even years."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I worked for you people for years, and that's all I'll say about it. Tell me, why should I believe you?"
"Because, goddammit, I'm here! At one-thirty in the morning."
"Why not eight-thirty, or nine-thirty, so the patron can sleep?"
The question was asked innocently; there was no threat whatsoever in the chauffeur's voice.
"Come on, man, you're busting my chops! Has it occurred to you that I'd rather be home with my wife and three children?" .
The lie was interrupted by a loud whirring sound. Instinctively, the huge man turned as the door swung open farther, exposing the foyer and a long hallway. At the end of the hall was a small brass webbed door; in seconds a miniature elevator descended into view.
"Hugo!" cried the frail voice of the white-haired figure inside.
"What is it, Hugo? I heard the bell and then people arguing in English."
"It would be better if you kept your door closed, patron. You would not be awakened."
"Come, come, you overprotect me. Now help me out of this damn thing, I wasn't really sleeping anyway."
"But Anna said you didn't eat well and then spent two hours on your knees in the chapel."
"All to good purpose, my son," said the former Father Antoine Lavolette. Helped from the elevator chair, he cautiously stepped into the hallway. He was a reed of a man in his red-jhecked bathrobe, over six feet in height but thin to the point of emaciation.
His face had the chiseled features of a Gothic saint-an aquiline nose, severe eyebrows, and wide-open eyes.
"I truly believe God is hearing my prayers. I said to Him that since He created everything, He was responsible for my feelings about my wife. I even scolded Him... , pointing out that neither His Son nor the Holy Scriptures ever said anything forbidding a priest to marry."
"I'm certain He heard you, patron."
"If He didn't, I shall loudly complain about my constantly painful kneecaps, if I ever greet Him. I wonder if our Lord God has knees that must bend. But, of course, He does, we're made in His image that may have been a big mistake." The old man stopped in front of Latham,
who was now standing in the hallway.
"Well, well, whom do we have here? Are you the intruder who breaks into the tent of night?"
"I am, sir. My name is Latham, and I'm with the American Embassy, an officer with the United States Consular Operations.
Your chauffeur is still holding my identification in his hand."
"For heaven's sake, give it back to him, Hugo, you're finished with all that nonsense," instructed the former priest, suddenly shaken, his head trembling.
"Nonsense, sit?" said Drew.
"My friend Hugo was among the Praetorian guards recruited from the Foreign Legion and sent to Command Saigon when he was a young man. You left him behind, but he got himself out."
"He speaks English very well."
"He should, he was a special activities officer under the direction of the Americans."
"I'never heard of any Praetorian guard or of French officers in Saigon."
"Praetorian was a euphemism for suicide squads, and there were many things you never heard of in that action. The Americans paid them ten times what they could make in the Legion; they brought back information from behind the lines. You people forget so easily. French was a language far better known than English among the ruling cadres in Southeast Asia.. .. Now, why are you here?"
"Father Manfried Neuman."
"I see," said Lavolette, staring at Latham, their eyes level, for the former priest was as tall as Drew.
"Escort us into the library, Hugo, and relieve Monsieur Latham of his weapon, which you will keep in your possession until we , re finished. "
"Oui, patron. " The chauffeur held out Latham's identification while simultaneously signaling with the fingers of his right hand that Drew give him his gun. Noting that Hugo's stare centered on the slight bulge on the left side of his jacket, Latham.reached in slowly and removed his automatic.
"Merci, monsieur," said the chauffeur, taking the gun and handing Drew his ID card case. He took his patron's elbow and led them through an archway into a book-lined room profuse with heavy leather chairs and marble tables.
"Make yourself comfortable, Monsieur Latham," said Lavolette, sitting in an upright chair, gesturing for Drew to sit across from him.
"Would you care for something to drink? I know I would.
Conversations at this hour require, a touch of the grape, I believe."
"I'll have whatever you have."
"From the same bottle, of course," said the former priest, smiling.
"Two