"We'd like you to keep working for us. Just in a slightly different capacity. Come up to the driveway. We'll talk while you give me a ride to my car."

Nat slid past him at the top of the trail. No scent of any aftershave, just the odors of sweat and the wool of his suit. Holland hadn't even taken off his jacket. Nat unlocked the car and tried to look casual as he put Gordon's old box on the floor in the back.

"What's in the box?"

"Notes for a eulogy. Plus a guest list from Viv for a memorial service."

To Nat's relief, Holland didn't pursue the matter further. He started the engine and put the car in gear before the agent could change his mind.

"I take it you didn't find anything significant in the last of the boxes," Holland said.

"Only those gaps, which I'd mentioned to you earlier."

"The four missing folders?"

"If they're numbered correctly."

"Can't say I'm surprised. All the more reason we still need your help. Oh, and here are your cameras. Figured you'll need them."

"If I agree to work for you, I'll have to be able to proceed in my own way."

"As long as your methods are legal."

"Of course. What would I receive for my trouble?"

"Same rate you're already getting. Plus expenses, within reason. Logistical help, if necessary. And first dibs on the recovered materials, once we're finished with them."

"Meaning after they're decla.s.sified, which might be never."

"It won't be never. Of course, if you find them, you'll certainly get a peek then. And chances are we'd be grateful enough to arrange for some sort of limited premature use."

"Sounds wonderfully vague. The sort of agreement you might welsh on in seconds."

"Are you in or not?"

"You're going to have to tell me more. What is this all about?"

There was a long pause, no sound but the growl of the engine in low gear and the pop of gravel against the wheel wells. They reached Holland's Suburban at the bottom of the lane, where a driver waited patiently in the dark. Nat stopped the car.

"First," Holland said, "there are a few things you should know about Gordon Wolfe. None of them fit for the eulogy, I'm afraid. To begin with, he was a thief."

"He said the boxes were planted."

"Which means he was also a liar. Worse, he was a blackmailer. Had been for years. Decades. Quarterly payments to a numbered Swiss account. Puts all this nice mountain acreage of his in a new light, don't you think?"

"And you know this how?"

"From the man he was blackmailing."

"Let me guess. One of the surviving members of the Bauer family in Berlin?"

Holland gave him a long, probing look, and Nat realized he might have goofed.

"It's not that hard to figure, from what you've already told me and what I've already seen," he said, hoping he wouldn't have to bring Berta's name into it. "And I'm guessing you think the incriminating material is in the missing folders. But you must also believe there are clues to their whereabouts in the rest of the material. The kind of clues that only a historian might notice."

"That's why we want you to continue. Start tracking down any leads you can come up with, either from the materials here or from your own sources. Or, h.e.l.l, from whatever you know about Gordon. You knew him for twenty years."

"Why worry now that the blackmailer is dead?"

"As long as the information's still out there, the subject might still be vulnerable."

"And why's that so important to you?"

"Because the subject is important. And we want to keep him happy. We've been seeking his cooperation for quite some time."

"I'm presuming you mean Kurt Bauer."

Holland said nothing.

"He must be what, in his eighties by now?"

Holland sighed.

"Eighty-one."

"So he probably doesn't even run the family business anymore."

"It's not a commercial issue. Unless you're talking about the buying and selling of information, of contacts."

"What kind of information?"

"I've already said more than I should have. Let's just say he was once a very big player in a very important field, one that has our utmost attention at the moment. If we help him, then he'll help us. Unfortunately, the compet.i.tion is just as interested, and it's winner take all."

"Who's the compet.i.tion?"

"A smart fellow like you could probably go online and answer all these questions in about ten minutes, or I wouldn't have said a word of this to begin with. Just don't dig any deeper in the wrong places. Stick to the 1940s and everything will be fine between us."

"When did Gordon start blackmailing him?"

"See? Already digging in the wrong place."

"Well, I thought Viv might like to know."

"You're not to discuss this with his wife. For all we know she's part of it."

"I haven't exactly noticed you arresting her."

"We're keeping an eye on things."

"On her?"

"We're doing our job. Now you do yours. Just find it. We'll take care of the rest. And I expect daily progress reports. You can reach me anytime at this number."

He put a card on the seat between them. Then he handed over a folded sheet of paper.

"Take this, too. It's a letter of introduction, signed by me. Sometimes it opens doors. Other times it slams them, so use it sparingly."

Holland unlatched the door, but Nat had one more question.

"Are you sure Gordon's death was an accident?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You didn't answer the question."

"Maybe we don't know the answer yet."

"Well, if it wasn't, who's to say they won't try the same thing with me?"

"Don't worry. We'll be keeping an eye on you. You won't always see us, but we'll be around."

"How come that only bothers me more?"

"Look, I won't sugarcoat it. The compet.i.tion isn't exactly known for playing by the rules. But let's not make this worse than it is."

"Speaking of which, what's up with this Middle Eastern fellow you're looking for? Is he with the compet.i.tion?"

"Who told you about him?"

"Willis Turner."

Holland snorted.

"Now there's a piece of work. He's freelancing for someone. Him and that sleazeball judge. Guarantee it."

"Who?"

"We don't know yet. But you should regard him and anyone else who crosses your path as compet.i.tion."

Too bad Nat had already copied the doc.u.ments for Turner, but a deal was a deal. And Nat couldn't rat out the cop without admitting to having his own set of copies. Holland obviously suspected as much, but it would be foolhardy to come out and say so.

"Sounds like a pretty crowded field of people who are looking for this," Nat said. "Some unspecified foreign government, which may or may not include this loose character from the Middle East, plus whoever Willis Turner is working for, and now me."

"Don't forget your German. Actually, maybe you should forget her."

"Why? She might be a big help."

"We don't know her background. Neither do you."

"Historian. Ph.D. from the Free University of Berlin. She's a pro, too, you know."

"So she says. Growing up in East Berlin isn't exactly a point in her favor."

"Still fighting the Cold War?"

"They had some pretty strong and unsavory Middle Eastern connections on their side of the Wall. Especially among students."

"She was fifteen was fifteen when the Wall came down." when the Wall came down."

"Just saying. Forewarned is forearmed."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Try not to share too much. Keep her at arm's length."

It was a little disturbing hearing the agent say exactly what he had been thinking only moments ago, while looking through Gordon's little treasure box.

"Sharing is the way it works," he said, trying to convince himself as much as Holland. "It's the only way you make progress as a team."

"Slept with her yet?"

"None of your business. But no."

"I expect that's about to change."

"Are you guys experts on relationships now?"

"You'll see."

Holland smiled and slipped out of the car. Nat waited for the Suburban to drive off, so the agent wouldn't be tempted to follow. Then Nat, too, headed down the mountain. Ten minutes later, weary and dazed from the long and emotional day, he slowly climbed the stairs to his garret.

He opened the door to find Berta Heinkel waiting on the bed in the dark.

She was awake, eyes glimmering in the moonlight. Just as in his dream, she wore a short nightgown of white silk. Sleek and smooth, like her skin.

So much for keeping her at arm's length.

ELEVEN.

NAT SWITCHED on the light to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. In the instant glare from the overhead bulb Berta threw an arm across her face and pulled up the sheets. on the light to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. In the instant glare from the overhead bulb Berta threw an arm across her face and pulled up the sheets.

"I tried to reach you," she said through her fingers. "I was scared. There was nowhere else to go, so I came here."