“A German guy who’s going to make you a passport.”

“Just me?”

“Yes. I’ve got several.”

“Can he be trusted?”

“No.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that—he can’t be trusted. These counterfeiters work for money. That’s what keeps them in business. He’ll do anything for money.”

“But—”

“But he’ll only talk for money, too. If you’re worried he’ll go running out to report us, that’s not going to happen. You can relax.”

“Oh, yes, I feel much more relaxed now,” Sarah answered sarcastically.

“You should.”

It was a short trip, less than five minutes, including the time it took to park in front of a crowded, noisy pub. Next to it, a door was ajar. They climbed to the third floor, where Rafael rang the bell. The door opened instantly.

“Hello, how are you?” the German greeted them effusively.

“Terrific. And you?”

“Wonderful. Come in.”

“You’re the best,” Rafael said, stepping in and winking at the German.

Hans was a young man, barely in his twenties. His forgeries, besides being fast, were clean, and hadn’t drawn attention at any border post so far.

“So, old chap, tell me what you need.”

“I need you to make a passport for this lady.”

“For this lady. I like your elegant words, my friend.”

The young man took a camera and grabbed Sarah by the arm.

“Stand there.”

It was a wall prepared for making ID photos, with a neutral blue background.

“Don’t smile.”

“What?”

“Don’t smile. For passport photos you don’t need to smile.”

“Right.”

Sarah turned serious, perhaps too serious, while Rafael inspected a wall covered with photographs.

“Who are all these people?”

“All the chaps who’ve passed through here.”

“You’ve got quite a sizable clientele.”

“No complaints.” He connected the camera to a computer and began his work. “Do you have a particular country in mind, or a name that you especially like?”

Sarah was embarrassed. She hadn’t thought about this.

“Sharon Stone,” Rafael answered.

“I like that name, old chap. I think I might even know someone by that name.”

“As for the country, anything in the Schöningen region.”

“Okay, man. Do you have five thousand?”

Sarah went back to Rafael.

“Did you know this character?” she asked in a low voice.

“I didn’t. I know somebody who knew him.”

“Anyone would think you were friends for years.”

“Well, we aren’t.”

Hans continued working on the passport on his computer, typing and retouching the photo he’d just taken. Then he stood up and opened a cabinet. Reflecting for a few moments, he picked out several blank passports of different countries.

“Are you only going to be traveling through Europe, sister?”

“Good question. We might need to go to the States,” Rafael intervened thoughtfully.

Sarah looked at him, intrigued.

“The United States?”

“All right, old chap. Then I’m going to make one French and the other American. The French one to use in Europe, and the other for across the pond, okay?”

“Great.”

Sarah watched while Hans took two blank passports from the cabinet, one American and the other French.

“Are those real?”

“Why do you think they’re never detected?” Hans replied, as if offended by such an idiotic question.

“Coming here is almost like going to the embassy, with the advantage that you can choose your country and invent a name,” Rafael said. “That, of course, costs more.”

“Quality, my dear fellow,” Hans emphasizd. “You have to pay for quality.”

Rafael’s cell phone rang.

“Hello? . . . All’s going well . . . No problem . . . Where? . . . We’ve still got to go to one other place, and then we’ll be over there.”

“Who was that?” Sarah asked.

“Now, why is it I’m always explaining everything to you?”

“You’re my hero, old chap,” Hans broke in, admiring Rafael’s response. He used this opportunity to bring the passports over to a special printer. Placing them in what looked to Sarah like a scanner, he closed the top. “Ten seconds, and they’ll be ready, partners.”