Looking back on it now, the decision had been relatively easy. He drove straight past the dead drop and called his boss's office. It was past eight in the evening and Gould knew he would not be there. He left him a message, telling him he was changing careers, and that he'd fax him his resignation. His first stop was a bar where the informant liked to hang out. Gould walked in, the bar was crowded, but he found the man with little difficulty. They had met face-to-face a dozen times, usually in this smoky dive. Gould made eye contact and nodded for the man to follow him.

They met near the back door and Gould said, "They are onto you. I need to get you out of here now." Gould stepped into the narrow, dark alley and the idiot followed him without hesitation. After walking only a few steps, Gould put an arm out like he was going to usher the man along and then in a flash he grabbed the man by the back of the neck with his right and brought his left hand up with blinding speed. The four-inch blade of his knife plunged into the man's chest and the two men stood clutching each other, eye to eye, for what seemed like a minute. Gould felt no shame, even as the man began to release his grip and slide to the dirty ground. He wanted him to die, he wanted him to feel the pain and see the look of hatred in his killer's eyes.

Gould looked back on it now and shook his head in embarrassment. What he had done that night was very stupid-very impulsive. Things could have gone awry at any moment. There could have been surveillance, someone could have recognized him, or worst of all, the man could have shot him in the back as they entered the alley. It seemed like it was all ages ago, and in terms of his skill level, it was. Back then he wouldn't have had a prayer against a man like Mitch Rapp, but now their skills were more even, and with surprise on Gould's side, the deck was stacked in his favor.

THE CAB PULLED underneath the car park in front of the Hyatt in downtown Montreal and Gould got out. It was 9:36 in the morning. He subtly began to inventory the surrounding area while the driver handed the bellman his suitcase. Gould paid the driver, tipped the bellman, and then casually followed him into the lobby. The attractive woman behind the reception desk informed him that she would have a room ready for him in thirty minutes. She directed him to the restaurant. Gould picked a table with a nice view of the lobby and asked the waitress if she could get him a copy of the Washington Post. They did not carry the Post, but they did have the New York Times. He told her that would be fine.

She returned a few minutes later with a pot of coffee and the paper. Gould ordered an omelet with a side of fruit and started in on the paper. From time to time he looked up to see who was coming through the door. He also noted the other patrons in the restaurant and those in the lobby. No one stood out. They all fit the profile of countless business travelers going through their morning rituals the world over. Eat, read, and get ready for whatever the day might bring.

Gould was on his second cup of coffee when the omelet arrived. Not long after that the receptionist came over and handed him a small envelope containing his room number and cardkey. She informed him that his luggage would be sent up momentarily. Gould thanked her and she went back behind the reception desk. Midway through the meal he moved onto the sports page. He quickly found out that Washington was at home this weekend. Gould wondered if Rapp was a Redskins fan. If he was, it might present an opportunity. He'd finished the omelet and was picking at his fruit when the FedEx man entered the lobby with a two-wheeler. Gould immediately recognized his box sitting on the bottom with a stack of smaller boxes and air letters balanced on top of it. This was all a good sign. The box was to be delivered by 10:00 a.m. With such a tight schedule there was very little time for customs to screen the package and set up any type of a sting. The more likely scenario was that they would have seized the box at the airport.

The FedEx man stopped at the concierge desk and wiggled the two-wheeler out from underneath the stack. The concierge signed for packages and the FedEx man left in a hurry. Everything appeared to be business as usual. Gould kept his eyes on the concierge as he pecked away at a keyboard behind his station. The waitress brought his bill and he signed for his breakfast. Gould continued to appear as if he was reading the paper when in fact he was keeping an eye on the front of the hotel watching for any unusual activity.

Satisfied thus far, he proceeded to the next phase and retrieved a mobile phone from his pocket. He'd purchased it this morning with a dummy credit card upon landing in Montreal. The phone was disposable and had 250 minutes of air time. He punched in the number for the hotel and held the folded newspaper in front of his face. A woman answered in French and then English and asked how to direct the call.

In English, Gould said, "I'm going to be checking into the hotel this morning, and I want to make sure a package has arrived for me."

"Just one moment, sir. I will transfer you to the concierge."

Gould peeked over the top of the newspaper and listened as the line began ringing. He watched the concierge reach for the phone and heard him say, "Good morning. How may I help you?"

"Hello," Gould said with an American accent. "I'm checking into the hotel this morning and I'm expecting an important FedEx package to be delivered. Could you tell me if it has arrived?"

"Certainly, sir. What is the name?"

"Johnson…Mike Johnson. It should be a big cardboard box."

"One moment."

Gould watched him set the phone down and lift the other boxes off the large one on the bottom. The man bent over to read the air bill and then returned to the phone. "I have it right here, sir."

"Wonderful. Would you please have that sent up to my room, and give yourself a ten-dollar tip. Put it on my bill."

"Absolutely, sir…thank you. I'll have it taken care of right away."

"Thanks." Gould pressed the end button on the phone and watched the concierge walk over to the reception desk. From where he was sitting he could only hear pieces of the conversation. He heard the woman say something about not having checked in yet, then she went to work checking her computer. After a few seconds she gave the concierge a room number. He wrote it down on a sheet of paper and went back to his station.

Gould put his newspaper back in order and stood. He strode casually across the lobby and approached the concierge. In French he said, "Excuse me. Do you have a forecast for the rest of the week?"

"Absolutely, sir." The concierge grabbed his computer mouse and clicked it several times. The whir of a printer was heard somewhere beneath his station. As he reached under the work surface to grab the freshly printed sheet, Gould looked down and noted the room number written on the sheet of paper.

The concierge handed him the sheet. "Here you are, sir."

"Thank you." Gould turned for the elevator bank and heard the concierge call for a bellman. He took the elevator to the sixth floor and noted Mr. Johnson's room as he walked past it to reach his. What may have seemed like luck, actually wasn't. Early check-ins at hotels were dictated by what rooms were cleaned first, and since the staff usually cleaned in teams, one entire floor was usually cleaned before they moved on to the next.

Gould entered his room. His suitcase was waiting for him at the foot of the king-size bed. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a Palm Pilot, a short ribbon cable, and a magnetic card. He pieced the three together and waited by the door to hear the bellman come and go. He heard the man enter and then leave only a few seconds later. Gould opened his room door and watched the hotel employee walk down the hall and turn for the elevators. When he heard the chime of the elevator arriving he darted across the hall and down a few doors. He slid the magnetized card into its slot and waited a second for the light to turn green. He grabbed the box and brought it back to his room.