of your Royal Navy and the American destroyers-'in mothballs," I believe is the phrase. I've had airmen check them out for me. With minor modifications they can be operable."
"How do you propose to get them airborne?" said the second German.
"Two aircraft carrier jets can easily lift them off from short fields, assisted by disposable booster rockets under their wings. The Luftwaffe proved it can be done. They did it."
There was a brief silence, broken by the older Briton.
"The young man's idea has merit," he said.
"During the invasion of Normandy, scores of such gliders, many carrying jeeps, small tanks, and personnel, were released behind your lines and wreaked havoc. Good show, chap, really very good
"I agree," said the German pilot pensively, his eyes squinting.
"I take back my sarcasm, young fellow."
"Further, if I may, sir," continued the delighted younger neo, "the carrier jets could drop off both gliders from an altitude of, say, three thousand meters above the reservoirs, then rapidly ascend to forty thousand, sweeping across the Channel before the radar operators could piece anything together."
"What about the gliders themselves?" asked a skeptical British neo.
"Unless the mission is specifically one of no return, they have to land somewhere-or crash somewhere."
"I'll answer that," replied the pilot.
"Opfn fields or pastures close by the water reserves should be the designated landing sites, and once on the ground, the gliders will be blown up while our flyers race away in pre-positioned vehicles."
"Jawohl." The second German held up his hand in the spill of the floodlight.
"This strategy could well change many things," he said with quiet authority.
"We'll confer with our aircraft engineers as to the modifications of these gliders. I must return to London and call Bonn. What is your name, young man?"
"Von L6wenstein, sir. Maximilian von L6wenstein the Third."
"You, your father, and your grandmother have erased the treachery on your family's escutcheon caused by your grandfather.
Walk with pride, my boy."
"I've prepared myself for these moments all my life, sir."
"So be it. You've prepared-yourself brilliantly."
"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Claude Moreau as he embraced Latham.
They stood by a stone wall overlooking the Seine, a blond-wigged Karin de Vries several feet to their left.
"You are alive and that is the most important thing, but what has that madman Witkowski done to you?"
"Actually, I'm afraid it was my idea, monsieur," said Karin, approaching both men.
"You are the De Vries woman, madame?" asked Moreau, removing a visored walking cap.
"I am, sir."
"The photographs I've seen say you are not. But then, if this yellow-haired gargoyle is Drew Latham, I suppose anything is possible."
"The hair is not my own, it's a wig, Monsieur Moreau."
"Certainement. However, madame, I must admit it is not in concert with such a lovely face. It is, how can I say it, somewhat more blatant?"
"Now I understand why it's reported that the head of the Deuxieme is one of the most charming men in Paris."
"A lovely sentiment, but please don't tell my wife."
"Would anybody mind," interrupted Drew.
"I'm the one he's happy to see."
"You are, indeed, my friend, but I mourn the loss of your brother."
"I do too, so let's get on with the reason. we're here. I want the sons of bitches who killed him .. . among other things.
"We all do, among other things. There's an outdoor cafe up the street; it's usually crowded and no one will notice us. I know the owner. Why don't we stroll up there and get a table far from the entrance? Actually, I've arranged it."
"An excellent idea, Monsieur Moreau," said Karin, taking Latham's arm.
"Please, madame," continued the chief of the Deuxieme Bureau, putting on his cap as they started walking.
"My name is Claude, and I suspect we'll be together until the finish'. if there is one.
Therefore, the 'monsieur' is hardly necessary, but you don't have to tell my adorable wife."
"I'd love to meet her."
"Not in that blond wig, my dear."
The owner of the sidewalk cafe greeted Moreau quietly behind a row of flower boxes and escorted the three of them to the farthest table from the latticed entrance. It abutted the bordering shoulder high row of flowers, more in shadows than in light, a single flickering candle in the center of the checkered tablecloth.
"I thought Colonel Witkowski might be with us," said De Vries :
"So did I," agreed Latham.
"How come he isn't? Sorenson made it clear that we needed his expertise."
"It was his decision," explained Moreau.
"He is a large, imposing man known by sight to many in Paris."
"Then why didn't we meet somewhere else?" asked Drew.