times, a bright mAn-that's right, he's posted at the embassy now."
"Chief of Security. He's got all the credentials he needs to satisfy the DCI. Harry worked with Witkowski in Berlin, and he's the natural conduit because my brother trusted him-hell, he had to, the colonel fed him enough G-Two input to prolong his station and probably his life. Stanley will figure out a way to reach Talbot on a sub-rosa channel and ask him to run an in-depth trace on this Kroeger."
"It makes sense, Witkowski makes sense. What do you want me to do?"
"Absolutely nothing; we can't risk any cross-checks that might be picked up by neo. moles. However, I'd appreciate your standing by when and if I think I'm in over my head and could use some advice."
"I'm not sure I'm capable of that. It's been a long time."
"I'll take what you even vaguely remember as gospel, Mr.
Director.. .. Here we go. Harry Latham's alive and well and going out in search of a doctor-saint or sinner or both. Be in touch."
The line went dead and Wesley Sorenson held the phone in his hand, as if in a daze. The younger Latham's actions were dangerously unorthodox and should be aborted, the Cons-Op director knew that, knew that he should call Knox Talbot and come clean, saying whatever he could say to explain and protect his man, but it wasn't in him to do it. Drew had been right; how often had Case Officer Sorenson worked outside of sanction because he understood that his decisions would be struck down, yet knew that his course of action was the only one to take. Not only knew it, but passionately believed it. He heard his younger self talking as he listened to Drew Latham's words. Slowly, he replaced the phone, the chant of a prayer forming silently on his lips.
Jean-Pierre and Giselle Villier stepped out of the limousine at the hotel L'Hermitage in Monte Carlo; they had flown there from Paris by private jet. The reason for the trip, as described by the press, was to give the celebrated actor some rest after six arduous months performing in Coriolanus, culminating in the emotionally draining event that caused him to close the play. This information, however, was all that the media was given, all it would be given, as there would be no further statements and certainly no interviews. And after a few days of pleasant distraction at the Casino de Paris, it was understood that the couple would fly to an undisclosed island in the Mediterranean, perhaps to 'join his parents.
What the press did not know was that two military Mirage jets flew above and below the private plane from Paris, escorting it to its destination. Further, one of the two uniformed doormen, the assistant manager at the front desk, and assorted minor hotel functionaries were all Deuxi&me personnel, each cleared by the Bain de Mer, the select organization that ran the affairs of Monte Carlo and was the diplomatic liaison to the royal family of Monaco.
In addition, whenever Monsieur and Madame Villier left the hotel for the slow three-block ride to the casino, the bulletproof limousine was flanked by armed men in expensive, well-tailored suits- until the luxurious vehicle arrived at the steps of the majestic gambling establishment, where their counterparts took over.
Upon their arrival, the couple was joined in their suite by the chief of the [email protected] Bureau, Claude Moreau.
"As you can see, my friends, everything is covered, including the rooftops, where we have expert marksmen; and below in cars, all windows are constantly under roving telescopes. You have nothing to fear."
"We are not your 'friends," monsieur," said Giselle Villier coolly.
"And as to these precautions, a single gunshot destroys the facade."
"Only if a gunshot is permitted, madame, and none will be."
"What about the casino itself, how can you possibly control the crowds who may recognize me?" asked the actor.
"Actually, they're part of the protection, but only a peripheral part. We know the games you enjoy and at each such table we will have men and women who follow you, surround you, and block your bodies with theirs. No assassin, and certainly no Blitzkrieger, will attempt to fire unless his shot is clean. Such killers can't afford to."
"Suppose your assassin is someone at a table?" Giselle interrupted.
"How can you protect my husband?"
"Another astute question, which I fully. expect from you, madame," replied Moreau, "and I trust my answer will satisfy you.
At each table you will observe a man and a woman