"Dr. Oliver? I wonder, could I talk to you a little?"

Gideon excused himself and got up, and they went to an unoccupied table.

"My name’s John Lau, Professor. I’m a police officer." He laid an open card case on the table, revealing a blue, plastic-coated card, and left it there until Gideon had had time to read it.

NATO Security Directorate Identification was printed across the top, and a better-than-average ID photograph was on the left. Then: Name of Employee John Francis Lau; Issuing Department or Agency AFCENT; Ht 6-2; Wt 220; Hr clr Blk; Eye clr Brn; Birth date 7-24-40; Issue date 4-23-70.

Gideon nodded. "All right, what can I do for you, Mr. Lau?"

Lau had made himself comfortable, ordering coffee for both of them, while Gideon had examined his card. Now he flashed a sudden, good-natured smile. "Not Mr. Lau. Just John." He didn’t look like Gideon’s idea of a policeman. "I’d like to ask you a few questions about last night."

Gideon sighed. "I’ve already been through it three times with the Polizei and the MPs…But I guess you already know that."

Again the eye-crinkling smile. Gideon liked the man’s face, relaxed and powerful. "Sure," he said. "Look, what I want to know is, do you have any idea what they were after?" He had a choppy, pleasant way of talking.

The coffee was dumped down in front of them by Frau Gross. Gideon shook his head slowly while stirring in cream. "No idea, none at all."

"Well, try guessing, then."

"Guessing?"

"Guessing. Pretend you’re me. What would be your theory?" It had the sound of a harmless academic exercise. Gideon sometimes used the very same words in Anthropology 101.