"Not so difficult. You will see," Sokolov said. He planted both hands on the pillar, pushed himself off, dropped into water that was now knee-deep, gazed over Olivia’s shoulder, trying to get a fix on the boat’s location from its sound. "Intelligence services will have tapes of radar. Now that you know when he took off, which direction he went, you can follow him on tapes for a little while. Get clues. Figure out where he might have gone. Narrow it down. And then"—he turned to look her right in the eye—"tell me where motherfucker went."