The rain had stopped on the Rue de Hesse, but there were puddles by the curbs and the roadway was slick. Business hours were just over and bankers were heading home in the autumn dark as cleaners arrived for work. The stolid stone walls of the financial institutions looked on, indifferent. Their money was snug inside.

Rafe stood next to Catherine in the doorway of the Holborn Bank. Barely an hour had passed since she’d stood there watching Pleski stagger away, watching the thief trail after him.

“Busy day,” she said. “First Pleski. Now this. Whatever this is.”

“Did Pleski threaten you? Anything?”

Catherine shook her head. “Not a word. My ignorance was apparent and perfect.”

So that had worked.

A Mercedes sedan turned in from the Boulevard Georges-Favon. It pulled up to the curb and stopped, its motor still running, its headlights on. Catherine asked, “Is that my client?”

“I think so,” Rafe said. “Are the papers ready?”

“They just need his signature. And his money flies out. To an account in Maryland. Something called Consulting Services, Inc. He’s hiring a consultant for six million dollars?”

“Not exactly,” Rafe said.

The back door of the Mercedes opened, and Frank stepped out. He looked around, then nodded to another man in the back seat. Rafe had seen him before. He was the tourist from the synagogue. And later one of the backup people at the Jardin des Alpes. The third man in the back seat was Stavro, sitting in the middle. His hair was tousled and he looked tired and he had lost his suit jacket somewhere along the way. It had been thirty hours since he had been plunged into unconsciousness.

Frank walked to the doorway where Rafe was standing with Catherine. He said to Catherine, “Are the papers ready?”

Rafe answered. “Yes.”

“They’re in there,” Catherine said. She pulled the door open and pointed through the reception area to the fishbowl.

“Lovely,” Frank said. “You two been having a nice day?”

No one answered. Frank walked back to the car. Catherine turned to Rafe. “Who’s he?”

“Frank.”

“Well, that explains everything.” She looked at him coolly. “I’m getting more ignorant by the minute, aren’t I?”

Frank stopped by the door to the car and looked across the street again and waited as if he was expecting something to happen there. What happened was that a man in a white skullcap stepped out from a shadow and stood clear under a streetlight. He nodded at Frank, and Frank nodded at him.

Then Frank leaned into the car and pulled Stavro out.

“What’s that about?” asked Catherine.