bath, perhaps have a bite to eat and then go to bed. You must be exhausted.”
“Why was I arrested?”
“Oh, good heavens, young lady, you’re not under arrest. We merely wish to ask you a few questions, as I said. Showing up on your father’s doorstep came as something of a surprise to us. We weren’t expecting you.”
“Isn’t it the custom in France for children to visit their parents?” Elizabeth shot back. She felt as if Levy was toying with her, and her eyes were drawn to the file folder.
“Indeed it is. Lamentably, however, my children don’t visit me or their mother as often as we would like. I sincerely hope you treat your filial duties with more respect.” Levy tapped a blunt finger on the file folder. “As you may guess, we take a sincere interest in your father and his current activities. So long as he remains retired he is welcome to reside in France. However a question of the exact nature of his most recent activities has arisen for which we would sincerely like to talk to him.”
Elizabeth tried to interrupt, but Levy held up a hand.
“Please, Mademoiselle. Your father is in no trouble. His arrest has not been ordered, nor do we wish to interfere with his quiet enjoyment of Paris, or of all of France for that matter. So I am asking for your help. Either tell us where your father might have gone, or short of that, simply take a message to him that we’d like to speak with him. We would even agree to a telephone interview. Nothing more than that. Totally harmless. Can you find fault with us?”
“Look, I told Colonel Galan that I was just as surprised as you guys that my father is gone. I’ve got a few days off and I wanted to surprise him. I suppose I should have called first.” Elizabeth shrugged. “But now you’re getting me worried. Maybe something has happened to him. Maybe I should file a missing persons report.”
A faint flicker of a smile crossed Levy’s face. “Your mother is a rich woman?”
The question caught Elizabeth by surprise. “She does okay.”
LeVy flipped open the file folder, and extracted a single sheet of paper which he passed to her. “You only have a few days off in which to see your father, so your mother generously allows you the use of her Visa card. The Concorde flight alone cost nearly six thousand dollars, not to mention the ATM cash withdrawal of two ‘thousand francs at Charles de Gaulle.”
The paper with a Chase Manhattan Bank logo was a brief computer reply to a query from Air France verifying the validity of the charge. “I assume you did not borrow the card without your mother’s knowledge.”
“My mother is a generous woman.”
“Indeed. Would she know where your father is at the moment? Would she speak to us?”
“Probably not,” Elizabeth said disconsolately. If they knew that much, they probably knew the rest. “May I telephone my embassy?”
“They won’t be awake over there at this hour,” LeVy said. He withdrew a plain manila envelope from the file folder, opened it, and dumped the contents, which included a U.S. passport, a Maryland driver’s license, insurance card, voter registration card, and two credit cards, on the table.
Elizabeth recognized them, and her spirits sank even lower.
LeVy opened the passport, studied the photograph, then looked up at Elizabeth. “This says that your name is Elizabeth Swanson. The picture matches.” He laid the passport down. “We found these where you hid them in your hotel room. Good stuff, not amateur. I’d say that the CIA supplied you with these documents. Is that so?”
“If that were the case you would know that I couldn’t talk about it.”
“On the other hand the papers could be first class forgeries, in which case you would be charged in France with conspiracy to conduct terrorism.”
“Don’t be stupid!” Elizabeth flared. LeVy was unimpressed. “It is not I who am the fool, Mademoiselle. Nor is it I who am sitting without rights in an interrogation cell. So let me ask you one last time. Do you know your father’s current whereabouts?”
“I wouldn’t have gone to his apartment if I did,” Elizabeth said.
Levy stared thoughtfully at her for several moments, then gathered up the papers and documents and stuffed them back into the file folder. “It is a good thing that you came into France under your real name. If you had used these we would have arrested you and deported you immediately.” He got up. “How did you know I arrived in France?” Elizabeth asked.
Levy smiled indulgently. “Your father is a famous man. The names of his family and friends-are all flagged.”
“May I go now?”
“In a few minutes, Mademoiselle,” Levy said and he left.
Tom Lynch, the Chief of Paris station, came in a moment later, a sharp look of disapproval on his narrow, delicate face.
“What the hell are you doing here thirty-six hours ahead of time?” he demanded, his voice as sharply pitched as his manner.
“They’re probably watching and listening to us—”
“I had them shut it off. I asked you a question. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Looking for my father. It’s my job,” Elizabeth answered defiantly.
“How exactly did you intend accomplishing that? Did you think that he left you a note on his door? Didn’t you think that since we and the French are looking for him that his apartment would be under surveillance?”
“I didn’t see anybody.”
“You didn’t look,” Lynch shouted. “We’ll have to apologize to the French government, of course, then I’ll talk to Mr. Ryan and arrange to send you back to Washington.”
“I don’t think so,” Elizabeth said.
“We’ll see,” Lynch shot back.
“Have you found my father yet?”
“As a matter of fact we have not,” Lynch said, eyeing her. “I don’t know how extensive your briefing was, but your father’s life may be in danger. We simply want to get word to him, nothing more. But your little trick hasn’t helped one bit. The French are going to be convinced that he’s working for us again, and they’ll probably try to arrest him, unless we can find him first.” Lynch shook his head. “I don’t even want to think what might happen.”
“Sending me back won’t make it any better,” Elizabeth said. Her father didn’t like Ryan, but he’d never mentioned Lynch.
“Do you have an idea where he is?”
“No, but I wanted to talk to two people who might know something.”
“Who are they?” Lynch asked with renewed interest.
“Jacqueline Belleau, the woman he was living with.”
“If she knew anything they’d have him by now.”
“Is she in love with him?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Has anyone asked?”
“Ms. Belleau is a trained French intelligence officer. She wouldn’t have fallen in love with your father. In any event she’s not subject to an interview by us. Who’s the second person?”
Elizabeth hesitated. Ryan was a jerk, but Lynch seemed to be genuinely concerned with helping her father. “I’ll tell you, but I want you to keep it confidential. At least until we can talk to him. I’ll need your help.”
“All right,” Lynch said. “That’s why you were sent here. Who have we missed?” “Otto Rencke. He’s supposed to be living somewhere near Paris.”
A look of amazement crossed Lynch’s features. “Jesus. We never thought of him.”
“He might not talk to you, but if you can find him I’ll go out there.”
“Damn right you will,” Lynch said. “He’s in Bonnieres, about thirty or forty miles away.”
“Can we go there now?”.
“It’s not going to be that easy. First of all I don’t know exactly where he’s living. But I can find that out. In the meantime it’s going to take a couple of hours to get you out of here. The French are almost as bad as the Germans when it comes to paperwork.”
“I’m warning you, Mr. Lynch, if you bring Rencke in he’ll clam up. He won’t talk to anybody.”
Lynch’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t worry about it. I have my homework to do. When you get out of here,
