Abel was standing off to the side of a newsstand where he had just purchased a copy of the French magazine Nouvel Observateur. He was wearing a dark brown three-piece suit and had a reversible trench coat draped over his left arm. The woman was sitting at an outdoor cafй across the street. Abel had spoken to her only once, and it had been brief. She'd been polite but had asked him immediately for an e-mail address. Abel complied and then waited patiently by his computer for two hours before her e-mail arrived in his in-box. The first thing she wanted to know was how he had heard about her. Not wanting to name names, he gave her a description of Petrov and vaguely referenced the work she and her partner had done for him over the past year. She asked a few more questions that might trip him up, but Abel knew Petrov too well. Once she was satisfied that Abel was serious, she put forth her terms. Her "firm," as she called it, charged a nonrefundable retainer of $25,000 to get things started. For that initial payment they would consider any job transmitted to them via e-mail. If he'd like to conduct business via a dead drop it would cost him $50,000 and a face-to-face sit-down would run him $100,000. All retainers, she reiterated, were nonrefundable. This woman was no socialist.

Negotiating a job like this via e-mail was out of the question. While the dead drop was tempting, there was simply too much on the line. A sit-down was the only prudent way to handle it. Abel wired the money to the offshore account and she gave him a specific list of instructions, which he had followed with only one exception.

Those instructions led him to where he was now-standing next to a newsstand on the Rue du Mont Cenis in the Montmartre neighborhood of Paris. He had come alone, as instructed, and had purchased the magazine she'd specified. She was sitting at the designated cafй, just as she said she would, with her Burberry umbrella saving his seat. She'd been sitting there for fifteen minutes and Abel was enjoying making her wait. That was part of his plan. He would go only so far in letting them set the tone and tempo of this new, and hopefully successful, business relationship. They had $100,000 of his money. They could wait a little bit.

If she got up and left, that would be even better. That way he could follow her and learn a bit more before he set up a second meet. The most dangerous part of this was not the initial meeting, but rather the moment he chose to reveal the target. That was the point of no return. Once Abel told them the target was Rapp they would be locked in. Abel turned the page of his magazine and looked over the top of it at the intriguing woman he was to meet. Five more minutes, he told himself, and if she didn't get up to leave he would go over and proceed as planned.

He watched her look at her watch, and he wondered what she looked like naked. He doubted she would disappoint him. Abel let out a sigh of expectation, and just when he was ready to inhale he felt something pressed against his lower back and a warm breath on his neck.

A man's voice whispered in his ear, "Elle est belle…n' est-ce pas?" She's beautiful, isn't she?

Abel started to turn around, but was stopped by a gloved hand that clamped down on his neck with an alarming firmness. The man was so close he could smell the coffee on his breath. Abel started to bring his right arm up so he could strike a blow and pivot free.

"Don't." The grip tightened. "Not unless you'd like me to sever your spinal cord."

Abel felt the blade against the small of his back. He struggled to remain calm. The man's English was perfect. For a split second Abel was confronted with the horrible image that it was Mitch Rapp himself who was holding him at knifepoint. He managed to take another breath and in an embarrassingly unsteady voice said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Erich," the man grunted, "you are not dealing with amateurs. Don't play games with us, or I swear I'll bone you like a fish, and you'll spend the rest of your days with a limp prick."

Despite the cool autumn air sweat began forming on Abel's upper lip. How in the hell do they know my name? he thought to himself. "I am merely trying to be careful."

"I appreciate professionalism, but don't toy with us. I followed you here and have been watching you for the past hour. In case you doubt me, I saw you buy both the card and the pen."

Frown lines creased Abel's forehead. He'd taken the metro and two separate taxis to the meet. He had diligently checked to make sure he wasn't being tailed. How in the hell had this man followed him so closely?

"I think you've made her wait long enough." The man leaned in so his lips were just inches from the German's neck. He knew his warm breath would further unnerve his prospective business partner, which was his intent. Fear was the only thing that kept people honest in this business. "Get going…and don't even think of turning around. You'll be dead before you see my face. Do you understand?"

Fearing his voice would fail him, Abel decided to nod in reply. The pressure of the hand on his neck relaxed, and he was nudged toward the cafй. Abel's knees were weak, and he staggered a bit. It was three steps to the curb where he stopped and started to check for traffic. He abruptly checked himself, fearing that the man would think he was trying to turn around. Moving only his eyes, he looked in each direction like an accident victim wearing a neck brace. When it was clear, he stepped off the curb. His stride was almost robotic as he crossed the street. In his mind he started going over all his movements since he'd left his hotel. The man knew he'd purchased the card and the pen, for Christ's sake, and his English was perfect. Petrov had said the man and woman were French. Could there be a third person? Abel did not like to be so caught off guard. These two were either really good, or he was getting really sloppy.

13

He approached the table, his legs still unsteady. The attractive brunette looked up at him from behind her dark glasses, and asked, "Зa t'amuse de faire attendre les gens?" Do you like to keep people waiting?

Abel cleared his throat and tried to look relaxed. "J'ai eu un contretemps." Something came up.

"Really," she said in a doubting tone. "Like standing across the street pretending to read a magazine?"

"I was merely trying to be cautious." Abel wondered how in the hell they knew what he looked like.

"Not cautious enough." She tilted her head. "I noticed you met my business associate."

Abel glanced back at the newsstand. The corner wasn't crowded, but neither was it empty. People were coming and going in all four directions, but no one was standing there looking back at them. Abel was still a bit off kilter, and all he could manage to say was, "So that was your partner."

"Yes." She smiled. "He's a rather resourceful man. Not the type of person you want to upset."

Abel recalled the man's hot breath on his neck, and he suppressed a shiver. He composed himself and gestured toward the chair with the umbrella on it. "May I sit?"

"By all means." She grabbed the umbrella and hooked it to her arm rest. She did not bother to introduce herself. If they agreed to proceed to the next step she would provide him with an alias.

In an effort to lighten the mood, and get beyond his own professional embarrassment, Abel said, "I apologize for making you wait, but I am always a bit jumpy during these initial meetings."

"You do this type of thing often?"

The dark sunglasses made it impossible to get a complete idea of the woman's face, which he supposed was intended. "Often enough, but I have a short list of contractors that I usually use."

"If you have other skilled people, why are you talking to me?"