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By Root 829 0

let them pass, then go inside, do what had to be done, and quietly leave. But doing so might somehow alert Joe Ryder and would put Branco in the situation of having to kill him himself. That, in turn, risked a firefight with Ryder’s personal RSO bodyguards. Something like that would be loud and messy, and who knew how it would turn out? So going in after Anne and Marten was not a reasonable option. All he could do was wait until they made their move and Ryder made his in an attempt to join them. What he had to do was have patience, something every soldier in every war ever fought had had to have. Hurry up and wait. It was the unwritten heart of les règles de guerre, the rules of war.

10:09 A.M.

They had just taken seats at a small outdoor café on Rua Garrett and were ordering coffee to wait it out when they heard the alarm. One of Branco’s lookouts was extremely concerned about two people who had suddenly appeared from the basement entrance of the building at the end of the block and climbed into an electrician’s van that had been parked there for nearly a half hour. Seconds later the vehicle pulled away.

“Couldn’t tell if it was two men or a man and a woman. One of them wore a pulled-down hat,” a male voice spat in Portuguese. “Blue van, Serviço Elétrico de Sete Dias, with white and gold lettering. Moving north toward Travessa do Sequeiro.”

Immediately they heard Branco cut in. “Bernardo. Pick it up! Pick it up! Pick it up!”

“Excuse me,” Conor White said politely and left the table. He walked past several customers and crossed to where Moses waited in the parked Mercedes. Safely out of earshot, he lifted his right arm, pressed the KEY TO TALK button on the small microphone in the sleeve of his jacket, and spoke into it. “Branco,” he said quietly. “Can you talk?”

“Yes.”

“Was it them?”

“Don’t know. Sit tight. We’ll find out.”

“Don’t lose that van.”

“I have a man on a motorcycle right behind it.”

“Where is Ryder?”

“Went for a swim, then back to his room. Wants a car at eleven thirty to go to a café in the Alfama district.”

“Where the hell is that?”

“Across the Baixa quarter from where you are.”

“Which way did the van go?”

“I—Wait, what?” Branco paused, as if he were listening to some other transmission, then came back on. “It just turned onto Calçada de Combro.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It’s not heading to the Alfama district.”

“Stay on it to wherever it stops. Then just watch, don’t do anything. See who gets out and where they go afterward. If it is Marten and Anne I want immediate confirmation.”

Conor White clicked off the microphone, went back to the table, and sat down next to Patrice and Irish Jack. “You heard?”

Patrice nodded.

“What do you think?”

“They know we’re here and watching,” he said in his distinct French-Canadian accent, “and have found a way around us.”

“That’s what I think, too.” White glanced around, then lifted the microphone. Again he spoke quietly. “Where is the van now?”

“Rua António Maria Cardoso.”

“Which way is it going?”

“Just city streets. No way to tell. As I said, sit tight. My guy’s a good rider.”

10:13 A.M.

104

10:14 A.M.

“Senhor, a motorcycle has been following us for the last minutes,” the heavyset, middle-aged electrician said over his shoulder as he guided the blue van down a series of narrow cobblestone streets. He wore white coveralls and a Serviço Elétrico de Sete Dias baseball cap and was clearly nervous.

Quickly Marten moved forward from where he and Anne had been crouching among the electrical supplies to look into the van’s side mirror. The motorcycle was two hundred feet back with a small car in between. It looked like a Japanese street racer, a Suzuki maybe. Very fast, with tremendous acceleration. Its rider was a man, or so it appeared. He wore jeans, a dark jacket, and a full helmet and visor, making it impossible to see his features.

“How close are we to the hospital?”

“About five minutes.”

“If he’s still with us after the next turn, pull over and stop and let him pass. We’ll see what happens then.”

The driver started to look back at Marten.