The man to his right nodded. “The Scorpion will see you now.” The words were in English, and the voice was low. It was the correct response, which was all that mattered to Crane.

The guards hustled him safely up the steps and inside. The door closed with a loud thud, followed by the clicks of a battery of locks thrown into place. Clearly this was no ordinary tenement, and now the Scorpion’s insistence that the meeting be held in Les Bosquets made sense: Crane had been warned to come alone, and by walking through the labyrinth of buildings to an address that did not exist, the Scorpion’s people had had plenty of time to observe him and make certain he was not only by himself but had not been followed.

He inhaled and looked around. The foyer was old but clean, with a low ceiling. Standing in the middle of it was a fourth man, unarmed and of an entirely different sort.

“Monsieur Crane, you’re late. I trust you had no trouble.” The man was older, somewhere in his mid-50s, with an angular face, a yacht tan, and a halo of salt-gray hair, every strand in place. Crane studied the cut and fabric of his suit—charcoal gray silk with a 24-carat gold pinstripe, estimated cost $10,000. And the shoes—by Berlutti, in alligator with natural seams—at least $1,500. The tie was Hermès and worth $5,000. But it was the watch that held his attention—Patek Phillippe, $200,000, not a centime less.

Crane raised his gaze. “So I meet the Scorpion at last.”

Bright blue eyes twinkled back at him. “You’re a smart lad.” The accent was lightly British, and his manner was casually noblesse oblige as he looked past Crane to his men. “Search him.”

Crane knew the drill. He lifted his arms and spread his legs. No one spoke as a guard patted him down, then a second ran an airport-style wand over him. They were inspecting him not only for weapons but for any kind of recording devices, which was fine with Crane. Over the years he had developed an extraordinary memory not only for documents but also for conversations. Few people knew he had those talents either.

“He’s clean,” the man with the wand reported.

The Scorpion had been looking away. Now he focused on Crane again. “We’ll take the elevator.”

With two of the security men leading, they stepped into the elevator cage, followed by the last man who touched the button that sent them not up into the apartments, but downward.

Crane asked, “When did you become involved in—”