He turned east and began walking toward the Louvre, racking his brain to come up with his best contacts in France. He needed to send these two a message that they were dealing with a professional, not someone who they could toy around with and scare like an amateur. Unfortunately, he didn't trust the people he knew in France enough to get them involved in this. On the other hand there were some Hungarians he knew who were excellent at surveillance work, and they were cheap. It was a whole family for the price of one-grandparents, parents, children, even some uncles. When he got back to the hotel he would call and see if he could get them here first thing in the morning. He would wait a day to see if the woman contacted him, and if not he would e-mail and request another meeting. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. He did not want to look desperate.

He left the river and started back to the hotel. When he turned on to the Champs-Elysйes he was faced with a cold breeze. Abel turned up his collar and quickened his pace. He decided that by ending the meeting himself, and getting up and walking away, he may have saved enough face to get them to come back to him. They were businesspeople after all, and he had been very clear that there was a large fee to be earned. When they called he would be prepared. He would have the Hungarians in place. They would get photographs for sure and possibly a thumbprint from her coffee cup if they met at a cafй again. The Hungarians could trail her back to an address that would provide more information. The man would be about, undoubtedly, and maybe they would spot him. All he needed was a single thread, and then from there he could begin unraveling. He would learn everything there was to know about the two and then he would shock them into dealing with him from a position of mutual respect.

Abel arrived back at the hotel refreshed and invigorated. He had a plan, and he was hopeful that they would call him back and renew negotiations. He took the elevator up to his suite and after taking off his coat and scarf he went into the bedroom to open the safe and get his PDA. He turned on a table lamp near the closet and punched in his four-digit code. He listened to the whirl of the locking mechanism retracting, and then opened the small, heavy door. The safe was empty.

Abel reached in and felt around to make sure, and then placed his hands on his hips. He was certain he had put the small handheld computer in the safe before he'd gone to dinner, but with the way the day had gone, he was already second-guessing himself. Maybe he'd left it in his briefcase. He turned to head back into the living room, and out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw something in the shadows. Abel froze when he zeroed in on a pair of shoes that he immediately knew were not his. He followed the legs up to the dark, barely discernable outline of a man sitting in a chair. For some inexplicable reason his mind jumped to the conclusion that it was Mitch Rapp himself who had broken into his hotel room. It was the second time in a day that Abel had been surprised and overcome with this dreadful portentous feeling.

"C'est зa que tu cherches?" Are you looking for this? asked a low voice.

A gloved hand emerged from the shadows. In it was Abel's PDA. Abel looked past the hand at the man. His eyes had adjusted just enough that he could see his visitor was wearing something to cover his face. The voice, unfortunately, was familiar and it made Abel think of coffee and warm breath on the back of his neck.

Straining to appear calm, Abel said, "I see you have lowered yourself to thievery."

The gloved hand reappeared and flicked the PDA across the room. It spun through the air and landed in the center of the king-size bed. "I have stolen nothing. A man in your line of work should know better than to trust hotel safes."

Abel listened to the man's words and decided he must be American, but he couldn't quite place the dialect. "You have a nasty habit of sneaking up on people…maybe I can return the favor someday."

The man scoffed, "That would be stupid."

"And why is that?" Abel was proud of himself for not sounding too nervous.

"If I returned to my hotel room and found a man sitting in the dark, I would put a bullet in his head."

Abel had been around some very unsettling individuals, but this man was in a league of his own. He was beginning to give Abel a feeling of inadequacy. "What if you didn't have a gun?"

"I always have a gun."

"But if you didn't?"

"I would still kill the man. It just might take a split second longer."

"So what do you think I should do?" asked Abel. "I have just returned to my very expensive hotel and have discovered a burglar in my room. Should I kill him?"

The man laughed in a very low, almost snickering way. "Impossible."

"Please tell me why." Abel folded his arms across his chest.

"For starters…you do not have a gun, and I do."

"How do you know I don't have a gun?"

"I watched you eat dinner. You looked very lonely, by the way," the man added. "I watched you put on your coat before you left for your walk. I can tell if a man has a gun on him. You do not."

Abel conceded the point with a nod. "Continue."

"I am a trained assassin and you are not, Herr Abel. While I know you are not a stranger to violence, you do not strike me as the type of person who gets his hands dirty."

"Don't be so certain." Abel held his ground. "Any other reasons I might be missing?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. One very obvious operational detail. You have registered under your real name and put the room on your credit card. If you were to succeed in killing me…which you wouldn't…you would have a mess to deal with."

"I have many contacts…" Abel paused in search of a name. "What should I call you?"

"We'll get to that later." The man crossed his legs and placed both hands on his knee. "You were saying?"

Abel noticed for the first time that the man was holding a silenced pistol in his other hand. "I have many contacts. I could easily make a phone call and have your body disposed of in a very discreet manner."

The man did not answer right away. "I suppose you could, but I do not see you as that type of a risk taker. It would be too impulsive. You are a man who must analyze every detail before you are moved to action."

"And you?" asked Abel.

"I am a killer. That is what I do for a living, and I live in such a way that the decision to kill or not to kill can be made instantaneously, without having to worry about how it will affect my life."

Abel was starting to enjoy this. With a slight smile he asked, "And how does one live their life in such a way as to be able to make such decisions instantaneously?"

"By any reasonable standard I am a wealthy man, but unlike you I own nothing. I am tied to nothing. You, on the other hand, own significant real estate in both Switzerland and Austria. If you have to run, those assets will be seized…bank accounts will be frozen. You have too many roots to kill a man, where I have none. I am like the wind. Here one moment and gone the next."

"I have taken certain precautions," Abel said with a tight voice.

"I have no doubt that you have, but the vast majority of your net worth is tied up in hard assets that are owned under your name. You are also a very meticulous and prudent man. You will not throw away the fruits of your labor so lightly."

Abel hated being wrong. He conceded the last point with another nod and announced, "I need a drink." He turned for the other room. Over his shoulder he asked, "May I get you one?"

The man followed him. "No, thank you. I never drink when I'm on the job."

Abel opened the minibar. "That's a very American sentiment. Are you American?"

"I am American, I am British, I am Canadian, I am French, I am German, I am Russian…I am whatever I need to be."