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days when she was chasing him.
    “Dale Cooper could be our man,” Kate said. “Which hotel gave you his name?”
    “The Four Seasons,” Atalay said. “It’s right up the street, in the old prison.”
    “Really? A prison?” She felt a twinge of excitement in her chest. “You must be joking.”
    “It’s true. Sultanahmet Prison was one of the most notorious and feared places in our country. It was where political prisoners, mostly writers and journalists, were sent to rot. Now it’s a five-star luxury hotel, where people pay top dollar to stay in former dungeons. Amazing, isn’t it?”
    The irony would be irresistible to Nick. If he ever came to Istanbul, she knew the Four Seasons Turkish prison was definitely where he’d stay. And if someone was trying to imitate him, they might stay there as well.
    “Let’s talk to the desk clerk at the Four Seasons,” Kate said. “Have your men drive there and park near the front and rear exits. Tell them to stay out of sight. We don’t want to spook our suspect on the off chance that he’s there. And if he isn’t there we might still learn something helpful.”
    Atalay leaned in the window of the car and gave the driver orders in Turkish. The cars turned around at the end of the street and headed back the way they came. Atalay and Kate began their short walk up the cobblestoned street.
    Despite the yellow paint, red-tile roof, ocher-tinted masonry, and white balustrades along the terraces and walls, the hotel’s origins as a prison were obvious. The building had high walls with tall guard towers at two corners. The entrance was grand but imposing, with bars on the windows. The three flagpoles along the front wall added a touch of governmental authority to the place.
    “There are sixty-five suites,” Atalay said as they neared the front entrance. “The guard towers are occupied by elevators, and the former exercise yard is now a garden with a fancy restaurant. But the fact that it was once a prison works to our benefit if we get lucky and Fox or his imposter is still here. There aren’t a lot of exits. It will be easy for us to lock down.”
    “Don’t get your hopes up,” Kate said, more to caution herselfthan Atalay. She was on the hunt and she felt a small drip, drip, drip of adrenaline flow into her system. There was a chance that the thief was still in Istanbul. And if he wasn’t still here, the desk clerk might remember him. Plus there were security cameras everywhere. Surely Dale Cooper didn’t always wear his Nick Fox mask.
    They stepped into a marble foyer and walked down a long corridor of high arches. The registration desk was at the end of the passageway. Across from the registration desk was a wall lined with small windows that looked out onto the former prison yard and the opposite wing of the hotel.
    The desk clerk was a young man with posture so rigid and straight he made the marble pillars around him appear crooked. He greeted them in Turkish. Atalay flashed his identification, introduced himself, and then spoke in English for Kate’s sake.
    “We’re looking for a man named Dale Cooper,” Atalay said. “We believe he was registered here.”
    The desk clerk went to his computer. “Dale Cooper reserved a suite yesterday, but checked in just a couple hours ago.”
    That didn’t make sense to Kate. The break-in at the museum was committed two nights ago. Why would the thief check in to the hotel today?
    And then, with an overwhelming sense of dread, the answer hit her at precisely the same moment that Atalay pulled a photo of Nick from his shirt pocket and showed it to the clerk.
    “Is this him?” Atalay asked.
    The clerk gave the picture a quick glance and nodded. “Yes, that’s Mr. Cooper.”
    Of course it was, Kate thought. Because the real Nick Fox had come to Istanbul despite her warnings and got a room exactly where she thought he would. She knew Nick all too well. And now she’d led the Turkish police right to the man she was