hotel room and decided that he would take advantage of an already interesting situation.

Once the team had gathered in Hansen's room, Ames gauged his words very carefully. "I just got off the phone with Spock. He's got an update on Fisher's whereabouts." Ames filled them in on what he knew, but he left out the time and location of the meeting.

"Kim, pull up everything you can on Hans Hoffman," said Hansen.

"I can't, unless you want Grim to know about it."

"Use the hotel's Internet access, and I'll get you into the Gothos database," said Noboru. "I'll bet they've got plenty of info on this guy."

"Do it," said Hansen.

"But, Ames, how did you get Spock to talk?" asked Noboru. "He's a very private man."

"Not that private." Ames rubbed his fingers together: money.

"Where are you getting this money?" asked Hansen.

"I was just getting to that. I had some fun money left over from another account and another job, and I used that, figuring we'd stick it to 3E yet another way, but I'm down to fifty bucks. Spock will give us the time and location, but it'll cost us another $50K. And believe me, that's dirt cheap, given who we're talking about."

"Everybody kicks in ten grand," said Hansen.

"Are you kidding me?" asked Valentina. "I'm not using my own money to pay off some geek informant. That's insane. I say we tell Moreau what we got and get the money from them."

"Or we go pay Spock a visit and squeeze it out of him," said Gillespie.

"That would not be wise," said Noboru. "Spock is a very well-respected and extremely well-connected man who knows how to take care of himself."

"And there's no time for that," said Ames.

Hansen sighed. "All right, I've got some fun money myself. Tell you what, Ames. I'll give you the fifty--which, by the way, also happens to be 3E's--but I talk to Spock myself."

"He only trusts me at this point. And believe me when I say he knows exactly where Fisher will be tomorrow. I need to wire him the money right now."

Hansen thought it over. "You tell Spock if he's wrong, we'll be coming back to collect."

Ames chuckled. "He knows that. This guy's been playing this game longer than we've been alive."

"Grim will eventually find out about all these money transfers," said Gillespie.

"Yeah, but by then it'll be too late," said Ames.

Within an hour, Ames had $50K in his fun-money account, money that would not be delivered to Spock but would be, he hoped, spent on hookers and booze, and all the while he would be laughing his ass off at Hansen's naivete.

WHILEAmes was on his computer, supposedly working out the deal with Spock, Hansen pulled Noboru aside. "You could have come to me with everything. I hope you know that."

"I know that now."

"Not sure if we'll work together after this, but if we do, the team comes first, before you or anyone else."

"You don't have to tell me that."

"Apparently, I do."

"Ben, it's your team. I didn't want to let you down. I didn't want to let any of us down."

"I get that. You're not the best agent, but you're the biggest ass kicker we've got--and I can't afford to lose you. And can I say I'm not thrilled that you confided in Ames." Hansen glanced across the room at the short man banging on his computer.

Noboru sighed deeply. "Neither am I."

"Do you think we can trust him?"

"The intel for Vianden was good. If Spock knows where Fisher's going to be, then, yeah, we can trust him."

"I was talking about Ames."

"I hate him."

"Me, too. But we don't have to like him to trust him."

Suddenly Ames slapped shut his laptop and cried, "Ladies and gentlemen, start packing. Fisher will be in Hammerstein tomorrow. He's got a meeting at 2:00 P.M."

"A meeting where?" asked Hansen.

Ames winced. "That's where it gets a little sketchy, but Spock's got a few ideas. . . ."

"What do we tell Moreau?" asked Valentina.

Hansen squinted into a thought. "Let me handle that."

33

HAMMERSTEIN, GERMANY

THEteam caught the first flight out of Luxembourg to the Cologne-Bonn Airport, just an hour away from Hammerstein. They arrived at 9:10 A.M., rented a pair of Mercedes sedans (no more budget rentals for them, Hansen swore), and drove out to the small town, taking in gorgeous views of the Rhine along the way.

The night before, Hansen had gone into Moreau's room and put it to him bluntly: "We know Fisher's meeting with Hoffman tomorrow. We're flying up to Hammerstein. If you can just buy us a little time to see if we can intercept, I'll let you come with us."

"Oh, you'll let me come with you, huh, cowboy? That the way it is?"

"You can't stop us. So you might as well come."

"And how did you obtain this information?"

"We intercepted a Klingon transmission."

"Don't you mean Vulcan?"

"Whatever."

"I'm warning you, Hansen--"

"What are you going to do? Assemble another team to take out the team that's supposed to get Fisher? I get confused just thinking about it."

"You know what?" Moreau let the question hang, then suddenly smiled. "You're a fool, but you remind me of myself back in the day. Arrogant, cocky, one badass mother--"

"Pack your bags, Boss."

Moreau finished his curse. "Grim will be pissed."

"Join the dark side."

Moreau frowned. "Now you're mixing up sci- fi universes."

THEYspent the better part of the morning and early afternoon driving around Hammerstein and considering probable meeting locations. There were a few outdoor cafes and three small wineries, should Fisher have chosen a public place for his meeting, and it wasn't as though Moreau would volunteer that information. In fact, he admitted that he and Grim did not know where the meeting would take place. That was between Hoffman and Fisher.

Ames got back on his laptop and said he'd received an update from Spock. The meeting was being held at a small, locally owned winery called J. P. Zwick Weinstube Weingut.

"And how the hell does Spock know that?" asked Moreau.

"Because this guy is as well connected as they get. It seems like 3E doesn't know jack compared to him," said Ames. "Maybe we should all go work for him and we'll have some decent intel for a change, instead of this garbage you've been feeding us, right?"

Moreau shook his head, not buying it.

Across the street from the winery was a boat launch's parking lot, and they arrived there at about one fifteen, approximately forty-five minutes before the meeting was scheduled to take place. Hansen ordered Ames, Valentina, Noboru, and Gillespie to comb the lot and read off the tag numbers of every car there so Moreau could immediately run them. They were looking for Hoffman's car and any rentals.

In the meantime, Hansen left the Mercedes, stepped over the guardrail, and headed onto the shoulder of the road. He waited for a break in traffic, then began to cross the street, aiming straight for the winery.