There was practically nothing left. Black-smeared bones clutched a melted, U-shaped object that had once been a steering wheel.

From the waist up, most of the soft tissue of the bodies had been burned completely away. Below, the skin had been turned to something resembling black leather. Clothing had been burned to ash.

Any attempt by the forensic scientists to do dental identi?cation would be fruitless. If the doctors were able to ?nd a single tooth, they would be lucky. The explosion had hit the men from behind. Their heads had been blown from here to Belgium.

"The lorry was rented from a place in Lille," a nearby police inspector informed Helene.

"Witnesses?" she asked sharply.

"Non, " the inspector replied. "It was not a ?rst-rate establishment. The transaction was completed over the phone. Local police have informed us that the owner was involved marginally in drug traf?cking. An envelope stuffed fat with franc notes, and he would not ask a question."

Her face was stern as she eyed her subordinate. "Bring him here," she ordered.

In the blown-out sh.e.l.l of the truck a brittle femur snapped. Helene winced angrily.

"Are you trying to destroy evidence?" she demanded.

The MEs looked apologetic. With greater care they resumed their work.

"The rental agent is already on his way," the inspector cut in. He looked back to his notes. "That is all we have so far." He stood, pen poised over paper, awaiting Helene's next orders.Helene didn't offer any. She looked back toward the building behind her, biting her cheek thoughtfully.

She was the kind of woman who inspired resentment among professional men. Beautiful, arrogant. Helene knew that she was both of these things and cared not that she was either.

Her long, thin brown hair was a perfect frame for her pale, cla.s.sically chiseled features. The designer clothing she wore clung to her every curve in the exact way it was supposed to but never seemed to do on ordinary women. She had been approached more than once by talent agents from the modeling business. Helene had laughed them all away. With her sharp mind and ?erce patriotism, she preferred her job as a spy for the French government. Except on days like today.

The American Emba.s.sy lay in ruins. The entire front had been blown apart, exposing the interior to the street. The partially furnished rooms reminded Helene of a dollhouse she had had as a child.

Most of the outer portions of the ?oors in the multistoried building had collapsed after the blast, ?lling the courtyard with debris.

Men in windbreakers were sifting carefully through the wreckage. Not one of them was French, Helene noted with agitation.

The Americans had ?own in special investigative units that morning. Simultaneously an of?cial offer had come from Washington to a.s.sist the French with their investigation of the bombing.

Of course, the French government had ?atly refused the American offer. France was perfectly capable of handling the situation and had said so quite ?rmly. Stung, the Americans had left the local constabulary to clean up the aftermath in the street.

The French of?cials had begun to do just that. But when they expressed a desire to investigate the wreckage within the emba.s.sy courtyard, they were politely yet ?rmly rebuffed. The Americans had returned the rudeness of the French government in kind.

There was nothing that they could do about the emba.s.sy. Since it was of?cially United States soil, the government of France couldn't go in unless asked. The shortsightedness of Helene's superiors had effectively locked her out of a potentially vital aspect of this investigation.

Helene, an agent for France's DGSE, had been waiting impatiently on the street corner for the past three hours while the American men in their windbreaker jackets sifted through the charred ruins in the small emba.s.sy courtyard.

"If there is nothing else..." the inspector said leadingly.

Helene had been lost in thought.

She turned back to the man, perturbed.

"No," she sighed. "Nothing for now. Unfortunately." She indicated the blackened remains of the truck. "Go and tell those fools to be more careful with the bodies. There is little enough to work with as it is. They do not need to smash the skeletons any further."

Dutifully the inspector went off to comply with her orders.

As the man began arguing with the medical examiners, Helene stepped closer to the demolished emba.s.sy wall.

Chunks of brick lay strewed about the sidewalk and street. She picked her cautious way over these to the edge of where the emba.s.sy yard began. Yellow tape brought from America roped off the area. It ?uttered and snapped in the stiff breeze.

Hopefully the Americans would soon come to their senses and allow her inside. This inactivity was killing her.

She was peering in around a broken yet still upright section of wall when with her peripheral vision she caught sight of a pair of men stepping toward her across the rock- and metal-strewn street. They were nearly upon her when she turned.

"You may not go in there," Helene insisted, her tone of?cial.

"By the looks of it, most of in there is out here," said one of the men. He was looking at the rubble on the sidewalk.

