the owner of the building, the rest was easy. Nobody wants to mess with an agency that can bring down the bureaus of taxation and public health on his head."
"Stanley, you are a wonder."
"I'm not, Moreau is, and part of the deal is that you apologize to his men, buy them very expensive gifts, and take them to a very, very expensive dinner at the Tour d'Argent. With their families."
"That's two months salary!"
"I accepted for you.. .. Now, let's figure out how we do this without any backup."
"First we get inside, then -climb the stairs," replied Latham.
"Very quietly and carefully."
"They'll have patrols on the staircases. Better an elevator. We'll be two drunks singing something like "[email protected] de Ma Blonde," loud but not too loud."
"Not bad, Stosh."
"I was around when you were sending away for code rings from cereal boxes. We take the elevator to the sixth or seventh floor and walk down. But you're right about being quiet and careful, I'll give you that."
"Thanks for the compliment. I'll put it on my resumE."
"If you get out of this, you may need one quicker than you think
I have an idea Wesley Sorenson would like to see you stationed in a Mongolian outpost. Now let's go. Stay close to the buildings-, from the fifth floor, their line of sight is negative."
Latham and Witkowski, one behind the other, scrambled up the Lacoste, successively ducking into doorways until they reached Number 23. The entrance was at ground level; they entered the hallway, tested the locked foyer door, then studied the list of flats and occupants.
"I know how to do this," said the colonel, his hand reaching to press the button for an apartment on the ninth floor. When a startled, sleepy female voice responded on the speaker, he answered in fluent French.
"My name is Capitaine Louis d'Ambert of the Sfiret6.
You may call my office to confirm my identity, but time is of the essence. There is a dangerous person in this building who could bring harm to the tenants. We must gain entrance and arrest him.
Here, let me give you the number of my Sfirete office so you can verify my authority."
"Don't bother!" said the woman.
"Crime these days, it's everywhere-criminals, murderers, in our own buildings! " The buzzer sounded and Drew and Witkowski were inside.
The elevator was on the left; the panel above it showed the car was on the fourth floor. Latham pushed the button; the inner machinery cranked instantly. As the door slid open, a light on the panel inside indicated that some-, one on the fifth floor has pressed the red button, indicating descent.
Chapter Thirty-Four
"We've got the priority," said Stanley.
"Press the second floor."
"It's the ncos," whispered Drew.
"It's got to be them!"
"At this hour, I figure you're right," agreed the colonel.
"So we'll get off, walk down the stairs, stay way back in the hallway, and see if our instincts still have merit."
They did. Racing back to the ground floor, they crouched at the end of the tiled foyer and watched as the elevator door opened and Karin de Vries, her face taped, came into view, accompanied by three men, all dressed in ordinary civilian clothing.
"Halt!" shouted Witkowski, lunging out of the shadows, Latham at his side, their weapons leveled. The farthest neo spun around, reaching for his shoulder holster. The colonel fired a silenced automatic; the man spun again, grabbing his arm and falling to the ground.
"This was easier than I thought, chlopak," continued Witkowski, "these super Aryans aren't as smart as they think they are."
"Nein!" shrieked the obvious leader of the trio, grabbing Karin and shielding himself with her, then yanking out a pistol.
"You make one move, this woman dies!" he shouted, the gun at De Vries's right temple.
"Then I must have shown valor in battle," said Karin coldly, stripping the tape off her face.
"Was?"
"You made it plain that you had to administer the coup de grace on Harry Latham at the left side of his skull. Your weapon is on my right."
"Halt's Maul!"
"I'm only glad that you don't consider me filth, that I'm not a coward. My execution at least will be honorable."
"Be quiet!" The neo leader dragged her, heels scraping, toward the door.
"Drop your firearms!" he screamed.
"Drop it, Stanley," said Drew.
"Naturally," said the colonel.
And then a voice came from the staircase, an angry voice speaking French.
"What is all this commotion?" cried an elderly woman in a nightshirt, walking down the steps.
"I pay good rent to get a night's sleep after working in the bakery all day and I