beg your pardon?"
"You don't get grandchildren because some quartermaster issued them. I was married for thirteen years to a fine woman, a splendid woman who finally admitted she couldn't accept what I did for a living, and all the complications it involved.
For once in my life I pleaded, but to no avail-she saw through those pleas. I was too used to what I did, too primed for it every day.
She was very generous though-I had unlimited visitation rights with the children. But, of course, I wasn't around that much to visit them very often."
"I'm sorry, Stanley. I had no idea."
"It's not the sort of thing you put in Stars and Stripes, now, is it?"
"I guess not, but you obviously get along with your kids. I mean, visiting grandchildren, and all."
"Hell, yes, they consider me a hoot. Their mother remarried very well, and what in Sam Hill am I going to do with the money I make?
I've got more perks than I can handle, so when they all come to Paris, well, you can figure it out."
They were interrupted by the figure in the bedroom doorway, a very blond woman in dark glasses, her skirt hiked up above her knees, her blouse unbuttoned to mid chest She shifted her weight from leg to leg in mock sensuality.
"What'll the boys in the back room have?" she said, her voice low, imitating the well-worn motion picture clichL
"Outstanding!" exclaimed the stunned Witkowski.
"And then some." Drew spoke softly, adding a quiet whistle.
"Will this do, Colonel?"
"It surely will, except I'll have to screen the guards, hopefully find a few gay ones."
"Worry not, Wizard," said Latham.
"Beneath the heat is a will of ice."
"Obviously, I can't fool you, monsieur." Karin laughed, released her skirt, buttoned her blouse, and started toward the table, when the telephone rang.
"Shall I get it?" she asked.
"I can say I'm the maid-in the proper French, naturally."
"I'd be obliged," answered Witkowski.
"Today's the laundry morning; he usually calls around now. Tell him to come up, and press Six on the phone to open the foyer door."
"AI16? C'est la residence du grand colonel." De Vries listened for a moment or two, placed her hand over the phone, and looked over at the embassy's chief of security.
"It's Ambassador Courtland. He says he must speak to you immediately."
Witkowski rose quickly and crossed the room, taking the phone from Karin.
"Good morning, Mr. Ambassador."
"You listen to me, Colonel! I don't know what happened at your place last night or at the Orly Airport annex field-and I'm not sure I want to know-but if you have any plans for this morning, scratch them, and that's an order!"
"You heard from the police, then, sit?"
"More than I care to. And more to the point, I heard from the German ambassador, who's fully cooperating with us. Kreitz was alerted several hours ago by the German section of the Quai d'Orsay that there was a fire in a suite of offices at the Avignon Warehouses. Among the debris were remnants of Third Reich memorabilia, along with thousands of charred pages, burned beyond recognition, set on fire in wastebaskets."
"The papers set the whole place on fire?"
"Apparently a window was left open and the breezes spread the flames, setting off the smoke alarms and the sprinklers. Get over there!"
"Where are the warehouses, sir?"
"How the hell do I know? You speak French, ask somebody!"
"I'll check the telephone book. And, Mr. Ambassador, I'd prefer not to take my own car, or a taxi. Would you please call-have your secretary call-Transport, and send secure equipment to my apartment on the rue Diane. They know the address."
"Secure equipment'? What the dickens is that?"
"An armored vehicle, sir, with a marine escort."
"Christ, I wish I were in Sweden!
Find out what you can, Colonel. And hurry!"
"Tell Transport to hurry, sir." Witkowski hung up, not, however, before giving the telephone the proverbial "finger." He turned to Latham and Karin de Vries.
"Everything's changed, at least for the time being. With any luck we may have found a jackpot. Karin, you stay the way you are. You, youngster, you go to my closet and see if you can find a uniform that fits. We're about the same size, one of 'em will come close."
"Where are we going?" asked Drew.
"To a group of offices in a warehouse that got torched by ncos.
A Nazi wastebasket brigade didn't quite work out the way it was intended. Some asshole opened a window. "
The neo-Nazi headquarters were in shambles, the walls scorched, the few curtains burned up to their rods, and the whole