Damn, he’d lost sight of Smith. Nate hurried through the museum, but the man was gone. He went outside just in time to see Smith disappear around some buildings on the far side of the camp. Nate ran to catch up. From the side of the crematorium he watched Smith look around and then climb through a hole in the fence.

Nate was pretty sure Smith was going to Anatoli’s house. He took his time following, circling around, approaching from the north. The woods beyond the fence were not entirely familiar. He’d only been through them a couple of times and he was no Daniel Boone. But through luck or instinct he reached Anatoli’s house the way he’d intended.

He found Denton crouched behind a large group of boulders about where they’d agreed to meet. He had his mittened hands tucked under his armpits for warmth. His face was red from the cold. Nate crouched down beside him and peeked over the boulders through the trees. Smith was there all right. He was four or five hundred yards away at the edge of the woods closest to the camp, watching the house through binoculars. Denton nodded, acknowledging the man’s presence.

“Did you talk to Anatoli?” Nate asked in a low voice.

Denton nodded and filled him in. “How do they know about Handalman?” Denton whispered.

“Probably because he and I traveled with Jill.”

“Oh, right. That’s good. So the DoD probably doesn’t know about the manuscript.”

“Let’s hope.”

They crouched there in the cold woods and waited. Hannah had been sure the Mossad agents were going to try to get into the house today, and Mr. Smith’s presence indicated something was going down.

It didn’t take long for his partner to show up. The woman Nate and Denton had seen with Mr. Smith at the inn soon came walking down the road, hobbling on a broken boot heel. She looked like a refugee from a fashion ad, with a faux leopard coat, tight black leggings, and high black boots. Her hair was as tall as a soufflé and her makeup was discernible at ninety paces.

“Hooker du jour,” Denton whispered.

Nate agreed, though he thought she was just tasteful enough to appeal to a couple of alpha males.

“Bet her car broke down,” Denton suggested, clearly enjoying this. “And she’ll need to use their phone.” He used Hannah’s binocs on the woman.

Nate thought that likely. He was worried about what the woman had in the large black leather purse she had looped over her shoulder. Although Hannah had been sure the katsa and Mr. Smith had been discussing getting into the house, she hadn’t managed to hear them say what they planned to do there. Nate hoped they weren’t going to bug the place. If they did, they might overhear information about his and Jill’s work, and that would be bad.

The woman disappeared around the front of the house. Denton handed the binoculars to Nate for a turn. Nate poked his head up over the boulder to see what Mr. Smith was up to. He was still just inside the edge of the woods, his own binoculars trained on the house. Nate turned in that direction himself.

For a long while he saw nothing in the windows. So long, he became convinced either she wasn’t going to be allowed inside the house or whatever business she had would be conducted in front rooms, a possibility he and Denton had discussed. But just as he was about to suggest they move around to the front of the house, a movement in the kitchen window caught his eye.

The katsa breezed into the small room, still limping. Hinkle hulked in after her. She appeared to be trying to chat him up, talking gaily, but Hinkle only went to the phone on the wall and picked up the receiver, handed it to her as if to say, Do it and be gone.

She had to be playing the part of a dimwit, because she ignored the obvious message and continued to chat on.

Nate’s eyes were glued to her, watching for some clue that she was going to put some tiny auditory device on the receiver or anywhere else in the room. Fortunately, Hinkle seemed to be watching her just as closely. Nate almost cheered.

When the woman finally got on the phone, she did a slow turn. Her hands were animated, as if she was in conversation with whoever was on the other end of the line. But something in her face, particularly as her circuit turned her away from Hinkle, indicated she was studying her surroundings quite closely.

As she faced the window, her eyes looked up and straight through the glass. For a pulse, Nate thought she was looking at him, but then he realized that she was looking at Mr. Smith, though she probably could not actually see him from there. The hand that wasn’t holding the phone came in front of her, where Hinkle couldn’t see it, and she pointed, hard, to her left.

Nate swung the binocs and saw she was pointing to the tiny dining room table. On the table was a large black bag, like an attaché case. Nate’s toes curled.

“They have their papers in a briefcase,” he said, low, to Denton. “She’s spotted it.”

Denton put a hand on Nate’s shoulder and squeezed in reassurance.

The woman hung up the phone, putting a vapid look back on her face before turning to Hinkle. She started chatting again, but Hinkle took her elbow to escort her out.

She hung back, tugging at her purse. For a moment, Nate thought she was going to bring out a gun. But what she brought out of that voluminous space was a bottle of liquor.

She tried to press it on Hinkle. He shook his head. She tried harder, leaning into him. When Hinkle still wouldn’t take it she placed it on the kitchen counter and allowed him to lead her from the room. A few minutes later they heard the almost inaudible sound of a door closing and the katsa, still limping, started back down the road.

“Damn!” Nate said. He turned the binocs back to the kitchen window, willing Hinkle to reappear and toss that thing out the window. He didn’t. The bottle sat there. “Shit!”

“What is it?” Denton whispered.

Nate realized he’d been hogging the binoculars and Denton hadn’t been able to see a thing. He turned them long enough to see Mr. Smith slip back into the woods, toward the hole in the fence and the Holocaust museum, then handed them back.

“He’s going. It must be over. She used the phone, just like you said. And then she left him a bottle. Looks like vodka or gin.”

Denton didn’t look too concerned.

“Don’t you see, that would be the perfect way to get a bug in the house!” Nate insisted.

Denton raised the binocs to look at the kitchen. Nate squinted. As far as he could see, there was still no one there.

Denton spoke calmly: “Why put a bug on a bottle of liquor? It’s likely to be thrown out in a day or two, whether they drink it or not.”

He had a point.

“But why else would she give them liquor?” Nate asked.

Denton lowered the binoculars. “Let’s hope Aharon and Hannah find out.”

Aharon could not believe he was going into the Mossad’s actual rooms. Well, leave it to Hannah. The woman single-handedly could have brought the Roman Empire to its knees.

He looked around the hall once more—still nothing, not a peep—and put the key into the keyhole. Hannah had gotten the key, filched it from behind the reception desk as easily as if thievery had been mother’s milk to her. Aharon shook his head, but he had to admit, he was impressed. The door swung inward.

Could the Mossad have hidden cameras in the room? Infrared sensors? Booby traps? Naturally. That’s why Aharon had insisted on being the one to go into the room while Hannah watched downstairs to make sure their quarry didn’t return. But now that he’d won that particular battle and was here, it did not seem such a victory.

Thievery had not been mother’s milk to Aharon and he wasn’t sure where to begin.

He saw nothing of the booby trap ilk, no cameras. He went through the suitcases, trying to put everything back exactly the way he found it, but feeling clumsy about it. Rummaging through ladies’ underwear! And beardless rummaging at that. It was not to be believed.