He gestured toward the items that the man beside him was holding. “Put the bag over your head and then tape it in place around your neck, or you’ll watch it happen to Agent Greer, and this time, we won’t stop it. You do it; he lives. You refuse; he dies.”

“How do I know you won’t hurt him if I do what you’re saying?”

“Trust, Sasha. I haven’t lied to you yet. It’s a big decision. I’ll give you a few minutes to decide.”

++++

I saw a drug deal going down on the corner across the street, and when the two men noticed me, one of them hurriedly stuffed something into his pocket and hustled off into the shadows.

Not my concern at the moment.

The other man glared at me, but I shifted my attention to the house.

In this neighborhood, I hadn’t expected to see any single-family dwellings but found that the address in question was, in fact, a dilapidated two-story home.

As I crossed the street, four men who were sitting outside a nearby brownstone looked my way. One of them stood and called to me, but I ignored him and proceeded toward the house. Another tugged out his phone, tapped in a number, and started talking with someone while he continued to stare at me.

No lights were on in the house.

When I turned and glanced over my shoulder, I saw that the man who’d shouted to me from the stoop was briskly approaching me and was now only about ten meters away.

He called out angrily, “Whatcha doin’ here?”

“I’m looking for a tall guy,” I said to him. “Slim. White. Probably wearing a trench coat. Late sixties, early seventies. English accent.”

He was quiet but stopped short about five meters from me.

“Have you seen anyone like that?”

“I think it’s time for you to leave.”

“I want to talk to the Matchmaker.”

“Ain’t no matchmaker ’round here.”

“Is that so.” I ventured out on a limb, but I remembered Vidocq’s advice about obtaining the trust of those you’re investigating by gaining their confidence and using subterfuge, and said, “I have an idea for a video he might be interested in.”

“I don’t know nothin’ ’bout no videos.” He started toward me again. “You need to get back in your car.”

“Don’t provoke me,” I said. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Keep your distance or you’ll regret it.”

He paused and stared at me, clearly trying to figure out what was going on here—was I stupid? Was I bluffing? Was I a cop?