Marković’s cab held the straightest route north, only veering east as it approached Gare de l’Est. For a moment it seemed possible that Marković might just be foolish enough to return to his Stalingrad base, but the cab passed Stalingrad and continued over the Bassin de la Villette and on to Pantin, where it stopped outside a budget hotel near the quai de l’Aisne that was only marginally more appealing than Marković’s original lodgings. There was no other hotel in the vicinity. Marković did not enter immediately but instead took a seat in a nearby coffee shop, from which he could watch the hotel while making a series of calls.

He was still there when Louis’s taxi arrived. By then one of the men tracking Marković had already paid cash for a room at the hotel, and he slipped the card keys to Louis as they passed each other on the street: one for the door that separated the lobby from the interior of the hotel, including the elevator, and another for the room itself. If, as seemed likely, Marković was keeping a second base at the hotel, Louis now had the means to follow him inside. Louis bought a newspaper, found a bakery, and took a space by the window that gave him a clear view of Marković.

Marković was patient, but only up to a point. He waited forty-five minutes before leaving the coffee shop and walking toward, then entering, the hotel. Louis was behind him, tapping the copy of Le Monde against his right leg as he went, although he hoped that no one tried to test him on his knowledge of its contents, his command of the French language not extending to the intricacies of the newspaper’s political commentary. From his pocket he removed a baseball cap and placed it on his head. Louis hated baseball caps, but sometimes indignity was the better part of valor.

Marković glanced back as he reached the security door in the lobby, aware of the presence at his back, but relaxed a little when he saw Louis flipping a card key between his fingers. They waited for the elevator together, each man giving the impression of studiously ignoring the other. When the elevator arrived, Marković went in first and took up a position in the corner farthest from the panel of buttons. Louis noted the camera above Marković’s head, protected from vandalism by a wire cage.

‘Votre étage, monsieur?’ said Louis.

‘Trois,’ said Marković, then he added, ‘S’il vous plaît.’