led to the rear, where there was a concealed sliding door disguised as a tall, rectangular panoply of basement windowpanes. It was never to be used during daylight hours.
Each guest of the Antinayous was given a concise briefing as to what was expected of him or her, including clothing (wardrobe provided, if necessary), behavior (not haut Parisien), communication between residents (absolutely verboten unless cleared by the "management"), and the precise scheduling of entries and departures (again cleared by management). Failure to adhere to the regulations would result in immediate expulsion, no appeal possible. The rules were admittedly harsh, but they were for everyone's benefit.
Latham was assigned to a mini-suite on the third floor; he was as impressed by the technical appointments as he was by what Karin had described as "German efficiency." After having been thoroughly tutored in the workings of the equipment by a member of the management, he went into the bedroom and lay down, glanced at his watch, and estimated that he could call Karin de Vries at the embassy in a little over an hour. He wished it were sooner; the waiting to find out whether or not her strategy was successful was nerve-racking, although the lie she had concocted was exotic, even humorous considering the circumstances. Her tactic was simple: She had been with him at the bombed-out brasserie; he had disappeared and she was frantic. Why? Because she found him delightful and they were "heading toward an affair." It was an appealing prospect and equally out of the question-on second thought, perhaps not terribly appealing, thought Drew. She was a strange woman, justifiably filled with anger and painful memories, her attractiveness diminished by both. She was a child of European angst, the national and racial upheavals that were poisoning the entire continent, and Latham was not prepared to join her crowd. He was uncomfortable when he observed her sharp yet oddly soft, lovely features turn glacial, her wide, stunning eyes become two orbs of ice, when her past consumed her. No, he had enough problems of his own.
Then why was he thinking so about her? She had saved his life, of course..... but then, she had saved her own as well. His life..... what was the phrase she had used?
"Perhaps it was meant to appear that way." No! He was sick of the circles within circles, where none broke off in tangents that led to the irrefutable truth.
Where was the truth? Harry's list? Karin's concern? Moreau? Sorenson? .. . He had nearly been killed four times and that was enough!
He had to rest, then think, but rest first. Rest was a weapon, often more potent than firepower, an old trainer had once told him. So with the exhaustion born of fear and anxiety, Drew closed his eyes.
Sleep, fitful as it was, came quickly.
The harsfi bell of the Paris phone awakened him; bolting upright, he grabbed it.
"Yes?"
"It is I," said Karin.
"I'm speaking on the colonel's telephone."
"It."s swept," interrupted Latham, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his left hand.
"Is Witkowski there?"
"I thought you might ask that. Here he is."
"Hello, Drew."
"The attempts on my life are multiplying, Stosh."
"So it would appear," agreed the G-2 veteran.
"You stay deep until things are clearer."
"How clear do they have to be? They want me out, Stanley!"
"Then we have to convince them that temporarily it would not be to their advantage. You have to buy time."
"How the hell do we do that?"
"I'd have to know more than I do to give you an answer, but basically to make them believe you're more valuable alive than dead."
"What do you need to know?"
"Everything. Sorenson's your boss, your ultimate control. I know Wesley, not well, but we're acquainted, so reach him, clear me, and bring me up to speed."
"I don't have to reach him. It's my life and I'm making an on scene decision. Take notes, then burn them, Colonel." Latham started from the beginning, with Harry's disappearance in the Hausruck Alps, his capture and escape from the Brotherhood, then the missing files in Washington that dealt with an unknown French general, followed by the Jodelle connection, his suicide at the theater, and his son, Jean-Pierre Villier. At this juncture Stanley Witkowski sharply interrupted.
"The actor?"
"That's the one. He was enough of a jackass to go out on his own playing a street bum, and come up with information that could be valuable."
"Then the old man really was his father?"
"Confirmed and reconfirmed. He was a member of the REsistance, captured by the Germans, and sent