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Eight endless, nail-chewing, garden-pacing hours after I’d cli shadows across Lu “The preacher’s muscleman just tried to ambush our decoy,” said Descartes I felt a jolt of fear, and sweat began beading onfrouy okay?”

“It’s okay,” he hurried on “You got away The ood; uy didn’t stop — without backup, he couldn’t take the risk, and besides, we didn’t want to blow his cover But you need to call the preacher right away, so he still thinks it’s you on the highway”

I forced myself to breathe slowly — once, twice, three times — and then said, “Okay, tell me what happened And tell me what I need to say”

“It was in the Chamois Tunnel, about fifty kilometers west of Geneva An hour after you left the bank The muscleman passed you in the tunnel and tried to force you to stop You made a shot—”

“Good God, I shot someone?” I was shocked by the idea that I — even a counterfeit I — ht shoot someone

“We don’t know if you hit him All we know is that the muscle you anymore You should call the preacher now, before he hears frouy”

“This is Brockton,” I said when he answered “That was really stupid, Reverend”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve got a good o dump the bones in Lake Geneva A spot so deep you’ll never find the you look or how hard you pray”

“I swear I don’t knohat you’re talking about, Brockton” His words said that, but his panicked undertone told me otherwise

“You’re lying, Reverend Either that, or your goon’s spinning out of control as badly as his car did just now”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line “What car?”

“Don’t insult ence The black BMW your bald-headed ape was driving The one that just crashed into the wall in the Chamois Tunnel”

Another pause “There was a wreck in a tunnel? Was anyone hurt? Are you okay?”

“Gee, thanks for your Christian concern, Reverend I’m just fine, but I don’t know about your muscle-bound friend — call me hard-hearted, but I didn’t stop to play Good Samaritan Maybe he’s just shaken up, ive a danon with the bones, and if you actually want theives, but I don’t” I hung up the phone and, as Descartes had instructed, I switched it off so Reverend Jonah couldn’t call me back — at least not until we’d made him sweat for a while