"Oh. You are American," Helene said with some distaste."As American as apple pie and Chevrolet," said Remo Williams proudly.

"l, on the other hand, demand an apology for your coa.r.s.e greeting," said Chiun, Reigning Master of Sinanju.

The old Korean stood at Remo's elbow, longnailed hands drumming impatiently atop the ?apping sleeves of his ?re-engine red brocade silk kimono.

He was ?ve feet tall if he was an inch and had never seen the far side of one hundred pounds. Twin tufts of gossamer sprouted from a spot above each sh.e.l.l-like ear. The tan, taut ?esh of his aged skull was otherwise bare. A wisp of beard adorned his wrinkled chin. Two young-appearing hazel orbs peered with bland malevolence from amid the knots of crumpled vellum that surrounded the old Asian's almond-shaped eyes.

Together the two men were an odd sight indeed. Helene was certain that these two were not a.s.sociates of the Americans in windbreakers.

"I'd do it if I were you," Remo suggested knowingly to Helene.

"What?" Helene asked. She was genuinely confused.

"Apologize. It'll make things easier for all of us in the long run."

"Apologize?" Helene said. Her superior demeanor rea.s.serted itself. "For what am I to apologize?"

"For a slur most base," Chiun sniffed.

"I said nothing to you," Helene insisted. "Much less insult you."

"She doesn't even know what she said, Little Father," Remo said.

"Typical for a Gallic wench. Their mouths are occupied in other depraved ways so much of the time, speech becomes secondary.

Words of hate drip like poison from their weary tongues without even their knowledge." A single sharpened talon raised instructively. "Beware the daughters of Gaul, Remo. Their mouths are known for neither thoughtful consideration nor the ability to close when in the company of men, women or beasts of the ?eld."

"I'll make a note of it," Remo said dryly. "Let's go."

Jumping, Helene barred them from entering the courtyard.

"Who are you? How did you get through the police cordon?" she demanded.

"Name's Remo. You just heard that. I'm with the State Department. I was supposed to be a.s.signed here today." He looked at the bombed-out remains of the emba.s.sy building. "Guess I should have put in for that Bahamas a.s.signment, huh, Chiun?"

The old man merely harrumphed, stuf?ng his hands inside the voluminous sleeves of his kimono. He stared at Helene.

"I demand to see some form of identi?cation," Helene said of?ciously.

Remo shrugged. He pulled his and Chiun's dummy State Department ID from the pocket of his chinos.

Helene peered at the plastic-laminated cards for a full minute. At last she presented them back to Remo.

"These are in order. Though I am surprised that you would have come here today, considering what has happened," she added suspiciously.

"Diplomacy must go on." Remo smiled. He began stepping beneath the yellow tape.

"Wait," Helene said, struck with sudden inspiration.

"What?""Perhaps you could get me inside," she suggested, nodding to the emba.s.sy courtyard.

"There's really nothing to it," Remo said. "Look." He slipped beneath the tape, dropping it from his hand once he had reached the other side. "See?"

"You do not understand," she persisted. "There was an earlier misunderstanding between our respective teams. Your men have since stubbornly refused us entry."

"Perhaps you accused them of being American," Chiun offered, still on Helene's side of the ?imsy barricade.

"They are American," Helene told him.

"Ah, but perhaps they do not like to be reminded of that fact," Chiun said sagely. Bending double, he joined Remo on the other side of the tape. The back of his kimono didn't even brush the tape.

"This is the point where you're supposed to ?gure out he wants you to say you're sorry for thinking he was American," Remo offered. "It's called the subtle approach."

Helene's eyes ?nally showed dawning understanding. She glanced at Chiun.

"I apologize," the French agent said. "Most sincerely. You are quite obviously not American." Her eyes narrowed, as if she were seeing the Master of Sinanju for the ?rst time. "In fact, I would venture to guess that you are Korean, if I may be so bold."

Chiun's lined face brightened. "A woman of obvious good judgment," he said. "If somewhat delayed."

Helene knew at once that she had struck gold. She forged ahead.

"Forgive me, but sometimes my eyes are not so good," she lied. She nodded to Remo. "I saw this one and a.s.sumed you were both American. I see now that I was obviously in error."

Chiun studied her for a moment. "There is nothing wrong with your eyes," he concluded. Reaching out with a single curved ?ngernail-sharp as a t.i.tanium razor-he sliced through the yellow tape. The ends ?uttered gently to the ground. "However, there is nothing a Frenchman does better than grovel." He indicated that Helene could join them within the courtyard.

