He tells me he’ll be home early enough so we can go to Thanksgiving dinner at Sarah’s house, and he hands me a slip of paper with the address and the phone number of where he’s going. “Are you sure this is worth it?” I ask. “We have to figure out what’s going on.” I sigh. “I think we both know what is going on.” “Maybe,” he says, but with full authority and none of the uncertainty usually accompanying the word. “You do realize what you would tell me if the roles were reversed, right?” Henri smiles. “Yes, John. I know what I would say. But I think this will help us. I want to find out what they have done to scare this man so badly. I want to know if they have mentioned us, if they are searching for us by means that we haven’t yet thought of. It will help us to stay hidden, stay ahead of them. And if this man has seen them, we’ll learn what they look like.” “We already know what they look like.” “We knew what they looked like when they attacked, over ten years ago, but they might have changed.
