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color behind large glasses with clear plastic frames. She wore a cheap diamond wedding set. Her passport listed her occupation as elementary school teacher and her name as Sylvia Wilson.
    They deplaned into the controlled lanes leading to customs. Nick noted the security cameras and guards and kept his head down, just another jet-lagged traveler anxious to get to his hotel.
    The customs officer was bored. He looked at the passports and scrutinized Nick's face. He gestured at the camera bag slung over Nick's shoulder.
    "Open the bag, please."
    Nick opened it, took out the camera. "Latest model," he said. "Stores 5000 pictures."
    The official checked that the camera had been declared. He stamped the passport and handed it back.
    "Enjoy your stay." He stamped Selena's passport without more than a glance.
    They took a taxi to their hotel. The room had been booked from Vancouver using a credit card in Wilson's name. The hotel was a remodeled older building optimistically rated 3 stars. A traveler on a limited budget would choose a hotel like this. From here it was a twenty minute walk to the heart of the old city.
    They registered for five days. The clerk gave Nick a large metal key with a long wooden tag on it. He told them to leave the key when they left the hotel. He kept their passports and handed them a FedEx package.
    "This came for you, an hour ago. From your office? You are here on business?"
    "Yes." Nick handed the clerk a business card. "Business and pleasure. Thank you."
    He took the package. A rack of brochures on the counter advertised tours, attractions and restaurants. Selena took several and placed them in her purse.
    "Be sure to see the clock," the clerk said to her. "Welcome to Praha."
    The elevator was ancient, an elaborate open box of wrought iron with an accordion gate. They rose at a snail's pace. Selena watched the shaft slide by through the black ironwork.
    A bird in a cage must feel like this, she thought.
    Their room was stuffy and hot. Nick closed the door and locked it. A window looked out onto the street. He opened the window and watched a brightly painted electric tram rumble by on the street below. His back ached from the flight, a long, dull pain that spread around his side and clawed at him when he moved. They'd flown coach. People like the Wilsons didn't fly business or first class.
    He sat on the bed. It sagged under his weight. "We should take those detainees at Gitmo and strap them into economy airplane seats for a few days. That would make them talk."
    Selena laughed. "That's cruel and unusual punishment, Nick. Can't do that."
    She sat down next to him. Nick opened the package. It contained two Irish passports with entry stamps for the Czech Republic, two SIG Sauer P229 pistols chambered for .40 S&W, holsters and four loaded magazines. A box contained things they'd need if they had to use the Irish passports.
    Nick had never liked the Glocks that the others carried. They were great when they worked, light, easy to carry. But they had a tendency to jam at awkward moments. Looking at the Sig, he made up his mind to talk with Harker about switching everyone over when they got back.
    He picked up one of the pistols and inserted a magazine. He racked the slide, and let it go forward. He pushed the decocking lever down with his left thumb and put the gun in a holster. Selena did the same with hers. The pistol was safe with a round in the chamber. Pull the trigger and you were in business.
    "Nothing like a gift from home," he said.
    "What's our plan?"
    "It's too late to do anything today except find someplace to eat dinner. We need sleep. Tomorrow we'll go to that cafe."
     
     
     

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
     
    Morel placed the syringe back in his briefcase and closed it. Foxworth rolled down his sleeve and fastened a gold and diamond cuff link. The drug moved through his system, the pain receded. He didn't know what Morel had given him. He didn't care, as long as it handled the pain. The headaches were