“And what brings you to Bangor?” the Hertz woman asked absentmindedly, making conversation as she typed.

“I’m visiting some friends,” answered Dao, studying the map, a cold look on her face, “in Castine.”

70

DEYROLLE

RUE DU BAC

PARIS, FRANCE

Xiua Koo stood beneath the mounted head of a rhinoceros, admiring it. The leather skin looked like armor, hardened by a lifetime’s worth of fighting. Koo was always amazed at how marred, ripped, and pockmarked the rhino was upon close inspection, but it was also why he liked the beast so much. He imagined what the animal had faced in its abbreviated life, what elephants, other rhinos, cheetahs, and other predators had attempted to kill him, before the hunter had finally succeeded in shooting him.

A small white price tag was affixed to the wall next to the head.

1914

British East Africa

€75,000

A short bald man with round gold-rimmed glasses stepped to Koo’s right, also admiring the head.

“The hunting was good that year,” said the man.

“It’s not for sale,” replied Koo. He turned, without looking at the man, and left the taxidermy shop.

*   *   *

Koo walked slowly, on thin cobblestone sidewalks, toward the Seine, stopping to look in the windows of different art galleries, chocolate shops, and patisseries. He didn’t look behind him.

Koo knew he was possibly being watched, and the next few minutes were important. The chances they were following him were slim but real. After all, Koo himself had spent his first years at the ministry doing nothing except surveillance of other ministry agents. It had always struck him as being inefficient and uneconomical. And yet he’d discovered two different traitors during his time in the surveillance unit, both ministry agents who’d gone to work for Russia.

If they were following him, looking back could be construed as paranoia, a cue; it had the potential to cause more men to be called in. And so he walked casually, pretending to enjoy the warm fall afternoon despite the speed with which his heart now beat.

He replayed the exchange at Deyrolle:

The hunting was good that year: We must meet immediately.

It’s not for sale: Shakespeare and Company.

At the Seine, he turned right and walked in front of the small booksellers and antiquarians who lined the banks of the river. He aimed for Notre Dame and its ornate spires.

Inside the main door to the cathedral, he stepped quickly to his left, then sprinted down a set of stairs to the basement. He ran down a dimly lit hallway, past a man in vestry garments, who did not even look up. At the end of the hallway, he went through a small wooden door to another stairwell, this one darkened. He went down to the next level, using his phone light to guide him. At the next landing was another door. He opened it and stepped into an alley, a recessed flood channel at the back of the cathedral, two stories below ground level. Koo climbed an iron ladder attached to the masonry and was soon back at street level, near the verdant lawns that flanked the cathedral. Koo walked quickly to the street. Across the busy traffic, he saw the sign: SHAKESPEARE AND COMPANY.

Inside the crowded bookstore, Koo climbed thin stairs to the second floor, then passed customers browsing old, used books. Near the back, he stopped at a shelf of dust-covered volumes, next to a door that said EMPLOYEES ONLY. He pretended to browse, glancing around him until, finally, there was no one else in sight. Koo removed a key from his pocket, placed it in the door lock, and turned.

Koo stepped into the small office, shutting the door quickly behind him.

Against the wall sat an old wooden desk, piled high with documents, bills, and paper, much of it yellowed and frayed. Two chairs were next to the desk, along with an old, torn leather club chair, which served as the desk chair. A beautiful glass lamp on the desk provided the only light in the windowless room.

Two people were seated in the chairs, waiting for Koo. In the left chair was a woman in a stylish black trench coat, with brown hair that was combed neatly back and a serious look on her pale, unattractive face. Koo had never met her before but knew exactly who she was: Veronica Smythson, head of MI6 paramilitary operations.

In the other chair was someone Koo did know, the man who’d recruited him to be a double agent for MI6 six years before: Derek Chalmers, the head of the agency, his blond hair longer and more unruly than Koo remembered.

“Hello, Koo,” said Chalmers. “Please sit down.”

Koo sat down in the leather chair, saying nothing.

“It’s time to make preparations,” said Chalmers. “We’re bringing you in.”

Koo stared at Chalmers impassively, without emotion.

“Why?”

“You’re going to be exposed,” said Chalmers.

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

Koo stared at Chalmers. He knew the day might come. Indeed, sometimes he dreamed of it, of the day, the time, the place he would go, the day everything would be wiped clean and he would be brought in.

“Where will I be sent?”

“You know we can’t tell you that.”

“Do I have a choice about where I am to go?”

“No,” said Chalmers. “I’m sorry.”

Koo reached to his pocket and removed a pack of cigarettes.

“Do you mind?” he asked, looking at Smythson.

“Not at all,” she said.

Koo lit a cigarette, then took a long puff.

“So tell me about the operation,” said Koo, exhaling.

“It has to do with the ministry,” said Smythson. “More than that, I cannot tell you. Excepting, of course, your role.”

Koo nodded, and suddenly it made sense now.

“The American,” said Koo.

“Andreas,” said Smythson. “What is your knowledge of him?”

“It is the highest priority of the ministry,” said Koo. “Every agent in the clandestine bureau has been repurposed until he’s found and terminated. I would imagine there are other efforts going on as well.”

“Tomorrow, the American will be in Paris,” said Smythson.

Koo’s eyes became more alert.

“Do you have informants at any of the hotels?” asked Smythson. “A parking valet? A concierge? Front-desk person?”

“Yes. I have people at many of the hotels.”

“The Bristol?”

“Yes.”

“Does he work afternoons?”

“Yes, his name is Vonnes.”

“Good,” said Smythson. “This afternoon, you will show him a photo of Andreas. You will ask him to call you if he happens to see him; offer him money. Make the rounds. Make the same offer to all of your informants. It’s important that you show them the photo.”

Koo nodded.

Smythson reached to her right. She lifted a paper bag with the Shakespeare and Company logo on the side. She handed it to Koo.

He reached into the bag and pulled out an old hardcover edition of Anna Karenina. Koo lifted the cover. There were no pages. The book was a storage box, designed to look like a book. He pulled out a handgun. It was the same sidearm Koo already had, a slightly weathered 9x19mm QSZ-92 with an undermounted laser pointer. He popped the magazine. The gun was loaded.

“Tomorrow afternoon, just before four P.M., your man at the Bristol will call you,” said Smythson. “You will be somewhere close by. What’s the first thing you should do?”

“Call it in.”

“Precisely,” said Smythson. “You call it in. What next?”

“Go immediately to the Bristol,” said Koo.

“Are there rules of engagement?” Smythson asked.

“It’s a TEP,” said Koo. “It means we are to take any risk necessary on behalf of the state.”

“I’m talking about procedural rules,” she said. “Do you have to wait for backup? Kill or capture? Day or night?”

“None of that. The only one is that we must have our microcamera mounted and running.”