until he had it all, and formed his own companies."
"That's what I have, Claude; it's hardly worth my life."
"Who are the Swiss rental agencies?"
"The contact is a real estate company here in Bonn.
One sends an emissary with a hundred thousand deutsche marks as a sign of serious intent, and they forward it to a bank in Zurich, along with a profile of the would-be lessee. If the money's returned, there's no deal. If it isn't, someone goes to Zurich."
"Telephone and household bills? I trust you've looked into these with our unknown three."
"In each case they are sent to personal managers, two in Stuttgart, one in Munich, all coded, no names included."
"Certainly the Bundestag has a fist of addresses."
"Private residences are closely guarded, as they are in governments everywhere. I could try, but it might be dangerous if I were caught. Frankly, I can't stand pain, even the thought of it."
"Then you don't have the specific addresses?"
"There, I'm afraid, I've failed you. I could describe them from a distance, and from the river, but the residence numbers have been removed, the gates closed, and there are patrols with guard dogs both within and without. There are no mailboxes, of course."
"It's one of those three, then," said Moreau softly.
"Who's one of what?" asked the man in Bonn.
"The leader of our 'small circle." .. .. Put your people on the roads to these houses and order them to identify the vehicles driving through the gates. Then match them with those at the Bundestag."
"My dear Claude, perhaps I wasn't clear. These estates are patrolled both inside and outside, dozens of cameras mounted throughout the grounds. If I could hire such men, which is unlikely, and they were caught, the trail would lead to me, and, as I mentioned, even the prospect of pain is abhorrent to your obedient servant."
"I often wonder how you got to where you are."
"By living well, with the proper finances to ingratiate myself among the powerful, but most important, by-not being caught. Does that answer you?"
"God help you you ever get caught."
"No, Claude, God help you."
"I won't pursue that."
"My fee?"
"When mine comes in, yours will follow."
"Whose side are you on, my old friend?"
"No one's and everyone's, but especially my own." Moreau hung up the phone and looked at the notes he had taken. He circled three names: Albert Richter, Friedrich von Schell, and Ansel Schmidt. One was probably the leader he sought, but each had a reason to be and the wherewithal to build a constituency. At the least, they provided him with the immediate ammunition he needed.
He saw that the blue strip on line three was lit; the scrambler was still activated. He picked up the phone and dialed a number in Geneva.
-L'University de [email protected],said the operator four hundred miles away.
"Professor Andre Benoit, if you please.
"Allo?" said the voice of the university's most prominent scholar of political science.
"It's your confidant from Paris. May we talk?"
"In a moment." The phone was silent for eight seconds.
"Now we may," said Professor Benoit, back on the line.
"No doubt you're calling about the problems we've had in Paris. I can tell you now, I know nothing. Nobody does! Can you enlighten us?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Where have you been?"
"In Monte Carlo, with the actor and his wife. I got back just this morning."
"Then you haven't heard?" asked the man in Geneva, astonished.
"About the attacks on the American Latham and his subsequent murder at the country restaurant, no doubt engineered by your psychopathic K Unit here in the city? It was a stupid act."
"No! Zero One, Paris, has disappeared, and early this -morning the police reported an assault on the rue Diane-"
"Witkowski's place?" Moreau interrupted.
"I haven't seen the information."
"They don't have what I know either. The entire K Unit has also disappeared."
"I never knew where they were posted-"None of us did, but they're gone!"
"I don't know what to say."
"Don't say, get on top of things and find out what happened!"
demanded Geneva.
"I'm afraid I have more bad news for you and Bonn," said the [email protected] chief haltingly.
"What could it possibly be?"
"My agents in Germany have come up with names, men who meet every Tuesday night in houses along the Rhine."
"Oh, my God! What names?"
Claude Moreau gave them to him, slowly spelling out each.
"Tell them to be very, very careful," he said.
"They're all under intelligence microscopes."
"Outside of certain reputations, I don't know any of them!"
exclaimed the professor in Geneva.
"I had no idea-"
"You weren't meant to have any ideas, Herr Professor. You follow orders, as I