Hecht moved his cadaverous frame across the parquet floor. Something about him struck her as familiar. As he lifted his arm onto her desk, she saw faint blue numbers tattooed on his forearm peeking out from his jacket sleeve. Did he want her to find Nazi loot in numbered Swiss bank accounts? She scooped ground coffee into the filter, poured water, and switched on the espresso machine, which grumbled to life.

"Specifically, Monsieur Hecht, what is the job?"

"Computer penetration is your field." His eyes scanned the equipment lining the walls. He thrust a folder at her. "Decipher this computer code. The Temple E'manuel is hiring you."

"Regarding?"

"We need proof that a woman's relatives avoided deportation to Buchenwald. But I don't want to raise her hopes." He looked away, as if there was more he could say, but didn't.

"I've stopped doing that kind of work, Monsieur Hecht. That was more my father's field. To be honest, if I kept his promise you'd get less than the best."

"I knew your father, I trusted him." Hecht gripped the edge of her desk.

"How did you know him?"

"A man of honor, he told me I could rely on you." Soli Hecht hung his head. "We had many dealings before the explosion. I need your expertise."

She drummed her chipped red nails on her desk and pushed the painful memories aside. Steaming muddy liquid dripped into the waiting demitasse cup. "Monsieur, un petit cafe?"

"Non, merci." He shook his head.

Aimee unwrapped a sugar cube and plopped it in her cup. "I do computer security," she repeated. "Not missing persons."

"He said you would help me…that I could always come to you."

Short of going back on her father's word, one path remained. "D'accord," she relented with inner misgivings. "I'll show you my standard contract form."

"My word must be enough." He extended his hand. "As far as you are concerned, you don't know me. Agreed?"