to their rooms to change into black sweaters and trousers, the remaining Blitzkrieger studying a large street map of Paris, concentrating on the area of the rue Diane. The three properly dressed killers returned; the team checked their weapons, gathered up the equipment designated by Zero Five, and the telephone rang.
"This situation's now intolerable!" screamed Dr. Gerhardt Kroeger.
"I shall report you all for gross incompetence and refusal to keep in communication with a Briiderschaft of the highest level!"
"Then you would be doing yourself a disservice, sir," sal 'd a controlled Zero Five.
"Before the night is over, we'll have the kill you so greatly desire, as well as two additional targets Bonn will be pleased to know you were instrumental in directing us to."
"I was told that nearly four hours ago! What happened? Let me talk to that insulting young man who claims he's your leader."
"I wish I could, mein Herr," replied Five, choosing his words carefully.
"Unfortunately, Zero One, Paris, has not kept in touch with us. He elected to pursue a secondary source, a highly questionable source, if you'll forgive me, and he hasn't called in to report. In truth, he's over two hours late."
"A 'questionable' source? He said it was the highest risk.
Perhaps something happened to him."
"In the delights of the Bois de Boulogne, sir? Again, highly unlikely."
"Then what happened at the first location, for God's sake?"
"No more than a trap, mein Herr, but my team, Zero Five's team, eluded it. However, it led to a third source, an unimpeachable one, that we're going after now. Before the sun comes up you'll have proof of the primary target's death, the prescribed method of execution very much in evidence. I, Zero Five, will have the photographs delivered to you personally at your hotel."
"Your words relieve me; at least you speak more reasonably than that damned youngster with the eyes of a cobra."
"He's young, sir, but very accomplished in the physical aspects of our work."
"Without a head on his shoulders, that sort of talent doesn't mean a thing!"
"I tend to agree, but, please, mein Herr, he is my superior, so I never said what I just said."
"You didn't say it, I did. You merely agreed to a generalization. . What was your number? Five?"
"Yes, sir."
"Bring me the photographs and Bonn will be apprised of your worth."
"You're most kind. We must leave now."
Stanley Witkowski sat in the darkness, peering down through a window at the street below. His broad, leathery face was set, immobile, as every now and then he brought a pair of infrared binoculars to his eyes. The object of his concentration was a stationary automobile at the far right corner of the block, no more than a hundred feet across from the entrance to his apartment building. What had caught the veteran intelligence officer's attention was the flash of a face in the front seat picked up by a street lamp. Sporadically, the face came into view, then receded in the shadows as if the man were waiting for someone or watching for something on the opposite side. The hollow pressure in the colonel's chest, a pressure he had felt hundreds of times in the past, was a warning to be accepted or rejected with the passing minutes or hours.
Then it happened. The face came into view again, but there was a car phone pressed against the man's right ear. He appeared to be excited, angry, his head angled upward, his gaze directed at the upper floors of the apartment building, Witkowski's building. The observer then thrust the phone away, again in anger or frustration.
It was enough for the colonel. He rose from the' chair and walked rapidly to his bedroom door' and into the living room, shutting the door behind him. He found Drew
Latham and Karin de Vries sitting on the couch, to his distinct pleasure at opposite ends; Witkowski hated personal relationships in their work.
"Hello, Stanley," said Drew.
"You chaperoning? If so, you've nothing to fear. We're discussing the post-Cold War situation, and the lady doesn't like me."
"I didn't say that," countered Karin, laughing softly.
"You've done nothing to cause me to really dislike you, and I do admire you."
"Translation. I've been shot down, Stosh."
"Let's hope that's figuratively speaking," said the colonel icily, the tone of his voice bringing Drew up short.
"What are you talking about?"
"You said you weren't followed, youngster."
"We weren't. How could we have been?"
"I'm not sure, but there's a man in a car down in the street who makes me wonder. He's been on the phone