either.
'Shh.'
A few had umbrellas they popped open, but most had fled too quickly. Since it was the weekend, there were only twenty or so to evacuate, and then he saw them. They crossed the road together and found shelter under a cafe awning.
'Ahead,' said Milo.
'What?'
'Now!'
Einner sped forward in first gear, splashing through puddles as they reached the awning. Morel and her partner weren't alone; others had just lit cigarettes and were hugging themselves. They all stared at the Mercedes. Milo rolled down his window and caught Morel's eye. 'Get in.'
Both she and her partner stepped forward. Milo raised a finger. 'Just you.'
'I'm not going anywhere without him,' she said. Milo glanced at Einner, who shrugged. 'Okay,' said Milo. 'Hurry.'
They got in the back through separate doors, the man first. Before Morel's door was shut, Einner was already moving.
'Was that you?' she said. 'The bomb?' She sounded out of breath.
'Sorry. I just need to chat.'
The man beside her shook his head. 'You have a funny way of talking.'
Milo gave him a smile, then stuck out his hand. 'First, though, please give me your phones.”
“No,' said Morel.
Milo finally produced Einner's pistol. 'Pretty please.'
31
After several evasive maneuvers, including a dangerous U-turn in a tunnel, they left Paris proper and stopped at a near-empty bar outside Les Lilas, in the suburbs. Following some negotiation, Milo and Morel took a table in the back, while Einner and Adrien Lambert, her partner, began a staring contest at the bar. The bartender, a heavy man in a soiled smock, brought over espressos as Morel said, 'So glad you've returned to our country, Mr. Weaver.'
Milo thanked the bartender and watched him leave.
'You wanted to talk to me?'
'I have some questions.'
'What luck!' she said, tapping the table. 'I have questions, too. For example, we heard from our American friends that you were on the loose, but we have no record of your entry into Europe. Please. What name are you traveling under?'
'I'm sorry,' Milo told her. 'That's one question I can't answer.'
'Then maybe you can tell me why you murdered Angela Yates.'
'I don't know who killed her. I'm trying to find that out.'
Diane Morel crossed her arms under her breasts, watching him across the table. 'Then maybe you can tell me why you care about a little civil servant like myself.'
'You have a friend with a place in Brittany,' Milo told her. 'When he was still working out of London, you visited him on the weekends and in the meantime worked on what I hear is an excellent socialistthemed novel. He's Chinese, and I assume he made the trip across the Channel from London just to meet with you. Am I right?'
Diane Morel opened her mouth, then shut it. She stretched back in her chair. 'That's interesting. Who told you that?'
'A friend.'
'The CIA knows a lot of things, Mr. Weaver.' She grinned. 'To tell the truth, we're often jealous. We have a paltry staff, and every year the socialists attack our budget. They came close to scrapping us completely in the seventies.' She shook her head. 'No, I'm not the type of woman to write a new Communist Manifesto.'
'Then I'm misinformed.'
'Not entirely.'
'No?'
Diane Morel noticed his interest. 'I'll tell you everything, Mr. Weaver. Just be patient.'
Milo tried to exemplify patience.
She rubbed the spot between her brows. 'Last week, Friday, you were seen lunching with Ms. Angela Yates. That same night, you were with Mr. Einner, watching Angela Yates's apartment. You left early, yes, but then you returned and visited Ms. Yates. Some hours later she died of poisoning. A barbiturate, the doctors tell me. They say all her regular sleeping pills were replaced with this drug.'
'Yes,' said Milo.
'Mr. Einner and another associate entered the building at 5:16 a.m., Saturday. Then, Mr. Einner went to your hotel. Soon after, both of you fled through the rear entrance.' She cleared her throat, sounding like a heavy smoker. 'We found both of you at the airport, fleeing. Remember?'
'Einner wasn't leaving,' said Milo. 'And we left through the back of the hotel because I was in a hurry.'
'To get home.'
He nodded.
'In actuality, Mr. Einner did flee, but not by airplane. He got in his car and left the airport. Unfortunately, we lost him. He disappeared.'
'I suppose he had someplace to be.'
'Had I known in the airport that Angela Yates was dead, you wouldn't have left the country. Sadly, I didn't learn this until that afternoon.' She pursed her lips, considering him. 'You see where I'm going with this, don't you? It looks a lot like premeditation.'
'Does it really?'
Diane Morel stared at him. Unlike Janet Simmons, she had no lightness in her face. With her swollen eyes, she looked as if the motif of her life had been suffering. 'Also, you tell me you know nothing about Angela Yates's murder, but the story I've just described suggests something different. It suggests that you came to Paris and worked with Mr. Einner until your job was completed. As soon as Angela was dead, you left.' She paused. 'If I'm missing something, please let me know.'
'Angela was a friend of mine,' he said after a moment. 'I didn't kill her, and neither did Einner. If I believed he did, I'd hand him to you right now.'
'A question,' she said, raising a finger. 'Who, exactly, is Mr. James Einner? He seems to have been working with embassy personnel, but there's no public record of his employment there. In fact, he only arrived in Paris three months ago. Before that, he was in Germany for three weeks; before that, Italy for two months… before that, he was in France again, Portugal, and Spain. And before Spain -he arrived there a year and a half ago-there's no record at all of him in Europe. Who is Mr. Einner?'
That was the one question Milo wished she hadn't asked. Diane Morel had done her homework. 'I don't know,' he said. 'That's the truth. But I will tell you something that I hope we can keep private.'
'Go on.'
'Angela Yates was under suspicion of treason. Selling secrets.”
“To whom?”
“To China.'
Morel blinked again, rapidly. It wasn't the kind of thing the Company would ever admit to, and he hoped it would push the question of James Einner out of her head. Finally, she said, 'That's curious.'
'Is it?'
'I now ask the same of you, Mr. Weaver. Some privacy.' Milo nodded.
'Until about a year ago, Ms. Yates and I were also close friends- which, I imagine, is why I haven't just shot you and handed your body to the Americans. I, too, would like to know the truth.'
'I'm glad.'
