What he’d just done directly violated everything he knew.

There was a thrill in that, and danger in the thrill.

Elevator Guy stiffened.

Jack nudged him forward, out the doors, onto the patio, past a woman in a red dress and a man in a blue jacket, who were oblivious to how helpful they’d been, and to a table in the rear that backed up against the ivy trellises, where a boost would get him over the wall as the fastest means of escape.

Jack pointed to a chair.

Elevator Guy sat.

Jack took a catty-corner position, out of arm’s reach, weapon in his lap and a clear view of the door and anyone who came through it. He said, “English?”

The guy shrugged.

“Français?”

Guy said, “Un petit peu.”

Good enough.

He’d have tried Spanish next, but no way in hell was he giving up Russian. There wasn’t a disguise in the world that could compensate for being able to understand what others thought you couldn’t. Clare had taught him that, and just because she’d turned his life into one long psychotic break didn’t make her wrong.

Jack said, “What do you want from me?”

Guy struggled with syntax and word choice but got the point across.

Dmitry was delayed in Prague. He wouldn’t arrive in Berlin in time for tomorrow’s breakfast. He had made new arrangements and left the details with the front desk. This man and his partner were to confirm when the information had been delivered.

Jack said, “Dmitry told you all this personally?”

Guy said, “Marinov, who works for Dmitry.”

Jack’s thumb caressed the weapon grip.

This was all such transparent bullshit.

Marinov or Dmitry or Clare, or whoever the hell was bankrolling this thing, knew what he was and knew suspicion, evasion, and self-preservation were part of that package. They might have hoped he’d swing by out of curiosity, just as he had, but they couldn’t guarantee it and would have never believed for a minute that he’d actually give up his location by staying in a hotel someone else had booked. If he’d never shown up, there’d have been no message. The men themselves were the message.

Jack said, “Tell Monsieur Marinov I’ll be there tomorrow, as arranged. Anything he has to say, he can say to my face.”

Guy hesitated, as if he wasn’t quite sure if he’d been dismissed. Jack said, “Go.”

The man backed halfway across the patio, and when he turned, Jack boosted himself from chair to table to wall and dropped over into the center courtyard.