“That’s all?” said the man.

“That’s all,” said Bob.

“You can stay here and keep an eye on us,” said Alex. “Just let us take care of any customers.”

“There won’t be any customers,” said the man. “Everyone in Saulgrub knows I close at nine and the tourists don’t drive after dark—not on these roads.”

Ten minutes later, with the manager happily counting his windfall in his office, Bob and Alex pulled oil-stained coveralls over their clothes.

“Won’t they be expecting us to speak German?” said Alex.

“I know enough,” said Bob. “I thought with that collection of yours, you’d know German, too.”

“I mostly know military terms,” said Alex, as they settled onto a bench outside the garage door and watched the road.

For the next hour Alex talked about his collection and Bob listened, never quite sure whether to be impressed or horrified.

9:30 p.m.

“The pacing is getting on my nerves,” said Jean, but her words had no effect on Nemo. He had not felt like this for a long time. Usually, on the verge of a job, he entered a state of serene calm, his hyper-focus on the work at hand pushing everything else out of his mind. Nemo was a relaxed killer. But tonight’s exercise was not a normal job. In a normal job the only thing at risk was Nemo’s own life, something on which he had never placed a particularly high value. In a normal job, he had no notion of the ultimate goal of those who pulled the strings. “Never know the client’s endgame” had been one of his rules, after all. But tonight was different. Tonight, he had an intimate understanding of the stakes, of what might be accomplished in the case of success and what would certainly be lost in the case of failure. Yet it wasn’t just the fear of the evil that Ingrid Weiss could do with $700 million or the knowledge of the good someone like Patton could do with that same resource. Nemo had, in the past few days, found himself in the uncomfortable position of having friends. Patton especially, but even Jean and Alex—hell, even those American soldiers. He had never worked with anyone else, and he had felt a fondness growing within himself as they had laid their plans. But friends could be taken away, friends could die, you could lose friends like he had lost Jack. So a knot in the pit of his stomach and a darkness settling into the back of his mind, Nemo paced. And even though he thought of Jean as a friend, and even though his pacing drove her crazy, he couldn’t stop.

“It’s time,” said Ted. “Are you sure you’re good to make the call?”

“I’m good,” said Jean. “Bob and I worked out the script.”

“Just make the damn call,” snapped Nemo.