'One thing she ain't is smart,' Randal told him, his Queens accent coming on strong.

  Sutter shook his head. 'Give you an idea what the interview was like. We ask where Farrell was planning to go. She says maybe Italy. We ask if he mentioned a city in Italy. She says, "Geneva?"'

  'Met her first husband in St. Petersburg. He's some American businessman who doesn't mind a good looking woman living with him, but he sets up this pre-nup that gives her nothing - I mean nothing - when they get a divorce. He gets a little tired of the Russian accent and she's on the streets with like the clothes on her back.'

  Josh Sutter finished his partner's story: 'Sees this ad in the paper for a party hostess and ends up at one of Jack Farrell's Long Island bashes. She's like the queen bee at the orgy, so the next week Farrell hires her as his assistant.'

  Malloy laughed. 'Okay. Sounds like Hans might be right about this Russian.'

  'You're some kind of forensic accountant?' Jim Randal asked with his Queens accent. As he spoke his eyes cut to the rear view mirror. He and his partner had been speculating.

  Malloy nodded. 'The thinking is if we find his money we can wait for Farrell to come to it.'

  'Oh, I know the thinking,' Randal answered with just a touch of condescension. 'We've got guys like you that have been on the job fulltime since we got called in. What I can tell you is this: the money is gone. We get these credit cards and they're just piddling little bank accounts in the middle of nowhere.'

  'But the money comes from somewhere.'

  'Sure it does. A place called Montreal. First thing Farrell did, he opened an account in Montreal with cash. Did the same with a Barcelona bank - fifty thousand cash in each. They're falling all over themselves passing out toasters and credit cards. Meanwhile, the big stuff, what he wired to different accounts before he ran, that's all been routed through banks that won't give us any information. We're talking places like—'

  'I get the idea.'

  'And you can follow it?' Josh Sutter asked. He was willing to believe Malloy could walk through walls because he wanted Jack Farrell. Jack Farrell's arrest and extradition back to the U. S. was his next promotion.

  'That's what I'm here to find out,' Malloy answered.

  They were quiet, mulling it over, but they both were thinking spook.

  Chernoff and Carlisle listened to everything said between the two agents and Malloy on the ride into the city. Once the three men had left the SUV there was no more audio, but Carlisle tracked the two agents on Chernoff's computer monitor through their cell phone signals. The two men entered the hotel, Malloy presumably with them.

  'What do you think?' Chernoff asked. She was a small woman with dark eyes and a creamy white complexion. They had been lovers some years back, but it had been the sort of affair where you kept your eyes open when you kissed, and they had finally settled with a working relationship. After a time they had not even bothered with pleasantries. Chernoff assassinated people. For that she took a great deal of money.

  Once he had finally understood that she did not care what he thought of her, making conversation was rather pointless. In his considerable experience with killers of every ilk, Helena Chernoff was the coldest creature he had ever known.

  She seemed never to tire of the game she played, never to reflect on the choices she had made in her youth. She planned ahead and she put away her past as easily as throwing out old clothes. There was simply no pleasure in the woman's existence unless it came in those intimate moments when she cut away a man's genitals as he watched her doing it. She ate food with indifference. She drank wine if you put it in front of her. She could survive without food or water the whole day through and then take a modest amount at the end of the day without caring for its flavour or even the relief it provided. She lived constantly in the shadows, and had learned to make love like a well-paid escort. She was competent and businesslike about it, as intimate afterwards as a streetwalker.

  David Carlisle, on the other hand, considered himself a creature of the sun. He could endure pain and do without almost anything, if he had to. He was a soldier, trained to suffer hardship, but when he had the choice he was a sensualist. He liked spending money lavishly. He liked women, all kinds - even hard cases like Helena Chernoff on occasion. He loved wine and could talk all evening about the nuances of flavour it offered. He liked travel, liked seeing the colours of the world, and he loved good food. Spending a day with Helena Chernoff was like sitting beside a ghost. In answer to her question, the first comment she had made since identifying their target, Carlisle offered a dry laugh. 'I think we might have overestimated our Mr Malloy. I'm not sure he's smart enough to find you.'

