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Munich would ever be connected to a bank robbery in California. No one would make the connection. No one would compare the prints.”
    She pulled the robe closer around herself, as if she was cold. “Except that there’s some kind of terrorist attack going on at the same time we’re killing people in their hotel rooms. And how many witnesses saw us come out of that door?”
    â€œWe can’t just go back there,” I said. “There’s no way we can get them back. We’re screwed, Kat.”
    â€œYeah,” she agreed. “We need to talk to John and Walter. They’re all coming here, after Mary gets done with Tyson.”
    â€œWhy here?”
    â€œIt’s kind of a central location. We’re all going to meet up and try some new tactics.”
    I nodded. “Good. Because Raakel was totally unswayed by our arguments.”
    Kat stood, but she was a little unsteady on her feet. “You okay?” I asked. Kat was stronger than most people I knew, but everyone had a limit. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t reached mine yet.
    â€œLet’s get to a more concealed part of the park.”
    â€œRight. And you need to get out of that bathrobe.”
    â€œEveryone else is in robes,” she said, gesturing to the hotel guests who had filled the street after the alarms went off. “You wear it.”
    â€œBut we don’t want to look like we came out of that place.”
    Kat set her face in a grimace. “You need to get in there, fast,” Kat said, with a slight slur. “Go now, while everyone is outside and the police haven’t arrived yet. I’d go with you, but I think I’m not fit for service right now.”
    I helped her down on a park bench, farther from the street now that it was getting light.
    â€œStay here,” I said.
    I took another look at the slice in her arm and my poor, uneven stitching. She was definitely going to have a scar—but hopefully she’d regain the use of her fingers. At least the bleeding had stopped.
    She took a pouch of something out of the first aid kid—some kind of antibacterial something—and squirted it all along the cut.
    â€œCan you help me with the bandage?” she said, pulling two-inch squares of gauze from the first aid kit.
    She held the cotton down with her left hand, and I taped it on. I was no surgeon—I wrapped a strip of tape all the way around her arm twice.
    I took the robe from her and put it on myself. I left her gun withher, in the backpack. The robe was snug, but no one else looked particularly well dressed. They’d been awakened by a fire alarm early in the morning. The fact that my robe had blood on it seemed to go unnoticed by anyone in the crowd. There was a lot, but it mostly stained the inside of the fluffy material, not soaking through.
    Despite the fire alarm and the noise of bullets, there were only two fire trucks—no police at all yet.
    â€œAbsurd,” a man next to me said in a proper English accent. “To be awakened at this hour is absurd. They don’t even know what they’re looking for. I don’t see any smoke. Do you?”
    â€œNo,” I said. “And I have to get inside. If there is a fire, I have documents in there that can’t be destroyed.”
    â€œGood luck. The concierge is turning everyone away at the door.”
    I hadn’t had a good look at the entrance, so I bade good morning to the man, and walked around a fire truck, the word FEUERWEHR emblazoned on the front. There was a single man at the top of the stairs—a balding man in a suit and tie, who was giving his assurances in English and German to the guests that everything would be fine. He said it was likely a false alarm.
    â€œWait to go in,” a voice behind me said.
    I startled and looked back. It was John.
    â€œHow did you get here so fast?”
    â€œI was only down the street at the Staatlich hotel. Say good-bye to the La