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, Solomon told himself. Aman had told him to do whatever was necessary, and he was obeying those orders. When Aman called him to complain that a girl had seduced Zachariah and made off with a private cell phone, Solomon thought it sounded comical. He stopped laughing when Aman went into a tirade, and had Solomon put the entire network on alert. The specific orders were that nothing else mattered until she was apprehended with the cell phone.
    “That little bitch has no idea what she has gotten herself into,” Aman had seethed to Solomon before slamming down the phone. Solomon’s network of watchers picked up her trail within minutes of being given the order. Solomon took personal control of the operation and followed her to the airport. Nabbing her there seemed like it was going to be easy, until she suddenly vanished through the security checkpoint with the rest of the departing travelers. He thought she made a fatal mistake when she hopped out of the cab and ran into the airport. He now realized it was a premeditated move. Solomon hurriedly purchased a ticket, and rushed through the security checkpoint after her. He left his weapon with one of his men outside the airport.
    She played the cat and mouse game surprisingly well. She weaved through the crowds, disappearing for seconds at a time as she darted around, behind, and through the sea of heads coming and going from Sin City. It was impossible to tell if she discarded the stolen cell phone in a trash can or handed it off to an unknown accomplice. He caught sight of her just as she bumped into a group of three people, but he was too far away to get a good look at the trio. That was when two airport security guards grabbed him from behind, slammed him into a wall, and began harassing him. She had spotted his surveillance. The questions the cops bombarded him with implied that she told them that he was an ex-boyfriend that was stalking her. Solomon was impressed with her quick thinking. He found it difficult to believe she was just the stripper Aman claimed her to be. After twenty minutes of trying to finagle his way past the security guards he finally used a stern warning followed by a good old-fashioned bribe. He found the stick followed by the carrot to be a more productive way of getting what he wanted. Once he dropped the name of his boss, the cops gladly accepted the bribe and let him go. As soon as he was freed, he phoned his men outside and gave instructions to trail any group of three people that consisted of two guys and one girl. The descriptions he was able to provide were vague at best, but it was at least better than nothing.
                  “Got it! This is what we need,” Solomon said, the sigh of relief in his voice quickly repressed by professionalism. The Frenchman was slowing losing his accent, and his English almost sounded like he was a native speaker. It was Solomon’s linguistic skills that first brought him to the attention of the French SDECE; the French security service that eventually morphed into the DGSE in 1982. He had a short career in the French army, during which time he mastered Russian, English, and German. His linguistic ability combined with his average height and skinny build, made him the ideal intelligence officer. He was quick- witted and capable of easily vanishing into a crowd. Both skills proved useful during his time on the African continent as he helped the Nigerians in their failed attempt to wrestle control of their oil-rich Biafra region away from the British and Americans. 
                  After the debacle in Africa, he was moved back to France by his superiors to work counter-intelligence. He spent much of the 1970s and 1980s tracking spies on French soil. In 1986 he was moved into the Operations Division, orchestrating clandestine operations against allies and enemies of the French government in countries all over Europe and the Middle East. The end of the Cold War changed his superiors’