Colonel. I'm Harry now, and someone expects me to die."
t was three o'clock in the morning in Monte Carlo, the narrow, dimly lit streets beyond the casino deserted except for stragglers from the still-active gambling palace; a few were despondently drunk, several elated, most weary. Claude Moreau made his way down an alley that led to a stone wall overlooking the harbor. He reached the wall, his eyes scanning the scene below; it was a haven for the world's rich, memorialized by the lights of the huge, luxurious yachts and ca cruisers at their moorings. He felt no sense of envy whatsoever; he was merely an observer appreciating the surface beauty of it all. His civil. servant's lack of jealousy came easily, for his job required that he spend infrequent time among the owners of these opulent craft, watching their lifestyles, often delving deeper. It was enough. If one could categorize, in many ways they were a desperate people, forever seeking out new interests, new experiences, new thrills. The constant seeking became their reality, the search without end, leading only to still another search. They had their comforts; they needed them, for the rest was boredom, looking for the next stimulation that would occupy them. What now? What's new? @
"Allor, monsieur," said the voice out of the darkness as a figure approached from the shadows.
"Are you the friend of the Brotherhood?"
"Your cause is futile," said Moreau without turning.
"I've told you people that a hundred times, but if you continue to better my impoverished circumstances, I'll do as you ask."
"Our Blitzkrieger, the woman at the table in the casino.. Youtook her away. What happened?"
"She took her own life, as the other two did in prison months ago. We are French; we did not, upon her arrest, examine her private areas. If we had, we would have found cyanide capsules encased in plastic."
"Sehr gut. She told you nothing?"
"How could she? She never came out of the ladies' room alive."
"Then we are clear?"
"For now. And I shall expect the usual payment in Zurich for my considerable cooperation. Tomorrow."
"It will be done."
The figure walked away in the darkness as Moreau reached into his breast pocket and turned off his recorder. Unwritten contracts meant nothing, unless their violations were recorded.
Basil Marchand, member of the House of Lords, slammed the brass paperweight down on his desk with such force that the glass cover shattered, sending fragments across the room. The man facing him took a step backward while briefly turning his face away.
"How dare you?" shouted the elderly gentleman, his hands trembling with rage.
"The men of this family go back to the Crimea and all the wars since, including the Boer, where a newspaper boy named Churchill extolled their bravery under fire. How can you think to imply such .a thing to me?"
"Forgive me, Lord Marchand," said the MI-5 officer calmly, unflinchingly, "your family has deservedly received recognition for its military contributions throughout this century, but there was an exception, wasn't there? I refer, of course, to your older brother, who was among the founders of the Cliveden set, which held Adolf Hitler in rather high regard."
"Drummed out of the family!" Marchand broke in furiously as he yanked open a drawer and pulled out a silver-framed -scroll.
"Here, you insolent bugger! This is a citation from the King himself for my boat at Dunkirk. I was a lad of sixteen and brought out thirty-eight men who would have been slaughtered or captured. And that was before I was awarded the Military Cross for my service in the Royal Navy!"
"We're aware of your outstanding heroism, Lord Marchand-"
"So don't ascribe to me the warped delusions of an older brother I barely knew. and didn't like what I did know," continued the outraged member of the House of Lords.
"If you've done your research, you should know that he left England in 1940 and never returned, no doubt drank himself to death hiding in one of those South Pacific islands."
"Not quite accurate, I'm afraid," said the MI-5 visitor.
"Your brother ended up in Berlin with another name, and worked throughout the war in the Reich's Ministry of Information. He married a German woman and, like you, he had three sons-"
"What .. . ?" The old man fell slowly back in his chair, his mouth agape, barely breathing.
"We were never told," he added so quietly he could hardly be heard.
"There was no point, sir. After the war he disappeared with his entire family, presumably to South America, one of those German enclaves in