whether Theacute;regrave;se Chambord was still alive.
Chapter Eight
The hypnotic rhythms of a classical Indian raga floated on the hot, heavy air, trapped by the thick carpets and wall hangings that lined Mauritania's apartment. Seated cross-legged in the exact center of the main room, he swayed like a sinuous Buddha to the gentle yet strident sound. His eyes were closed, and a beatific smile wreathed his face. He sensed rather than saw the disapproving look of his lieutenant, Abu Auda, who had just entered.
"Salaam alake koom."
Mauritania's eyes remained closed as he spoke in Arabic while continuing to weave back and forth. "Forgive me, Abu Auda, it's my only vice. The classical Indian raga was part of a rich culture long before the Europeans developed what they claim to be classical music. I enjoy that fact nearly as much as the raga itself. Do you think Allah will forgive me for such indulgence and hubris?"
"Better him than me. All it is to me is distracting noise." Large and powerful-looking, Abu Auda snorted contemptuously. He was still in the same white robes and gold-trimmed kaffiyeh he had worn in the taxi when Captain Bonnard turned over to him the research notes of the dead lab assistant. Now, alas, the robes were not only dirty from too many days in the grime of Paris, but wet from the rainstorm. None of his women was in Paris to take care of him, which was irritating but could not be helped. He pushed back his kaffiyeh to reveal his long black face, strong, bony chin, small, straight nose, and full mouth set in stone. "Do you wish my report, or are you going to continue to waste my time?"
Mauritania chuckled and opened his eyes. "Your report, by all means. Allah may forgive me, but you won't, yes?"
"Allah has more time than we," Abu Auda responded, his expression humorless.
"So he does, Abu Auda. So he does. Then we'll have this oh-so-vital report of yours, shall we not?" Mauritania's eyes were amused, but beneath the surface was a glint that turned his visitor from complaints to the business at hand.
Abu Auda told him, "My watcher at the Pasteur Institute reports your person, Smith, appeared there. Smith spoke to Dr. Michael Kerns, apparently an old comrade. My man was able to hear only part of the conversation, when they were speaking of Zellerbach. After that, Smith left the Pasteur, drank a small beer at a cafeacute;, and then took the meacute;tro, where our miserable incompetent lost him."
Mauritania interrupted, "Did he lose Smith, or did Smith lose him?"
Abu Auda shrugged. "I wasn't there. He did report a curious fact. Smith appeared to wander aimlessly until he reached a bookshop, where he watched for a time, smiled at something, continued on to the meacute;tro, and went down into the station."
"Ah?" Mauritania's blue eyes grew brighter. "As if, perhaps, he noticed he was being watched when he left the Pasteur?"
The green-brown eyes snapped. "I'd know more if my idiot hadn't lost him at the meacute;tro station. He waited too long to follow him down. By Allah, he'll pay!"
Mauritania scowled. "What then, Abu?"
"We didn't find Smith again until tonight, when he arrived at the daughter's home. Our man there saw him, but we don't believe Smith knew. Smith was upstairs in her apartment nearly fifteen minutes, and then they rode down in the elevator together. As soon as she stepped outside, four assailants attacked. Ah, the fine quality of their work! Would to God they were ours. They eliminated Smith from the action first inside the door, separating him from the woman, and then they dragged the woman away. By the time Smith recovered and came after them, they had her inside the van, even though she fought them hard. He killed one, but the rest escaped. Smith inspected the dead man, took his pistol, and left before the police arrived. He found a taxi at a nearby hotel. Our man trailed him to the Champs Elyseacute;es, where he also lost him."
Mauritania nodded, almost with satisfaction. "This Smith doesn't want to become involved with the police, is suspicious of being followed, skilled at eluding a tail, is calm under attack, and can use a pistol well. I'd say our Dr. Smith is more than he seems, as we suspected."
"At the very least, he's got military training. But is Smith our main concern? What of the daughter? What of the five men, for there must've been a driver in the van? Weren't you concerned about