Quickly she stepped over the split sections of tape. "The FBI isn't going to like this," Remo warned.

"You will talk to them," Chiun sniffed indifferently. "After all, they are Americans and are therefore better dealt with by their own kind."

Chiun and Helene stepped in through the wreckage, leaving a grumbling Remo to deal with the of?cials from Washington.

REMO DID TALK to the investigators. Rather than get into a ha.s.sle explaining why a low-ranking State Department of?cial was stumbling about the remnants of the most signi?cant foreign bomb attack since the Marine barracks explosion in Lebanon, he showed the agent in charge a different badge, this one identifying him as a member of the National Security Council. Chiun, Remo said, was with him. Helene was with Chiun.

There was surprisingly little said by the special agent within the cordon. He was far too busy directing his team of experts. His only warning was that Remo and his party should not destroy too much evidence in their pointless tour of the scene. A shot at the NSC. The harried agent had then gone back to work.

Remo found Chiun and Helene near the battered wall of the courtyard. The exploded truck was parked just on the other side. What was left of the men in the cab had at last been removed. The back of the truck was nothing more than a bare cha.s.sis. All around, the ground was charred black.

Helene was stooped down examining small fragments of debris on the ground. The Master of Sinanju was standing upright. His b.u.t.ton nose was angled upward. He appeared to be doing some sort of deepbreathing exercises.

"We're okay with the Feds," Remo announced, coming up to them.

"Good," Helene said distractedly. Chiun ignored Remo altogether. He continued snif?ng the air. "What's your name, by the way?" Remo asked Helene.

She seemed peeved by the interruption. "Helene Marie-Simone."

"Do you realize you have three ?rst names?" No reply. Helene had become so engrossed in her meticulous search of the ground she no longer seemed to realize he was even there. Getting down on her hands and knees, she began brushing at the black grit that ?lled the s.p.a.ces on the ground between the fallen emba.s.sy bricks.

Remo turned his attention back to Chiun.

The Master of Sinanju was still snif?ng carefully at the air, drawing in delicate puffs of some distant scent.

"Okay, what is it?" Remo asked.

"I am not yet certain," Chiun responded. "But there is something here. Very faint. The boom devices have managed nearly to erase it." He turned ever so slowly in the direction of the battered truck, as if trying to sneak up on something long lost.

While they spoke, Remo caught Helene looking at them from the corner of her eye. When she thought that they were paying no attention to her, she pulled a small plastic bag from the pocket of her short leather jacket. Shielding her body from them, she quickly stuck something she had found from the ground in the bag and then hurriedly stuffed the whole bundle back into her pocket. Face ?ushed, she resumed her search.

"Back in a sec," Remo told Chiun. He wandered over to Helene. "What was that?" he asked, stopping above the kneeling agent.

She looked up at him, blandly innocent. "What was what?" she asked dully.

"Can the innocent act, Madam Clouseau," Remo droned, reaching down into her pocket and plucking out the small bag.

Helene jumped to her feet, eyes charged with horri?ed fury.

"That is evidence taken from the crime scene beyond the wall! It was collected on French soil!" She made a grab for the bag. Remo held it away from her grasping hands.

"I saw you pick it up from in here," he said. He held the bag up a few inches from his eyes.

Inside was a piece of jagged metal. It was a small fragment, no larger than a ?ngernail. It had survived the blast in surprisingly good condition, considering that corrosion had taken hold of it long before the explosives it had contained were detonated.

"Give me that this instant," Helene hissed. She s.n.a.t.c.hed once more, missing again.

"Which world war is this from, do you think?" he asked aloud. He glanced over at her.

Helene's eyes immediately glazed over. It was a very deliberate affectation. She stopped jumping. "What do you mean?" she asked blandly.

"It's obviously part of the munitions that were stolen from your depots last night. I'd say it was World War I. That metal has seen at least seventy years' worth of air and water eating away at it."

Helene's stomach knotted. The thefts were not yet public knowledge. As far as everyone was concerned, the bombing at the emba.s.sy was separate from the explosions that were still designated as accidents at the deminage depots.

Helene scrutinized Remo carefully, as if seeing him for the ?rst time.

"You are with your State Department?" she asked ?nally.