If, by some misfortune, Louis were to be apprehended by the French, he could anticipate no help from Harris or anyone else with US government credentials. He would be expected to keep his mouth shut and suck up his punishment like a big boy. Then, in a year or two, he would be quietly repatriated from a French jail, in theory to serve out the remainder of his sentence on home ground, but in reality to walk free with his anonymity compromised and his ability to perform any task riskier than taking out the trash permanently limited.

Louis did not intend to be caught by the French.

He checked the pistols. All four were new, but his premium had also ensured that a hundred rounds of Speer Gold Dots had been run through them before delivery. Two boxes of Gold Dots, fifty rounds each, came with the Rohrbaughs, but Louis hoped that would be significantly more than required. The ammunition was on the house because Louis was a returning customer and loyalty deserved its rewards.

Louis turned on the TV in the room, keeping the volume slightly louder than might have been preferable for his fellow guests. In the bathroom, he test-fired each of the pistols with an Osprey to muffle the sound; to absorb the bullets, he used a stack of old Bibles couriered from Amsterdam for just that purpose. Once he was satisfied that the guns were fit for use, he put the ruined Bibles in an anonymous white cotton bag and dumped them in a trash can on the way to buy an espresso and a croissant. He carried his purchases to the Passy Cemetery, watching always for recurring faces. He was curious to see if Harris had tagged him, but no one showed signs of taking an undue interest in him, and the cemetery was quiet as he sat by a grave and ate his pastry. He wandered the tree-lined avenues of Passy for a time before taking the Métro to Jaurès and walking the rest of the way to Stalingrad. While he could have traveled direct to the station, he knew better than to leave that kind of trail.

Aleksej Marković’s hotel overlooked the Quai de l’Oise, and was about as unprepossessing as a pension could get without hanging dead rats from its sign. According to the information provided by Harris, Marković was staying in room 42. He might even be in there now, Louis thought. A call to the hotel would confirm this, but might also spook the target. Either way, it had been made clear to Louis that he was not to move against Marković until the Vuksans’ cargo had been safely apprehended or neutralized. Harris and his people didn’t want any more jihadis roaming free. The French had more than enough of them to contend with already.