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knew all that. I wondered why he returned the book. Now I know. He removed the most important page, pocketed the reward money from the owner, then wanted to sell the page back to me.”
    “But you don’t buy from people who steal from you.”
    “Sends the wrong message. Don’t you agree?”
    Malone gestured at Rócha. “So your lapdog killed Scott.”
    “As he will Yann Dubois if you do not bring me that page.”
    “What if I don’t have it?”
    “I am betting you do. I suspected that Brown was not working alone. Your appearance here seems to confirm that.”
    “If that is true, why would I buy the book?”
    “I don’t know. But I am sure that you and Herr Brown are connected. Bring me that page.”
    Interesting, this man who thought himself so careful made mistakes, too. But things were happening too fast for the right prep work. He was improvising, snatching Dubois the fastest way to generate a reaction.
    “Tomorrow, Herr Malone. Bring me the page and Dubois will be unharmed. I have no argument with him. But, if not, then he will never be seen again.”
    He thought of Elise and the two children. No way he could allow that to happen, so he asked, “Where and when?”
    “I assume you want a public place. One with limited access. Preferably one way in and out.”
    “I see you’ve done this before.”
    Simon smiled. “More of that delightful southern America wit.”
    “It’s a gift.”
    Simon pointed south. “The Citadelle Laferrière.”
    He knew the spot, had seen it from the air earlier before his flight landed. The fortress sat atop a mountain, built by Henri Christophe two hundred years ago.
    “Ten AM ,” Simon said. “That should give you plenty of time.”
    No point arguing. He had no choice.
    “
Bitte
, Herr Malone,” Simon said.
    The two men started to walk off.
    “Oh,” Simon said. “I nearly forgot.”
    Something was tossed his way, which he caught.
    Keys.
    “To Herr Dubois’ vehicle. I assume you will need it to make your way around. He, of course, will not be using it.”
    Simon and Rócha left.
    Now he had a big problem.

    Malone stepped from the car. His watch read 8:30 pm. He’d managed to find Yann Dubois’ house, recalling the route from earlier. The door to the shanty opened and Elise appeared, surely expecting her husband.
    Instead all she saw was the stranger who’d shared their dinner.
    He stepped to the lighted doorway.
    She spotted the concern on his face.
    Her eyes watered, but no tears came. “Yann is in trouble?”
    He nodded. “The same men who killed Scotty have him.”
    “And what do you plan to do about it?”
    Interesting that she made no mention of police or anyone in authority. Only what
he
planned to do. He assumed people here had long ago abandoned any trust in government.
    “I’ll get him back.”
    “How can you promise such a thing?”
    He couldn’t, but she did not need to hear that.
    “You are the real secret agent, aren’t you?”
    He nodded.
    “Scotty was a joyful man. Much like a child. He showed the children many tricks, winning their favor. But he was not what he wanted us to believe.”
    “And you said nothing?”
    “Why? He was harmless. In him, I sensed only opportunism. In you, I see resolve. You may actually be able to get my Yann back.”
    This was an intuitive woman.
    “I need to stay here tonight.”
    She sensed his reason, and he saw the realization in her eyes. “Will they come here? After us?”
    Matt Schwartz’s gun was nestled beneath his shirt.
    “I doubt it. But to be sure, I’d like to stay.”

    Malone stared up at the Citadelle Laferrière.
    The night had passed uneventfully and he’d managed a few hours of light rest, remaining alert. He’d driven Dubois’ car fifteen miles south of town, into the mountains, to Bonnet de l’Évêque—the Bishop’s Miter—whichrose 3,000 feet into a clear morning sky. A twisting road led to a parking lot just below the impressive fortress.
    A cobblestoned track wound from the