There was a message on the cell phone he used for work. It was a text message advertising a restaurant in London. Anyone receiving or intercepting it would think it was a junk text. To the Black Wolf, it was anything but.

He poured himself the coffee, then opened his laptop. Booting up, he inserted a small satellite modem into the USB port. When the computer was ready, he opened a Web browser and surfed to Google. He typed in the name of the latest punk-rap band taking Europe by storm, TekDog.

Google gave six hundred pages of hits. He went to their official site, backed out to Google again, then went to the fourth fan site listed in the search results.

The site had photos and music and show listings. It also had a small section titled Nudes&Rumors.

He clicked on it, then scrolled to the third entry.Heard on the street: band members planning new shows in France for next month. Details soonest.

Still in his underwear, the Black Wolf took his cell phone and called a number that began with a French country code.

“This is Wolf,” he said as the connection went through. He spoke in English.

“The old doctor has become a problem. It must be dealt with.”

“How soon?”

“Immediately. There have been inquiries. You should be cautious.”

“My treatments?”

“We have made other arrangements. We understand they are getting much closer together. That will not be a problem.”

“Good,” he said.

The sudden emotion he felt surprised him. It bordered on elation.

He closed the phone and went to take a shower.

23

Kiev, Ukraine

Hera smiled at the museum guard as he came around the corner.

He didn’t smile back.

“What are you doing?” he demanded in Ukrainian. Hera didn’t speak Ukrainian, but his meaning was obvious.

“Excuse me?” she asked.

“You are in a restricted area. What’s in your hand?”

She had been about to place the bug in the fire hose housing when she was interrupted. It was still in her hand, the door to the hose compartment open a few inches.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“Your hand,” repeated the guard, grabbing her arm.

“Hera, dear, did you find the restroom? Oh!” McEwen appeared behind the guard. She was stooped over and looked even older than she was. “Hera?”

The guard turned, still holding Hera’s hand.

“What are you doing with my granddaughter?” asked McEwen in Ukrainian.

“She is trespassing down a restricted corridor.”

“A restricted corridor? In a museum?”

“This is not just a museum.”

McEwen walked close to him, practically touching his shirt, then pitched her head back to look into his face.

“I sent her to find the restroom,” she said. “Perhaps you could help us.”

The guard let go of Hera’s arm. She rubbed it—he’d clamped it so hard it hurt.

“That way. Out there,” he said, pointing.

“Are you married?” asked McEwen.

“Yes.”

“Too bad. My granddaughter is from America,” she added.

“You must go back. Get out of this corridor.”

“Of course, of course,” said McEwen. She put her hand to her side. “I do have a cramp.”

“A cramp?”

“Could you help me?” she asked. “Just walk me to the restroom.”

As the guard bent toward McEwen, Hera took a step to the side and put her hand against the wall, pushing the small video bug into the fire hose assembly, then closed the door. She caught up with McEwen and the guard just as they reached the main corridor.

“You must not come down here again,” warned the guard, pointing them toward the ladies’ room.

“No, no, of course.”

“You can make it?”

“My granddaughter will help.” McEwen smiled at him. “You are sure you are taken?”

“Thanks,” said Hera after he’d gone.

“Don’t mention it. I almost got you a date.”

“That would have been something.”

“Ukrainian men are very considerate,” said the older woman. “Don’t be so quick to judge. I thought your MY-PID system would warn you.”

“It did. Too late.”

McEwen smiled, and shook her head gently.

“What?” asked Hera.

“You put too much trust in electronics,” she said.

“MY-PID’s pretty useful.”

McEwen shrugged.

“You don’t think… ?”

“By the time we see anything important, it’ll be too late,” said McEwen. “You can’t replace humans.”

“These don’t.”

“Human intelligence,” said McEwen, her tone almost one of incantation. “Should we look at some paintings?”

“I have one more to place.”

“Then we’ll start with the baroque.”

“The electronics don’t replace humans,” said Hera defensively as they walked into a gallery area. Now that she wasn’t acting, McEwen’s pace was strong, as swift as Hera’s. “They let us do more.”

“In some ways. Not in others. You have to be careful, Hera. You can’t let them be crutches. Sometimes you need a little old lady in the back of the alleyway to help you out.”

“I don’t disagree.”

“You don’t think he was cute?”

“His breath smelled like stale sardines.”

“That could be fixed.”

24

Chisinau, Moldova

Communications from the Russian embassy were routinely monitored and translated, but the private homes of the leading members of the mission were not. Nuri had Reid put the request in; it wasn’t clear how long it would be before it was executed, let alone what it might yield.

Getting approval to bug the house itself—absolutely necessary in the case of a diplomat, Nuri knew—would take at least several days at best; by then the Kiev meeting would be over. He wasn’t sure it was worth the risk.

So for now their best bet was to concentrate on the doctor. They set up more video bugs in the area, enough so MY-PID could track his car to the main road. Then they rented two more cars, so they could wait in either direction to follow him. It wasn’t an ideal setup, but Nuri figured that it would give them a good chance at sticking a tracker on the doctor’s car. Once they had that, MY-PID would take over entirely, watching him as he moved around the city.

Danny, though, was getting impatient. Three more of his people—Sergeant Clar “Sugar” Keeb, Paulie Christen, and a tech specialist named Gregor Hennemann—were due to arrive in Kiev by nightfall to help McEwen and Hera. He knew he ought to get there himself, to make sure everything was set up. He also had to make the final call on whether to work with the NATO and local security. At the moment he was leaning toward doing so.

Sugar was a covert CIA op like Hera, though different from her in almost every way. A little older, with a much more easygoing personality, she had become something of a big sister to most of the newbies.