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wireless cameras positioned outside the apartment, front and back, and in the front foyer where he could watch those from the first and third floors come and go. He’d also placed a number of motion detectors that would alarm him any time someone came in view of a camera. The one on the sidewalk out front was annoying, going off anytime someone passed by walking a dog or going to a car. But if Jake really wanted to play it safe, he’d go to America or South America and pay cash for everything. There were hundreds of great trout streams in Patagonia he hadn’t wet a fly in yet. Instead, he’d taken up residence in his old place and bought food with a visa in his own name. He wasn’t hiding. He was waiting.
    He took off his bike shoes and socks and let his bare feet spread out onto the cool hardwood floor.
    Part of him expected his wait to be short. After all, someone had blown his perfectly fine VW all to hell just two days before he’d gotten out of the hospital. The trail was fresh and Jake was now ready for anything. His strength was almost back to one hundred percent.
    Glancing across the room, he noticed his two favorite fly rods hanging on the wall, wondering when he’d get a chance to attack some more trout. It had been far too long. But even that, the one true passion left in his life, would have to wait. Maybe when this was all over he’d go back to Montana, ride horse in the back country and find some of his old fishing spots on the Madison River. Or the Gallatin.
    When the motion alarm went off on his computer speakers, Jake focused his attention at the LCD monitor, enlarging the camera shot. With it being morning, he didn’t expect it to be any shooter in his right mind. They’d come at night. And Jake was right. He recognized the bald man at his front door, a nearly finished cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth.
    Jake watched as Franz buzzed his door.
    “I see you’re still with the living,” Jake said into the mic.
    Franz raised his head and tried on a smile. “Barely. You gonna buzz me in?”
    “Only if you leave that cigarette on the sidewalk.”
    Franz shook his head, took in one final breath from the smoke before throwing it to the sidewalk, and then pulverized it into the cobblestone.
    Moments later, Franz made it to the second floor, Jake watching his old friend labor with each step. It was hard to see this formerly vibrant man reduced to such a level. Jake let him in and had him take a seat on the leather sofa.
    “Can I get you something, Franz?” Jake asked, still standing.
    “No. Take a seat. That’s a nasty scar.”
    Jake took a seat in his leather chair and rubbed his left knee. He was wearing only his bike shorts and a T-shirt. “Scars,” Jake corrected, twisting his knee for his old friend to see. “They completely rebuilt the knee from both sides. A total knee replacement. Synthetic and better than new.”
    “I heard you had an infection that nearly killed you.”
    “That’s what they tell me. But I was out of it. Great drugs. I should have left the hospital after about three weeks, but the infection and the other bullet wounds didn’t help much. Because of the shoulder wound, I couldn’t use crutches or a cane for a while.”
    Franz glanced at the computer screen. “Nice security system.”
    “What’s up, Franz?”
    “Right to the point. You don’t change.”
    “I can tell something’s bothering you. What you find out?”
    The old cop lowered his eyes and said, “We still don’t know who hired the shooters, or who hired the guy to bomb your car.”
    “The bomber was a Kurdish Turk.”
    “That’s right. But, as you know, they’re spread all over Europe now. Doesn’t mean anything.”
    “Might mean something. I once took sides against them with the Turkish government.”
    “That’s true. But why now?”
    He had a good point. It didn’t make sense. “You’ve got something for me, though.”
    Franz pulled out a handkerchief and coughed into it a