CHAPTER 1

Ender drove from Zurich on a sunny day in late spring with dark clouds edging from the east. He did not know the man he would meet in Luzern, and he had only been to Luzern twice, though he was in Switzerland for much of the year. The call that he had received from Seth Gunning, his superior, was vague in its details but long on bait. This was a good assignment, he said, field work, and had nothing to do with drawing information from men who made death their pleasure.

For the last year, Ender had exercised his freedom of choice by declining assignments to meet those men at various locations. He was happy to be in a place that had a navy but no sea, living with a woman who loved without mentioning marriage. And if she had not been gone to open her house in southern France, Ender doubted that he would be driving south on a fast approach to the Alps.

He had a bet with himself that he could pick his contact, Hank Fastnow, from a crowd, and he won. After leaving his car on the street, Ender climbed to the second floor of a restaurant overlooking the lake. The big tables at the right side of the room were filled with patrons talking and laughing loudly. Only two men sat alone at smaller tables by the left and blank wall.

Ender headed for the one at the window seat and the only privacy in the place. Fastnow had a big middle-aged body with short brown hair. Dressed in a red woolen shirt, corduroy pants, and boots made for climbing, he ruled his space like a mural. His nose climbed big in his face, like two things with one hole each. On both cheeks were patches of lighter skin that looked as if they had been sandblasted away. The eyes were the worst things, glacier gray and as mean as the place they were made.

“Sit down, Jason. Beer or beer?”

Ender sat at the rough timbered table. It was the custom to make it rougher by carving names and initials into the surface. B.J. TGR.