"Nothing's implausible in this war. I'll need a photograph."
"I still have Freddie's camera. You'll have a dozen in the morning."
"I wish I was there to see you dye his hair. That'd be a real hoot."
De Vries hung up the telephone, walked to a closet in the foyer, opened it, and took out a small suitcase with two combination locks.
Latham watched her from the armchair, a drink in his hand.
"I trust that's not holding a quickly assembled automatic weapon," he said as Karin placed the luggage on the coffee table in front of the couch and sat down.
"Good heavens, no," she replied, manipulating the combination locks and opening the suitcase.
"In truth, I
hope it can help you avoid the necessity of facing such a gun2l
"Hold it. What's in there? I couldn't hear you most of the time when you were talking to Stanley. What's boiling in that awesomely attractive head of yours?"
-This is what Freddie called his 'emergency traveling case.? "
"Already I'd rather not know. Freddie was violent with you and that makes him unfriendly."
"There were the other years too, Drew."
"Thanks for nothing. What's in there?"
"Simple methods of disguise, nothing dramatic or mind-boggling.
Various pre-glued mustaches, also a couple of chin beards, and numerous eyeglasses .. . and some basic washable dyes." She described the last far more quietly.
"What was that?"
"You can't stay here, my friend," said Karin, looking at him over the top of the suitcase.
"Now, don't become defensive and take it personally, but the houses and flats here in the Madeleine are like a small upscale neighborhood in America. People talk, and gossip abounds in the cafes and the bakeries. To use your word, it could reach unfriendly' ears."
"I accept that, I understand it, but that's not what I asked you."
"You'll be registering at a hotel under a different name, which the colonel will supply, and with a slightly different appearance."
"What?"
"I'm going to dye your hair and your eyebrows with a washable solution. Reddish-blond, I think."
"What are you talking about? I'm no Jean-Pierre Villier!"
"You don't have to be. just be yourself; no one will recognize you unless he's standing a few feet in front of you and staring straight at you. Now, if you'll please put on the colonel's trousers, I'll pin them and adjust the size."
"You know, you're crazier than a pissed loon!"
"Can you think of a better solution?"
"Goddammit!" roared Latham, swallowing the remainder of his Scotch.
"No, actually, I can't."
"On second thought, we'll do the hair first. Please remove your shirt."
"How about my trousers? I'd feel more natural, more at home that way."
""You're not at home, Drew."
"Gotcha, lady!"
Moreau picked up his console phone, pressing a button that would record his conversation, and spoke to the Lutetia switchboard.
"Room eight hundred, if you please."
"Certainly, sir."
"Yes?" said the muffled, guttural voice on the line.
"Monsieur le docteur?" asked the chief of the Deuxieme, unsure that he had the right connection.
"It is I, from the Pont Neuf. Is it you?"
"Of course it is. What have you brought me?"
"I have reached deep, Doctor, far deeper than is healthy for me. I've provoked the American CIA into telling me that it is, indeed, hiding Harry Latham."
"Where?"
"Perhaps not here in Paris, perhaps in Marseilles."
Chapter Nineteen
"Perhaps, perhaps? That does me no good! Can you be sure?"
"No, but possibly you can."
"Me?"
"You have people in Marseilles, no?"
"Of course. A great deal of finance comes through there."
"Look for the "Consulars," that's what they're called."
"We know about them," said Gerhardte breathless.
"The bastard intelligence group, Consular Operations. One can spot them at every corner, every cafe."
"Take one of them, see what you can learn."
"Within the hour. Where can I reach you?"
"I'll call you back an hour from now."
The hour passed, and Moreau called the Lutetia.
"Anything?"
he asked a hyper Gerhardt.
"It's insane!" said the doctor.
"The man we spoke with is someone we've paid thousands to so we could collect millions through the network. He said we were crazy; no such man as Harry Latham is on their list or in Marse'lles!"
Then he's still in Paris," said Moreau, frustration in his voice.
"I'll go back to work."
"As fast as you can!"
"Ever so," said the [email protected] chief, hanging up the phone and smiling an enigmatic smile. He waited exactly fourteen minutes and then called back the Lutetia. It was the moment to propel anxiety into high gear.
"Yes?"
"It is I again. Something just came in."
"For God's sake, what is it?"
"Harry Latham."
"What?"
"He called one of my people, a man he had worked with in East Berlin who rightfully believed he should inform me. Apparently Latham