"Miss," Werner said, "a film is being shot just around the hill and we must keep the area clear." He extended his hand behind him. "If you'll come with me, I can escort you back to the main road."

"Of course," the woman said. "I'm sorry. I wondered what those men were doing on the road. I thought perhaps there had been an accident."

"You would have heard an ambulance," Werner noted.

"Yes, of course. " She reached behind the tree. "Let me just get my backpack."

Werner called his dispatcher on the walkie-talkie and explained that he was escorting a woman back to the main road.

"So-- a movie," the woman said, slinging the backpack over her left shoulder. "Is anyone famous in it?"

Werner was about to tell her he didn't know much about movie actors when he heard leaves rustle above him. He looked up in time to see two men, dressed in green and wearing ski masks; jump from the lowest branch. The smaller man landed in front of him, holding a Walther P38. Werner couldn't see the larger man who dropped behind him.

"Don't speak," the gunman told Werner. "Just give us your uniform."

Werner's eyes shifted to the woman as she removed a folding-stock Uzi from the backpack. Her expression was cool now, impervious to the contemptuous look he gave her. She stopped beside the gunman, nudged him aside with her knee, and pressed the gun muzzle under Werner's chin. She glanced at the name tag on his breast pocket.

"Just so there's no misunderstanding, Herr Dagover," she said, "we kill heroes. I want the uniform now."

After hesitating a long moment, Werner reluctantly undid his belt buckle. He pressed down on the walkie-talkie to make sure it was snug in its loop, then laid the big leather belt on the ground.

As Werner began undoing the big brass buttons on his uniform, the woman crouched and scooped up the belt. Her eyes narrowed as she removed the walkie-talkie and turned it over.

The small red "transmit" light was glowing. Werner felt his throat go dry.

He knew it had been a risk to turn it on so the dispatcher could hear them. But sometimes the job required risks, and he didn't regret having done it.

The woman touched the "lock" button with her thumb, taking it off transmit. Then she looked from Werner to the man behind him. She nodded once.

Werner Dagover gasped as the man slipped two feet of copper wire around his throat and pulled tight. The last thing he felt was a ripping pain which girdled his neck and shot down his spine