his open blue Oxford shirt, sat at an antique table that served as a desk, talking quietly on the telephone.
Across the large, ornate room, Drew Latham and Karin de Vries were sitting opposite each other in brocaded armchairs, also speaking softly.
"How's the hand?" asked Drew.
"It's fine; it's my feet, they still hurt," answered Karin, laughing quietly.
"I told you to take off your shoes."
"Then the soles of both feet would be scraped, my dear. How long did we walk from the Lacoste until you reached Claude to send transportation? Nearly forty minutes, I think."
"I couldn't call Durbane. Even now we don't know where he stands, and Moreau was busy with our Nazi minister' "
"We saw three separate police cars. I'm sure any one of them would have accommodated us."
"No, Witkowski was right about that. There were five of us, which would have meant two of those small cars or a wagon. Then there was the problem of convincing them to take us to the embassy and not to a police station, a request they'd damn well refuse considering one of the ncos was wounded. Even Claude was grateful that we waited for him. As he put it, "There are already too many cooks in the kitchen." We didn't need police reports or the SfiretL"
"And the [email protected] found no one at the Chiteau de Vincennes?"
I "Nobody with a weapon, and they swept the park clean."
"It's surprising," said De Vries, frowning.
"I was sure that's where the killing would take place."
"You're sure and I can confirm it, straight from Koenig's mouth.
It's the scenario he described."
"I wonder what happened."
"It's pretty obvious. They never got the final go-ahead, so the kill was aborted."
"Do you realize we're talking about our own lives?"
"I'm trying to keep it clinical."
"You're devastatingly effective."
The doorbell of the main entrance to the living quarters rang.
Latham rose from the chair and glanced at Courtland, who nodded, still on the phone. Drew crossed to the door, opened it, and admitted Stanley Witkowski.
"Any progress?" asked Drew.
"We think so," replied the colonel.
"I'll wait till the ambassador's off the horn. He has to hear it. Did either of you get any rest?"
"I did, Stanley," answered Karin from the chair.
"Am,bassador Courtla'nd was kind enough to let us use the guest rooms. I fell right to sleep, but my friend here couldn't stay off the phone."
"Only after you swore it was sterile," added Drew.
"No phone up here could be tapped by Swie'ty Piotr himself, as my dear departed mother used to call him. Whom did you reach, chlopak?"
"Back and forth with Sorenson. He's made progress too."
"Any word on the Virginia assassin?"
"He's nailed him. That son of a bitch can't go to the toilet without being heard."
Daniel Courtland hung up the telephone, awkwardly turning in his chair, wincing in pain as he greeted Witkowski.
"Hello, Colonel, what happened at the hospital?" ,
"It's in the hands of Bri tish MI-Five, sir. A pulmonologist named Woodward from the Royal College of Surgeons showed up, claiming the Foreign Office had asked him to fly over and examine Mrs. Courtland-at your request. They're looking into it."
"I made no such request," said the ambassador.
"I don't know any Dr. Woodward, much less the Royal College of Surgeons."
"We know that," said Witkowski.
"Our French-American unit at the hospital stopped him just before he was about to inject the false Mrs. Courtland with strychnine."
"A brave woman. What's her name?"
"Moskowitz, sir. From New York. Her late husband was a French rabbi. She volunteered for the assignment."
"Then we must volunteer compensation. Perhaps a month's vacation, all expenses paid."
"I'll forward the offer, sir.. .. And how are you feeling?"
"I'll be fine. just a little torn skin, nothing serious. I was a lucky man."
"You weren't the target, Mr. Ambassador."
"Yes, I understand that," said Courtland quietly.
"So let's all get current, okay?"
"Mrs. de Vries just told me how much they appreciate your inviting them to stay up here."
"Considering what they've been through, they're quarantined up here for the duration if need be. I assume your full security's in place."
"Practically a complete platoon of marines, sir. They hear a footstep or a sneeze, their weapons are drawn."
"Good. Sit down, fellas, we have to recap. You go first, Stanley.
Where are we?"
"Let's start back at the hospital," began Witkowski, lowering himself into a chair next to Karin.
"It was a foul up but the British lung doctor, this Woodward, was cleared by the Quai d'Orsay as one of Mrs. Courtland's physicians, only the clearance came too late. He'd already arrived."
"That strikes me as pretty sloppy for the ncos," said Courtland.