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Prologue

Tagger

18th Arrondissement, Paris

April 6, 12:30 am

THE MESSENGER BAG pressed tight to his hip, the hood of his black sweatshirt up, and a black-and-white checked kaffiyeh scarf looped around his swarthy neck, Epée walked quickly down the Rue Marcadet

His name meant sword in French—ht of hiht

I aht The Sword round

The shabby area around him was sparsely traveled that late, and he was careful not to look up at the few people who passed him on the sidewalk near the corner with the Boulevard Barbès The shops that lined both sides of the boulevard were dark, but lights flickered in the apart So

Epée looked to his north beyond an Islamic bookstore, a tailor’s shop that sold robes, and the storefront office of FEZ Couriers, a ht where he re trip the week before

She’s big enough, he thought, and her skin is flawless

In fact, she’s perfect I couldn’t find one better

Seeing that the sidewalks were vacant for blocks in either direction, Epée reached down, tugged the kaffiyeh scarf up over his lower face, and began to jog toward his target Just past the closed doors to a , and snatched two cans of spray paint