Jean-Michel looked around. The only light came from four red neon rings around the bar to his right. They didn't tell him much about what the club looked like or whether the big man had even left the room. All that the Frenchman knew for certain was that despite the hum of the air vents the place smelled. It was a slightly nauseating blend of stale cigarette smoke, liquor, and lust.

After a minute or two, Jean-Michel heard fresh footsteps. They were considerably different from the first. They were confident but light and they tapped rather than scraped along the floor. A moment later, Felix Richter stepped into the red light of the bar.

Jean-Michel recognized the dapper thirty-two-year-old from the photographs be had seen. Not that the picture captured the dynamism of the man. Richter stood just under six feet tall, his blond hair short and carefully razor-cut. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored three-piece suit, highly polished shoes, and a black tie with red stripes. He wore no jewelry. Richter's people regarded that as effeminate, and there was no room in the party for that.

"Medals. That is all I allow our men to wear, " Herr Richter had said once in an editorial in his newspaper, Unser Kampf, Our Struggle.

More impressive than Richter's attire, however, were his eyes. The photographs hadn't captured them at all. Even in the red light of the bar, they were riveting. And once they found their target they didn't move. Richter did not seem the kind of man to avert his eyes from anyone.

As the German neared, his right hand moved as if he were drawing a gun slowly. It slid up the leg and hip, then shot straight out. It was a curious but elegant move. The Frenchman shook the hand firmly, surprised by the strength of Richter's grip.

"It was good of you to come," Richter said. "Yet I thought that your employer would be visiting as well."

"As you know, M. Dominique, prefers to conduct business from his factory," Jean-Michel said. "With the technology available to him, there's very little reason to leave."

"I understand," said Richter. "Never photographed, rarely seen, appropriately mysterious."

"M. Dominique is mysterious but not uninterested," Jean-Michel pointed out. "He has sent me to represent him in these discussions, and also to be his eyes and ears during Chaos Days."

Richter grinned. "And to make sure that the donation he generously gave to the celebration is being well spent."

Jean-Michel shook his head. "You're wrong, Herr Richter. M. Dominique is not like that. He invests in people he believes in."

The Frenchman released the German's hand and Richter fell in beside him. Richter took his guest's elbow and ushered him slowly through the darkness.

"Don't feel that you have to defend Dominique to me," Richter said. "It's good business to keep an eye on what your peers are up to."