“Cross burning?” said Molly, shocked.

The cop nodded. “Nasty fellow, that Chuck Hanratty. He was involved with a neo-Nazi group called the Millennial Reich. They’re mostly across the Bay in San Francisco, but they’ve been recruiting here in Berkeley, too.” He looked around at the various buildings. “Is your car here?”

“We were walking,” said Molly.

“Well, look, it’s after midnight and, frankly, your friend seems a bit out of it. Why don’t you let Officer Granatstein and me give you a lift? You can come by headquarters tomorrow to make a report.” He handed her a card.

“Why,” said Pierre, finally rallying a bit, “would a neo-Nazi want to attack me?”

The black man shrugged. “No big mystery. He was after your wallet and her purse.”

But Molly knew that wasn’t true. She took Pierre’s blood-encrusted hand and led him over to the police car.

Pierre stepped into the shower, cleaning the blood from his arms and chest. The water running down the drain was tinged with red. Pierre scrubbed until his skin was raw. After toweling off, he crawled into bed next to Molly, and they held each other.

“Why would a neo-Nazi be after me?” said Pierre, into the darkness. He exhaled noisily. “Hell, why would anyone go to the trouble of trying to kill me? After all…” He trailed off, the English sentence already formed in his mind, but deciding not to give it voice.

But Molly could tell what he had been about to say, and she drew him closer to her, holding him tightly.

After all, Pierre Tardivel had thought, I’ll probably be dead soon anyway.

Book One

Let us live in the harness, striving mightily; let us rather run the risk of wearing out than rusting out.