  Chernoff kept her eyes focused on the road as they passed between the hotel and the lake. 'He found Jack Farrell,' she answered.

  'He had help.'

  'It's not a problem,' she said. 'If he can't find me, I'll find him.'

  'If I just wanted him dead, I could have taken care of it in New York.'

  'I know,' she answered, 'but sometimes people just get killed.'

  'Not people like Malloy. If he falls there has to be a reason. If we don't create a convincing one, he has the kind of friends who are going to keep looking until they understand exactly what he was doing, and suddenly I'll have a great many more problems than before.'

  'It's simple. He came here looking for me, and I found him.'

  Carlisle said nothing to this. She was right, it would work, but he liked the original plan better, because he was sure Malloy would bring Kate and Ethan Brand to help him. That meant one crime scene for all three and no bothersome questions. 'Anything happening with the Brands?' he asked.

  'Still off radar.'

  As they had been since the party at the foundation. As if they knew he was coming for them. 'So they could be in Hamburg?'

  'They could be in your rear view mirror for all I know.'

  Carlisle looked in the mirror reflexively, then at Chernoff. Was she smiling?

  'Are you sure Malloy will get them involved?' Chernoff asked.

  'He's doing this for Kate, and he is going to need something more than those two FBI clowns if he intends to go after you. I don't know that he'll call them, but I know I would.'

  'You want someone waiting at the airport?'

  'Let's concentrate on Malloy. If he moves, I want to know where he is. Get someone inside his room as soon as you know it's safe, watch to see if his new FBI friends call him on his cell phone. If we get his cell phone number, we can monitor the calls he gets - maybe get a location on the Brands as well.'

  Neustadt, Hamburg.

  At the Royal Meridien Malloy took a room at the cop discount and told agents Sutter and Randal he would meet them at the hotel bar at around eight and they could get dinner together. 'Right now,' he said, I'd like to take a shower and get some sleep.'

  They looked at one another. 'We thought maybe you'd like to meet Hans this afternoon.'

  Sutter checked his watch and added, 'Maybe you can get a quick nap and we can drive over in a couple of hours?'

  'Could you set a meeting for tomorrow morning?' Malloy asked. 'I tell you I was up all night. I'm just flat beat.' The last thing he wanted was a face-to-face with Hans.

  'Sounds good,' Randal answered without enthusiasm.

  As the elevator doors closed, Malloy watched the agents conferring. They were wondering what kind of hotshot forensic accountant arrives and wants to take a five hour nap. Malloy got out at the mezzanine, found the back of the building and asked an assistant concierge to get him a taxi. Ten minutes later he was in heavy traffic.

  He got dropped off a few blocks north of the harbour in the Neustadt - the New Town - and rented a room in a small, family-run hotel. Just to be on the safe side, he used the name Imfeld at the desk, one of his Swiss identities, and paid in advance for a full week.

  Once in his room Malloy unpacked, pulled the blinds, and got himself a good three hours of sleep. He took the underground to the train station, got cash from a machine, got a suitcase and some cheap clothes, bought a three day travel pass and made a couple of phone calls on a payphone. He then took a taxi to the Royal Meridien. By a quarter-to-eight he was at the hotel and went to his room. He left his freshly purchased suitcase open with the clothes and toiletries out in the usual chaos of travelling. He called the desk and asked them to hold all his calls during his stay and then went down to the hotel bar, where he got a beer and charged it to his room. Dressed in jeans, a hooded sweatshirt and a leather jacket, he looked nothing like the accountant the FBI agents had picked up earlier in the day.

  Because he was in the shadows of the bar reading the Herald Tribune Sutter and Randal walked right past him when they entered a few minutes after eight. 'Guess he overslept.' Randal quipped.

  Malloy stood up and walked in behind them. 'I got us reservations at a Chinese restaurant close to the harbour—'

  'Jeez!' Randal jumped in surprise. 'I didn't see you back there!' He was blushing, trying to figure out if Malloy had heard him. Both men were looking at Malloy's costume. He didn't look like a guest at the Royal Meridien anymore.

