"Five men, no more," said Drew, putting down Witkowski's list on the dining room table.
"Each fluent in
German and each with Ranger training, none of them married or with children."
"I anticipated you. I dug up two from NATO, with you and me that makes four, and there's a candidate from Marseilles who may qualify."
"Stop it!" cried Karin.
"I am the fifth man-far better, for I'm a woman."
"In your dreams, lady. It's a good bet that Traupman as heavily guarded as if he wore the Hope diamond around his neck like a mezuzah."
"Moreau's looking into that," said the colonel.
"Frankly, he'd like to take over the operation himself, but the Quai d'Orsay, as well as French foreign intelligence, would blow him away if he tried. But there's nothing on the books that says he can't give us assistance.
Within twenty-four hours he expects a report on Traupman's daily routine and security."
"I'm going with you, Drew," said De Vries calmly.
"There's no way you can stop me, so don't try."
"For Christ's sake, why?"
"For all the reasons you know very well, and one you do not."
"What .. .
"As you said about Harry and your parents, I'll tell you when the time is right."
"What kind of answer is that?"
"For the moment, the only one you' I get."
"Youthink I'll settle for that?"
"You have to, it's a gift from you to me. If you refuse, and as much as it pains me, I'll leave and you'll never see me again."
"It means that much to you? This reason I don't know about means that much?"
Yes.
"Karin, you're driving me up the wall!"
"I don't mean to, my darling, but some things we must all simply accept. This you must."
"I should have the words to tell you I don't buy this crap!" said Latham, swallowing, as he stared at her.
"I just don't have them."
"Listen to me, chlopak," Witkowski interrupted, studying them both.
"I'm not crazy about the idea, but there's a positive side. A woman sometimes makes quiet inroads where men can't."
"What the hell are you proposing?"
"Obviously not what you think But as long as she's made up her mind, she could be useful."
"That's the coldest, most insensitive thing I've ever heard you say, Colonel! The assignment is everything, the individual nothing?"
"There's a middle ground where both are vital."
"She could be killed!"
"So could we all. I think she has as much right to that option as you do. You lost a brother, she lost a husband. Who are you to play Solomon?"
It was twenty minutes to five in Washington, those hectic minutes before the rush-hour traffic fill the streets, when secretaries, clerks, and typists mildly harass their bosses into . leaving their final instructions for the day so that personnel can get to garages, parking lots, and bus stops before the crowds. Wesley Sorenson had left the office, already in his limousine but not on his way home; his wife knew how to handle emergencies, filtering the false ones and reaching him in the car for those she considered genuine. After nearly forty-five years she had developed instincts as perceptive as his, and he was grateful for that.
Instead of home, the director of Consular Operations was on his way to a rendezvous with Knox Talbot in Langley, Virginia. The head of the CIA had alerted him an hour earlier; the snare for Bruce Withers, high-tech purchasing agent, bigot, and prime suspect in the safe-house killings, might have been sprung. Talbot had ordered an in-house tap on Withers's phone, and at 2:13 in the afternoon a calf had come to him from a woman who identified herself only as Suzy. Knox had played the recording for Wesley over their secure telephones.
"Hi, hon, it's Suzy. Sorry to bother you at work, sweetie, but I ran into Sidney, who says he's got that old set of wheels for you."
"The silver Aston-Martin, DB-Three?"
"If that's the one you want, he tracked it down."
"Hey, I can smell it! That's the "Goldfinger' car."
"He doesn't want to bring it into the lot, so you're to meet him at your watering hole in Woodbridge around five-thirty.
"You and I and a few younger strong-arms will follow him, Wcs," Talbot had said.
"Sure, Knox, but why? The man's a Fascist, a thief, and a late blooming yuppie, but what's his buying a fancy Englis car got to do with anything?"
I remembered I own a custom-made auto parts company in Idaho-or is it Ohio?-so I made a call to the fellow who runs it for me.