"We have uniforms .. . amerikanische, franzdsische, englische."
"The car, the embassy car. Where's the man whose place you took
"He was told not to come-"
"By whom?"
"I do not know! The car was brought to the front. The Schhisselthe key, I mean-was in it. I was ordered to drive you."
"Who ordered you?"
"My superiors."
"The people you were taking me to?"
"Who are they? Give me some names. Now."
"I do not know any names! We are reached by codes, by numbers and letters."
"What's your name?" Drew crouched by the impostor, the barrel of the gun jammed against the nearest hand around the bleeding kneecap.
"Erich Hauer, I swear it!"
"Your code name, Erich. Or forget about your hands and feet."
"C-Zwdif-twelve."
"You speak much better English when you're not scared shitless, Erich-buddy.. .. Where were you taking me?"
"Five, six avenues from here. I would know by the Scbeinwerfer-" "The what?"
"Headlights. From a narrow street on the left."
"Stay right where you are, Little Adolf," said Latham, rising and sidestepping to the car door, his weapon on the German.
Awkwardly, he backed down into the front seat, his left hand thrusting below the dashboard until he found the car phone with a direct line to the embassy. As the transmitting mechanism was in the trunk, the odds were favorable that it would be operational. It was. Glancing quickly, Drew pressed the zero button four times in rapid succession. The signal for emergency.
"American Embassy," came Durbane's-voice over the speaker.
"Your status is Zero Four. On tape, go ahead!"
"Bobby, it's Latham-"
"I know that, I've got you on the grids. Why the big Four 0?"
"We were sandbagged.- I was on my way to a fast execution, courtesy of our Nazi nightmare. The marine driver was a phony;
somebody in the transport pool set me up. Check that whole unit out!"
"Christ, are you all right?"
"Just a tad shaken; we had an accident and the skinhead didn't fare too well."
"Well, I've got you on the grids. I'll send a patrol out-"
"You know exactly where we are?"
"Of course."
"Send two patrols, Bobby, one armed for assault."
"Are you crazy? This is Paris; it's French!"
"I'll cover us. This is an order from Cons-Op.. .. Five or six blocks south, on the left, there's a car parked on a side street, its headlights on. We've got to take that car, take the people in it!"
"Who are they?"
"Among other things, my executioners.. .. There's no time, Bobby. Do it!" Latham slammed the telephone back into its receptacle and lurched out of the car to Erich Hauer, who could lead them to a hundred others in Paris and beyond, whether he knew it or not. The chemicals would open the doors of his mind; it was vital. Drew grabbed his legs as the man screamed in pain.
"Tlease .. . !"
"Shut up, pig head You're mine, you got that? Start talking, it'll be easier on you later."
"I do not know anything. I am only C-Zwdlf, what more can I say?"
"That's not good enough! I have a brother who went after you bastards; it was the last leg of a rotten trip. So you're going to give me more, a lot more, before I'm finished with you. Take my word for it, Erich-buddy, you really don't want to deal with me."
Suddenly, out of the deserted dark street, a black sedan came screeching around the corner. It slowed down rapidly, briefly, as the gunfire erupted, a deadly fusillade, slaughter for everything in its path. Latham tried to pull the Nazi behind the shell of the armor plated diplomatic car; he could not do it and save himself. As the sedan raced away, he looked -over at his prisoner. Erich Hauer, his body riddled, blood covering his face, was dead. The one man who could supply at least a few answers was gone. Where was somebody else, and how long would it take to find him?
he night was over, the early light creasing the eastern sky as an exhausted Latham took the small brass Televator to his flat on the fifth floor in the rue du Bac. Normally he would have used the stairs, figuring it was physically good for something or other, but not now; he could barely keep his eyes open. The hours between shortly past two and five-thirty had been filled with diplomatic necessities as well as providing Drew with the opportunity of meeting the head of the powerful and secretive Deuxieme Bureau, one Claude Moreau. He had called back Sorenson in Washington, asking him to reach the French intelligence officer at that hour and persuade him