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something less than five hundred American dollars according to the daily rate of exchange posted in the hotel lobby。 Now he was outfitted with several sets of acceptable clothing and lying on a bed in a reasonably expensive hotel with something over twenty…three thousands francs in a Louis Vuitton wallet belonging to the Marquis de Chambord。 Twenty…three thousand francs。。。 nearly six thousand American dollars。
Where had he e from that he was able to do the things he did？
Stop it！
The rue Sarasin was so ancient that in another city it might have been considered a landmark； a wide brick alley connecting streets built centuries later。 But this was Marseilles； ancient coexisted with old； both unfortable with the new。 The rue Sarasin was no more than two hundred yards long； frozen in time between the stone walls of waterfront buildings； devoid of streetlights； trapping the mists that rolled off the harbour。 It was a back street conducive to brief meetings between men who did not care for their conferences to be observed。
The only light and sound came from Le Bouc de Mer。 The cafe was situated roughly in the centre of the alley； its premises once a nineteenth…century office building。 A number of cubicles had been taken down to allow for a large bar…room and tables； an equal number were left standing for less public appointments。 These were the waterfront's answer to those private rooms found at restaurants along La Cannebiere； and； as befitting their status； there were curtains； but no doors。
The patient made his way between the crowded tables； cutting his way through the layers of smoke； excusing himself past lurching fishermen and drunken soldiers and red…faced whores looking for beds to rest in as well as a few francs。 He peered into a succession of cubicles； a crewman looking for his panions until he found the captain of the fishing boat There was another man at the table。 Thin； pale…faced； narrow eyes peering up like a curious ferret's。
'Sit down；' said the dour skipper。 'I thought you'd be here before this。'
'You said between nine and eleven。 It's quarter to eleven。'
'You stretch the time； you can pay for the whisky。'
'Be glad to。 Order something decent； if they've got it。'
The thin； pale…faced man smiled。 Things were going to be all right
They were。 The passport in question was； naturally； one of the most difficult in the world to tamper with； but with great care； equipment and artistry； it could be done。
'How much？'
These skills … and equipment … do not e cheap。 Twenty…five hundred francs。'
'When can I have it？'
The care； the artistry； they take time。 Three or four days。 And that's putting the artist under great pressure； he'll scream at me。'
There's an additional one thousand francs if I can have it tomorrow。'
'By ten in the morning；' said the pale…faced man quickly。 'I'll take the abuse。'
'And the thousand；' interrupted the scowling captain。 'What did you bring out of Port Noir？ Diamonds？'
Talent；' answered the patient； meaning it but not understanding it
'I'll need a photograph。！ said the connection。
'I stopped at an arcade and had this made；' replied the patient； taking a small square photograph out of his shirt pocket。 'With all that expensive equipment I'm sure you can sharpen it up。'
'Nice clothes；' said the captain； passing the print to the pale…faced man。
'Well tailored；' agreed the patient。
The location of the morning rendezvous was agreed upon； the drinks paid for； and the captain slipped five hundred francs under the table。 The conference was over； the buyer left the cubicle and started across the crowded； raucous； smoke…layered bar…room towards the door。
It happened so rapidly； so suddenly； so pletely unexpectedly； there was no time to think。 Only react。
The collision was abrupt； casual； but the eyes that stared at him were not casual； they seemed to burst out of their sockets； widening in disbelief； on the edge of hysteria。
'No！ Oh my God； no； It cannot。。。' The man spun in the crowd； the patient lurched forward； clamping his hand down on the man's shoulder。
'Wait a minute！'
The man spun again； thrusting the V of his outstretched thumb and fingers up onto the patient's wrist； forcing the hand away。 'You！ You're dead！ You could not have lived！'
'I lived。 What do you know'
The face was now contorted； a mass of twisted fury； the eyes squinting； the mouth open； sucking air； baring yellow teeth that took on the appearance of an animal's teeth。 Suddenly； the man pulled out a knife； the snap of its recessed blade heard through the surrounding din。 The arm shot forward； the blade an extension of the hand that gripped it； both surging in towards the patient's stomach。 'I know I'll finish it！' whispered the man。
The patient swung his right forearm down； a pendulum sweeping aside all objects in front of it He pivoted； lashing his left foot up； his heel plunging into his attacker's pelvic bone。
'Che…sah。' The echo in his ears was deafening。
The man lurched backwards into a trio of drinkers as the knife fell to the floor。 The weapon was seen； shouts followed； men converged； fists and hands separating the batants。
'Get out of here！'
Take your argument somewhere else！'
'We don't want the police in here； you drunken bastards！
The angry coarse dialects of Marseilles rose over the cacophonic sounds of Le Bouc de Mer。 The patient was hemmed in； he watched as his would…be killer threaded his way through the crowd； holding his groin； forcing a path to the entrance The heavy door swung open； the man raced into the darkness of rue Sarasin。
Someone who thought he was dead … wanted him dead …knew he was alive。
The economy class section of Air France's Caravelle to Zurich was filled to capacity； the narrow seats made more unfortable by the turbulence that buffeted the plane。 A baby was screaming in its mother's arms； other children whimpered； swallowing cries of fear as parents smiled with tentative reassurances they did not feel。 Most of the remaining passengers were silent； a few drinking their whisky more rapidly than obviously was normal。 Fewer still were forcing laughter from tight throats； false bravado that emphasized their insecurity rather than disguising it。 A terrible flight was many things to many people； but none escaped the essential thoughts of terror： encased in a metal tube thirty thousand feet above the ground； he was vulnerable。 With one elongated； screaming dive he could be plummeting downwards into the earth。 And there were fundamental questions that acpanied the essential terror。 What thoughts would go through one's mind at such a time？ How would one react？
The patient tried to find out； it was important to him。 He sat next to the window； his eyes on the aircraft's wing； watching the broad expanse of metal bend and vibrate under the brutalizing impact of the winds。 The currents were clashing against one another； pounding the man…made tube into a kind of submission； warning the microscopic pretenders that they were no match for the vast infirmities of nature。 One ounce of pressure beyond the flex…tolerance and the wing would crack； the lift sustaining limb torn from its tubular body； shredded into th