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frustrated and tired, and thought about running a hot bath. That's what he needed now. Tomorrow morning he'd try again to find answers about what had happened to Max. He lay the card on top of the books and headed into the bathroom.

 
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    It was still dark when Hugo called the prefecture the next morning, Saturday, hoping that a shift change might also mean a change in attitude. After five minutes on hold he was told, politely this time, that Durand had gone off duty.
    â€œThere is no one in charge of that investigation, monsieur. It has been flagged in the system as a hoax or mistake.”
    Hugo slammed the phone down and sat staring at it for a long minute before sinking back onto the bed. Hoax or mistake? They hadn't even looked for Max, let alone found him, and fear for the old man rose inside Hugo. The first twenty-four hours of an investigation were the most crucial, and too many hours had already been squandered. He knew that, in reality, Max's captors would be the ones to determine whether he turned up safe.
    The phone rang beside him and he grabbed it, hoping desperately that it was a return call from the prefecture, or Durand himself, an apology for the confusion and an update on the search. It took him a moment to recognize the voice on the other end, but the words were familiar enough.
    â€œHugo. Fuck me, is that really you?”
    â€œYes. Is this…Tom?”
    Tom Green had been his friend ever since they shared a room at the FBI Academy in Quantico, almost twenty years ago. A wisp of a man, Tom was a law school graduate with three pairs of spectacles, more books than clothes, and an unexpectedly foul mouth. At first his language shocked the well-mannered Texan, but they shared a dry sense of humor and a certain skepticism of the more gung-ho recruits.Tom sailed through the academic portions of the training, but probably wouldn't have made it on the firing range and the physical training course without Hugo's help.
    â€œDamn right. What time is it over there?”
    Hugo glanced at the clock. “Six in the morning.”
    â€œSo it's midnight here. Couldn't be bothered to look at my watch. Thought I'd call you instead.”
    â€œWhere are you, Tom? Is everything OK?”
    They had both been assigned to the LA field office straight out of the academy and they stayed in touch even when Hugo left the bureau for the State Department twelve years later, recruited to run security at the US Embassy in Pakistan. Hugo had turned down several such offers before, but when his first wife, Ellie, died in a car accident, he jumped at the chance to put himself in harm's way. Tom was the only one to recognize that his friend was looking for an excuse to get blown up, but he drove him to the airport anyway. A month later Tom left to work for the CIA, unable to tell Hugo where he was going or what he was doing. They'd not spoken for over a year, and Hugo regretted that every time he thought about Tom.
    â€œStateside, don't worry. Half asleep on the couch, if you want details.”
    â€œYou can't afford a bed these days?”
    â€œI'm in America, Hugo. An old, fat guy asleep on the couch is nothing new.”
    Fat? He didn't used to be, and there was more than sleep in the voice. Slurring. “Are you drunk, Tom?”
    â€œNot yet. I was waiting for you.”
    â€œFunny you should say that. I just spoke to Christine, I'd been hoping to come over, maybe try and patch things up.”
    â€œHookers getting too pricey for you?”
    â€œWe're talking about me here, Tom,” Hugo grinned. “Anyway, she doesn't want me coming back.”
    â€œThat sucks. She found someone else already?”
    â€œShe hooked up with her shrink.”
    â€œShit, Hugo, I'm sorry.”
    â€œThanks. It can't be helped.”
    â€œLiving in the same fucking country might have helped.”
    â€œYeah, Christine already mentioned that.”
    â€œShe's right. You want to come over anyway? I