  'The place is supposed to be top notch,' Malloy continued. 'My treat.'

  'Hey T. K.,' Josh Sutter answered with the easy-going manner of a Midwesterner, 'we're all on a per diem here. You don't have to spring for dinner just because you're the new guy on the block.'

  'They're a little more relaxed at State about expenses. It'll be my pleasure. It's the least I can do to say thanks for your picking me up today.' Both men let their eyebrows slip up in surprise but they agreed. Why not?

  Randal wanted to programme the automated voice for their destination, but Malloy told him he knew the way. Both men were surprised. 'I had a chance to study the map on the flight over,' he told them. 'I've got the city memorized.' This raised eyebrows but didn't get a comment.

  As they drove along the shoreline of the Aussenalster, the larger of the two artificial lakes in the city, Sutter asked Malloy about his room.

  'It's great,' he said.

  Sutter nodded, beaming with boyish excitement. 'You get chocolate on your pillow tonight.'

  As they were crossing between the lakes on the Kennedy Bridge they had a wonderful view of the low, ornate Hamburg skyline at night. 'I tell you what. This city is nothing like what I was expecting,' Josh Sutter said.

  'What were you expecting?' Malloy asked.

  'Well, you know, Barcelona has this reputation, but Hamburg's. . . what?'

  'Industrial,' Jim Randal said.

  'Exactly. So I'm thinking like. . . Newark or something.' He gestured toward the ornate late-nineteenth century architecture beautifully interlaced with the flat, clean lines of the late-twentieth century buildings. 'Not this.'

  'Hamburg's got more rich people per capita than any city in Europe,' Malloy answered. 'And more bridges than Venice.'

  'They got a lot of water,' Randal answered.

  'Why so many rich people?' Sutter was mystified.

  'The harbour. It's sixty miles from the ocean and feeds right into the heart of central Europe. You've got Berlin less than three hours away, with Poland just beyond that. The money's been pouring through here for three, maybe four centuries, and the Germans — especially the people in Hamburg - are good about keeping it.'

  'I read where eighty percent of the city was destroyed during the war,' Randal answered. 'I mean. . . look at this!' He pointed at a stately eighteenth century house in the middle of town. 'You see buildings like that everywhere!'

  'After the war the Germans put one rock back on top of another, everything exactly the way it was.'

  'With American money!' Randal barked.

  Malloy tipped his head and offered a sardonic smile, 'Could be the only example of American aid actually going where it was supposed to.'

  Both agents laughed. That would be a first!

  They found a parking lot at the harbour, had a look at the big ships docked up and down various channels of the Alster, the shipbuilding and brightly lit cranes. Then they walked north a few blocks into the heart of Hamburg's red light district, packed with tourists, colourful locals, and a staggering number of prostitutes of every description.

  Randal gave a nervous laugh, 'Where are you taking us, T. K.?'

  Malloy pointed at the street name. 'You ever heard of the Reeperbahn?'

  Randal shook his head.

  'It's the Bourbon Street of Europe - a quarter mile of pure decadence.'

  As if on cue a transvestite gave Malloy a coy look and asked him in English what he was doing later. A woman walked up to Josh Sutter and said in English, 'Glad you left your wife at home, honey. You and I can have a good time and she'll never know about it.'

  Sutter stopped, but Malloy pushed him along. 'He's not interested,' he said in German.

  She answered in German, 'He looked interested to me!'

  They kept moving, the light of the clubs and restaurants, the mass of people energizing them. 'The more you talk to them,' Malloy told Sutter, 'the harder it gets to move on. You get too involved and you might as well just hand over some money, because they're not going to let you go without a scene.'

  More women called enticements in German and English. One even tried French on Randal, who had settled down and was looking fairly relaxed. They found a policeman standing quietly in the midst of a clutch of prostitutes whilst a group of young men staggered by, drinking beer out of cups and window-shopping the girls.

