"Knowledge, Mr. Ambassador. We have to learn how these Sormenkinder operate, who they contact, how they reach their counterparts in the new generation of Nazis. You see, there has to be an infrastructure, a chain of command leading to a hierarchy, and the current Mrs. Courtland, the brilliant wife of the ambassador to France, isn't small potatoes."
"You really think Janine can unwittingly help you?"
"She's the best shot we've got-let's be honest, she's the only shot. Even if we found another Sonnenkind, her rank, the circumstances, and the fact that she's within minutes by let of the borders of Germany makes her a prime candidate. If she contacts the hierarchy, or they contact her, she can take us right to those hidden leaders behind the movement. We must find those leaders and expose them. As someone said, it's the only way to rip out the cancer.. .. Help us, Daniel, please help us."
Again there was silence on Courtland's part. He shifted his weight in the chair, and, uncharacteristically for a diplomat, he seemed uncertain what to do with his hands. He fidgeted, ran his fingers through his graying hair, and massaged his chin several times. At last, he spoke.
"I've seen what those bastards do, and I loathe them.. .. I can't guarantee I'll pull it off, but I'll try."
Janine Clunes Courtland approached the exquisite leather counter of the Saddle and Bootery and asked to speak with the manager.
Shortly, a small, slender man wearing an expensive yellowish toupee that flowed back over his skull and covered the nape of his neck appeared. He was dressed in a riding outfit, complete with 'odhpurs and boots.
"Yes, madame, how may I help you?" he said in French, glancing beyond her to several well-dressed customers, some standing, others seated.
"You have a lovely shop," replied the ambassador's wife, her speech betrayin her origins.
- 9
"Ah, an American," enthused the manager.
"Is it so-obvious?"
"Oh, no, madame, your French is excellent."
"My friend, AndrE, constantly tutors me, but sometimes I think AndrE is too gentle. Yes, he must be firmer with me."
"AndrP" asked the short man in the jodhpurs, looking hard at Janine.
"Yes, he said you might know him.
"It's such a common name, is it not, madame? For instance, a customer named Andre left a pair of boots here and they were repaired the day before yesterday."
"I believe AndrE may have mentioned it."
"Please come with me." The manager walked to his right behind the counter, emerged through a green velvet curtain that covered a narrow entrance, and beckoned his new client. Together they went into a deserted office.
"I presume you are who I-presume you are?"
"Not by my identity, monsieur."
"Of course not, madame."
"A man in Washington instructed me. He said I should also use the name Catbird."
"That is sufficient, it's an alternate code changed every few weeks. Again, follow me. We'll go out the back entrance and you will be driven a short distance outside of Paris to an amusement park. Pay your way into the south entrance, second booth, and protest, stating that a courtesy ticket should have been provided by "Andre." Do you understand? ""South entrance, second booth, protest in the name of Andre Yes, I have it."
"A "Moment, please." The manager reached down and pressed a button on a desk intercom.
"Gustav, we have a delivery for Monsieur AndrE. Go to the vehicle immediately, if you please."
Outside, in the small alleyway parking area, Janine climbed into the first backseat of a van as the driver jumped in behind the wheel and started the engine.
"There will be no conversation between us, please," he said as he drove out of the alley into the street.
The manager returned to the deserted office, again reached for the intercom, pressed a second button, and spoke.
"I'm leaving early today, Simone. It's slow and I'm exhausted. Lock up at six, and I'll see you in the morning." He went out to his motorbike in the parking area behind the row of shops. He jammed his foot on the ignition pedal; the motor erupted and he sped down the alleyway.
Inside the leather boutique the telephone rang. A clerk at the counter picked it up.
"La Selle et les Bottes, " he said.
"Monsieur Rambeau!" yelled the man on the line.
"ImmeViatement!"
"I'm sorry," answered the clerk, offended by the arrogance of the caller.
"Monsieur Rambeau has left for the day."
Chapter Twenty-Six
"Where is he?"
"How the hell would I know? I'm not his mother or his lover."
"This is important!" screamed the man on the phone.
"No, you're not important, I am. I sell the merchandise, you