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calmness that stilled his ability to question.
    â€œYou are Pierre’s friend,” she said, her voice as soft and rich as her gaze.
    Jake could only nod.
    â€œI am Jasmyn.” Her gaze flickered behind him. Slender hands rose to sweep the hood back forward, and the beautiful face was lost once more to the shadows. “We haven’t much time, Pierre turns this way. Tonight or tomorrow he will take you to a restaurant called Le Relais des Pêcheurs. There is a cafe next door. I will await you.”
    â€œJake!” Pierre’s voice called from amidst the throng.
    The hand reached out and grasped his arm with a powerthat seemed to scald through his uniform. “Do not tell him I have seen you. But come. Please come.”
    â€œJake! Come on over here!”
    â€œI have heard of your search for Patrique,” said the hidden woman. “You must come. I have news.”
    Then she swept around and vanished, her absence a vacuum in the bustling market.

Chapter Four
    â€œIt’s cold tonight,” Jake said as they bicycled back into town that evening. Although there were a few cars around, including one used by Pierre’s father, petrol was almost impossible to find. Bicycles remained the most popular and dependable means of transport.
    â€œThis is the home of the mistrals, the winter winds,” Pierre replied, pedaling alongside him. “They funnel down through the Alpine foothills and strike Marseille with brutal force. On nights like this, we say that winter has returned to remind us of what was and what will be again.”
    Just as Jasmyn had predicted, Pierre had invited him to eat at a restaurant near the harbor, one run by an old friend. But Jake found it difficult to concentrate on the coming meal and their conversation on the way. He found it even harder to keep quiet about Jasmyn’s presence in the city. “From the sound of things, you must like this restaurant a lot.”
    â€œMarseille is the most ancient town in France,” Pierre replied in his roundabout manner. “The Romans used it as the port for all the upper Mediterranean. From the old harbor, when I was growing up, there was a major thoroughfare that split the town into two sections. The one nearest to the old fortress was called Le Panier, the Basket. It was the oldest part of town. Very, very ancient. And very crowded. A lot of bars, prostitutes, fishermen, tiny market areas, very small shops.” Pierre waved and smiled a reply to the greeting of an old gentleman seated beside a roadside cafe. “Le Panier was always full of life. The restaurant we are going to tonight is on its border. Whenever I think of Marseille, I think of that area. It was where my brother operated from.”
    Jake’s breath pushed out wispy clouds as they crested a ridge and the harbor came into view. A greatcoat that hadonce belonged to Pierre’s brother flapped around his legs as he pedaled. “Why is that?”
    â€œA person who knew the area could remain hidden in the maze of alleys and stairs and passages for a lifetime. It was possible to go from the central train station to the water, a distance of perhaps two kilometers, and never walk upon any road or path that could be found on a map.”
    â€œIncredible.”
    â€œYes, exactly that. The entire history of that area was incredible. It was built during the time of the Crusaders, upon ways that had existed since Charlemagne. The second time I visited during the war, my brother took me down what I thought was a blind alley. But there in the back were carved these small stone steps that would go unnoticed unless you knew what you were looking for. Then up above, on top of the wall, a narrow path intersected three small gardens and joined a bridge which from below looked to be merely two overlapping roofs.”
    â€œSounds like an amazing place.”
    â€œIt was, yes. And there was such a great mixture of people in that area. Many