  A transvestite swooped in on Sutter. 'They know what you want, honey. I've got what you need!' Sutter kept walking, but he looked like a man who had just had a gun pointed at his face. Two girls dressed in American cheerleading outfits whistled at Jim Randal, throwing kisses and naming prices in dollars. They worked together, they told him.

  'I always wanted to have a cheerleader,' Randal told Malloy once they were past the girls. 'Only thing better would be two!'

  'There goes the old per diem,' Malloy told him.

  'This place is crazy!' Josh Sutter shouted. He was grinning like he'd had a few beers.

  'I take it Hans didn't bring you here?' Malloy asked.

  'Oh, man, Hans took us out last night to some nice place. Not a word about this! What's this place called again?'

  'I give a group discount, boys.' This from a tall brunette beauty who may have been of either or both genders.

  Josh Sutter turned and smiled at her. 'Sorry, married!'

  'She can come too!'

  'I notice the cops don't seem to care,' Randal muttered.

  'It's all legal.'

  Randal turned to Malloy in surprise. 'You're kidding me! I thought that was only in Amsterdam.'

  'It's been like this for centuries. Second most popular tourist destination in Hamburg.'

  'What beats it?' Sutter asked.

  'The harbour. . . or so they say.'

  Randal shook his head. Legal prostitution defied his sense of a well-ordered universe.

  They crossed the street halfway down the Reeperbahn, descended a set of steps taking them below street level, and entered Yuen Tung. When Malloy had called ahead for reservations he had asked for a table at the back, where he hoped they could talk freely.

  Whilst the three men sipped their drinks and waited for their food, they talked about the street life they had just encountered. Sutter wanted his partner to find some action - since he was the only single man in the group and it was legal - but Randal turned out to be a true puritan. Sex was fine. Spending money for it was the sin.

  Once their meals arrived, Malloy turned to business. 'What's the word from Hans?' he asked.

  'We're set for nine tomorrow,' Josh Sutter answered cheerfully. 'Says he'll cooperate any way he can.'

  'Does he have anything I can use?'

  The two FBI agents looked at each other. 'To tell you the truth,' Josh Sutter said, 'they've got the physical evidence they pulled from the room, including the credit cards and passports Farrell and Chernoff left behind, but we processed it yesterday. All the money and cards come out of Montreal and Barcelona banks. The passports and identity cards are probably European forgeries, but it's hard to get more specific than that.'

  'They find the anonymous caller?'

  'They printed the phone booth and they've got a recording of her call, so if they ever find her they can verify she's the one. For all the good it does.'

  'You hear the voice?'

  'Saw some kind of summary. But I mean she was talking in German so it wasn't going to give us anything.'

  'You didn't see a translation of the transcript?'

  They looked at one another and then both agents shook their heads. But what was there to look at? The woman had just seen Jack Farrell walking into the Royal Meridien.

  'If you want my opinion' Malloy told them, 'I think the call stinks.' This surprised them, but before they could respond, he continued. 'CNN was saying something about steam on the bathroom mirror and wet towels.'

  Sutter nodded. 'Point being they just got out ahead of the raid.'

  'But the caller sees them going into the hotel and runs for the phone?' Malloy let them think about it. 'How do they get steam on the mirror and then get dressed and run out of the hotel? The way I understand it, the Germans surrounded the hotel inside fifteen minutes of the call.'

  'Maybe the caller thinks about it before she makes the call,' Josh Sutter answered.

  Jim Randal, using chop sticks, fed himself a large chunk of chicken. 'What are you saying?'

  'Did you look at the hotel security tapes?'

  'They showed us a still. The rest they said you couldn't really see the faces.'

  'The copy I saw on CNN didn't give much.'

  Randal nodded. 'The woman. . . I mean she could be my first wife.' 'But that wasn't the night of the call?' Malloy asked.

  'The one we saw was taken while they were checking in,' Sutter answered. 'Hans said it was probably the best one they had.'

  'I'm lost, T. K. Where is this going?'

  'They've got security cameras on every exit. They know down to the second when Farrell and Chernoff entered and left the hotel. I'm just asking if they gave you that information along with everything else.'