The lounge and casino weren’t the only sections of the hotel that were crowded. Several businessmen sat on chairs and sofas around the lobby itself, smiling and laughing, deep in conversations that didn’t interest Haddad.

What did interest him, however, was the lone man sitting near the window that looked out onto a busy street.

Turkish. Casually dressed in a sports jacket and jeans. Neatly trimmed beard, after the current style. Small but hard bodied, with a powerful frame that clothes couldn’t disguise.

Haddad had seen him the day before, amid the crowd of commuters and tourists on the train from Belgrade. They had not made eye contact, and at the time he had thought nothing of the man. Had not even considered that he was anything more than a weary traveler, anxious to get to his destination. The fact that he was staying at this very hotel had not been a concern.

Many people stayed here.

Yet now Haddad sensed that there was something about the Turk that wasn’t right. The way he kept his gaze focused on the newspaper, never looking up, never showing any sign of curiosity about what was going on around him. A beautiful woman walked by but he didn’t register even a flicker of interest.

So he was either a luti -a homosexual-or something else was going on.

Haddad knew quite well that surveillance was a skill that took cunning as well as patience. But the Turk was trying too hard to appear disinterested in his surroundings, and that was as much a giveaway as not trying hard enough.

That was how Haddad knew he was being watched. And this, unfortunately, was a problem.

Moving toward the lobby door, he checked the clock above the front desk. It was nearing eight P.M., and the man who called himself Chilikov would be expecting him soon. If he were late or arrived with an unwanted escort, Chilikov would disappear and that was unacceptable. These arrangements had to be concluded tonight or his schedule would be seriously compromised.