Lavolette had to be cornered, surprised, forced by shock into revealing whatever he knew, or whatever he did not know he knew by disclosing another name or names. The same could be said for the Cranston woman, Phyllis Cranston, errant secretary to a middle-level attach who was on Witkowski's list of "floaters," probably the reason she kept her job.
First, there was the primary task of, getting out of the hotel.
Every hour, every minute, he spent there was an hour and a minute lost in his hunt for Karin.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Karin had said his blond hair was the product of a minor bleach rinse coupled with a "tint coloring," whatever that was, but she insisted that with a harsh shampoo plus a tube of something that turned gray hair darker, he could return to his normal hair color, or something close to it. She had put the magic tube in the medicine chest, he had moved it to a bedroom drawer so she would not remove it. It was still there.
A half hour later, the bathroom a steaming mess, a naked Latham kept throwing water on the basin mirror to clear it. His hair was now a strange dark brown with specks of auburn, but it was not blond. He had sent one hockey puck right through a goalie's legs!
Now there were Messieurs Frick and Frack to consider, or, more accurately, whoever relieved them for the current shift. And it was another shift, as Karin had mentioned. He knew each of the guards, but he knew Frick and Frack better than the others, and he doubted the pair would have related the details of their embarrassment over a missed code word. A lone American disarming an officer of the Deuxieinc, ripping his weapon away, and punishing his groin to the point' of agony? Mon Dieu, fermez la bouche!
Drew pulled his other uniform out of the closet and his bureau drawers. It was the all but prescribed dress of the male embassy attache: gray flannels, dark blazer, white shirt, and a conservative tie-regimental stripes preferable, subdued paisleys permitted for informal evening functions. He was mildly pleased that the supposedly bulletproof vest was accommodated, snug but not inhibiting. Fully clothed, his suitcase packed, he opened the hotel door and walked out into the corridor, standing in place, waiting for the obvious. It came immediately with the appearance of, the guard by the elevators, his colleague simultaneously emerging from the shadow at the opposite end of the hallway.
"Til vous Platt," he began in even more awkward French than he was capable of, "voulez-vous venir ici-"
"En anglais, monsieur!" cried the man from the elevators.
"We can understand."
"Oh, thanks a lot, I appreciate that. If one of you would help me out, I just got a telephone message and I wrote out the words as best I could. It's an address, I think, but the fellow couldn't speak English."
"You go, Pierre," said the guard at the opposite end in French.
"I'll stay here."
"Very, well," replied the man walking down from the bank of elevators.
"Don't they teach any other language but English in America?"
"Did the Romans learn French?"
"They didn't have to, there's your answer." The first guard entered Latham's suite as Drew followed and closed the door.
"Where is the message, monsieur?" - "Over at the desk," said Latham, walking behind the Frenchman.
"It's the paper with the writing on it. Right in the center, I turned it around so you could read it."
The guard picked up the sheet of paper with the strange words spelled out phonetically. As he did so, Latham raised both arms, hands angled downward, two hammers that crashed into the man's shoulder blades, rendering him instantly unconscious. It was a stunning blow, painful but not injurious. Drew dragged the body into the bedroom, where he had stripped the bed and ripped the sheets into long lengths of narrow cloth. Ninety seconds later the guard was strapped facedown on top of the mattress, arms and legs lashed to the bedposts, his mouth immobilized by a thin strip of cloth, allowing breath to enter and leave.
Picking up a handful of torn sheets, Latham raced out of the bedroom, closing the door. He dropped the strips of cloth on a chair and opened the hallway door. He walked out calmly and addressed the second guard, who was barely seen in the far shadows.
"Your friend Pierre says he must talk to you at once, before he calls that fellow, what's his name? Montreaux or Moneau?"
"Monsieur le directeur?"
"Yeah, that's the guy.