my office and searched our records for the past five years; there was nothing.
By the way, he's staying at the Hotel Lutetia, room eight hundred, and he expects me to call him."
"For God's sake, take him!"
"Oh, he won't leave, Wesley, I can assure you of that. But why not play with him a bit? He certainly doesn't work solo, and we're looking for bigger fish."
A wave of relief spread over Sorenson. Claude Moreau was clean! He never would [email protected],e offered up Gerhardt
Kroeger, hotel and room number included, if he were working for the Brotherhood.
"If it makes you feel any better," said the director of Cons-Op, "I was excluded myself for a while. Guess why? Because we worked together, specifically Istanbul, where you had the grace to save my ass."
"You would have done the same for me."
"That's what I angrily told the Agency, and what I'm going to tell them again, even angrier."
"One moment, Wesley," said Moreau slowly.
"Speaking of Istanbul, do you remember when the apparatchiks of the KGB believed you were a double, actually an informer for' their superiors in Moscow?"
"Certainly. They lived like the suleimans with the riches of the Topkapi at their disposal. They were frightened to death."
"So they took you into their confidence, did they not?"
"Naturally, telling me things-anything-to justify their lifestyles. Most of it was rubbish, but not all."
"But they did take you into their confidence, no?"
"Yes."
"Then, for the moment, let things stay the way they are. I'm still on the outside, not to be trusted. Perhaps I can play with Herr Doktor Kroeger and learn things."
"Which means you need something first."
"Anything," as you said, referring to Istanbul. It doesn't have to be accurate, but it should be relatively acceptable."
"Like what?"
"Where is Harry Latham?"
There was no Harry Latham. The doubts returned to the former deep-cover intelligence officer.
"Even I don't know that," said
"I don't mean where he really is," broke in Moreau, "just where he might be. Something they would believe."
The doubts receded.
"Well, there's an organization called the Antinayous-"
"They know about it," interrupted Moreau.
"Those people are untraceable. Something else."
"They certainly know about Witkowski and the De Vries woman-"
"Give me someplace where, with a little research, they could learn how your people operate."
"I suppose that would be Marseilles. We follow up on the drug interdictions; too many of our people have been bought or disappeared. Actually, we're fairly obvious if anyone's looking. It's a deterrent."
"That's good. I'll use it."
"Claude, I'll be honest, I want to clear you over here! It's insufferable that you're under suspicion."
"Not yet, my old friend. Remember Istanbul. We've played these games before."
In Paris, Moreau hung up the phone, once more leaning back in his chair, his eyes on the ceiling, his thoughts bouncing from one fragment of information to another. He was now in the race to the finish. The risks he was taking were gargantuan, but he could not stop. Revenge, it was all that mattered.
ince Drew Latham had supposedly departed this world, his [email protected] car had been withdrawn. In its S place, Witkowski had ordered embassy Transport to supply security measures: three personnel on eight-hour shifts, and an unmarked vehicle kept available for an unnamed army officer and his lady, at the moment in the rue Madeleine. The colonel made it clear to the marines, who would be on rotation duty, that should they recognize the officer, his identity was to remain secret. If it did not, certain "gyrenes" would be sent back to Parris Island along with the lowest recruits, their accomplishments stricken from their records.
"You don't have to say that, Colonel," said a marine sergeant.