“Did I miss anything good?” Karr asked Deidre as he sat down.
“Two little green men flew by the wing in their flying saucer.”
“See? Now you’re getting the hang of it,” said Karr. “Sarcasm can be a very handy quality.”
“So why would someone follow you?” asked Deidre.
“They want my secret to a long life,” Karr told her. She seemed to be warming up a bit; maybe she wasn’t the stuck-up rich kid he’d taken her for. “I’m actually over two hundred years old, you know. I fool a lot of people.”
“Do you always turn everything into a corny joke?”
“Only when I’m awake. Although some people say I talk in my sleep, too.”
“We’re watching the gate for you,” said Johnson after the plane landed and rolled toward the gate. The Art Room had infiltrated the security system at the airport and was monitoring the video cameras. “So far you look clean.”
“Uh-huh,” murmured Karr.
“What?” asked Deidre.
“Talking to myself. You’ll find I do that a lot.”
“Do you answer back?”
“Oh yeah. That’s what keeps it interesting.”
Karr spotted one of the CIA people drifting beyond passport control, but if anyone else was looking for him they were being extremely subtle. Karr led Deidre toward the queue for one of the shuttle buses into the city, then turned and went over to the taxi line, staying there for about five minutes — long enough, he figured, for the Art Room and the CIA officers to pick out anyone following him. Then he got Deidre and tugged her toward the rental car counter, where the Art Room had already reserved a car for Mr. Greene of London. Karr flashed the proper credit card, paused to negotiate an upgrade, and then went outside into the lot.
His shadow didn’t show up until he was on the highway into the city — an old guy in a Renault, reported the CIA agents, who wanted to know what to do.
“Just tag along,” Karr said. “I’ll drop D here off at the embassy and then have a chat with Grandpa. Find me a dead end somewhere.”
“Who are you talking to?” Deidre demanded.
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” said Karr.
“My phone has a mike in it,” he told her. He pulled it out and waved it in the air. “I’m talking to our trail team.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, sliding it back in his pocket.
“I’m D?” she said. “That’s not much of a code word.”
“Sorry. I’m not very creative when danger’s breathing down my neck.”
“Grandpa is the danger? Doesn’t sound very threatening.”
“That’s just his code word. Besides, guy with a cane? Could have a machine gun there.”
“Are we really in danger?”
“Nah. Nothing to worry about.” He turned and smiled at her. “So you live in Paris?”
“I go to school here, yes.”
“College?”
“Postgrad. Art history.”
“Good field,” said Karr, who had no idea if it was or not.
“I like to think so.”
“I’m going to drop you off at the embassy,” he told her, moving to the right lane as the exit approached. “They’ll take care of you. I want you to stay with them, all right?”
“I really don’t want to be taken care of,” she said. There was something plaintive in her voice.
“Yeah, I know,” said Karr. “But I do have to figure out who this is. I think he’s tracking me, not you, but until we’re sure, better safe than sorry. Promise?”
She didn’t answer.
“Listen, if you don’t promise, I’m going to have to hand you over to the Marines and have them put you in the brig.”
“I promise.”
“All right. No fingers crossed or any of that stuff, right?”
Karr had concluded that the person following him was either a British agent or the person who had used the dead man to contact him. He hoped the latter. Still, he couldn’t take any chances with her.
“So why are you being followed?” Deidre asked.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t have to grab him.”
“Can I come?”
Karr laughed. “No. Sorry.”
“I won’t get in the way.”
“Well, I know it seems like it’s fun and games. And it is.” Karr laughed. “Maybe next time I’m in town. Looks like a nice place.”
“You’ve never been to Paris?”
“Oh, I’ve been here once or twice,” said Karr. “Never as a tourist, though.”
“I’ll give you a tour.”
“Yeah?”
“Sure.”
He turned down the Champs-Elysees, the main boulevard in the heart of the city. It was choked with traffic — which was fine, since it locked his trail in place. The embassy was a few blocks away.
“I wasn’t kidding,” she said when they reached the embassy. She reached into her purse and took out a small notebook. “I’d love to show you around.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Well, great.”
“Call me,” she said, writing down her phone number and tearing off the page. “Please.”
“Sure,” said Tommy, grabbing the page and then getting out of the car. “That Marine there. Run to him now. Go!”
LaFoote drove past the embassy, trying to avoid the stare of the French policeman near the entrance. He turned left and then took a quick right, paralleling the compound. He saw a parking spot opening up on the side street to the left and turned in quickly, parking there, and got out.
Having thought over the matter, he’d decided his best bet was to contact the agent directly. The embassy was likely to be the safest place in the area to do so, but he wanted to make sure that he wasn’t being followed by whoever had shot his messenger in London.
A small Fiat passed within inches of him as he waited to cross the street. LaFoote jerked back, a jolt of fear reverberating through his body.
He hadn’t felt that in years. It took him a second to gather himself, his throat suddenly dry. Until now he’d been driven mostly by his anger, without much thought for his own safety. Now the realities of being over seventy settled in. He wasn’t quitting — he would not quit even if it meant his death — but he must pace himself.
And above all he must be careful; he had no backup. In the old days — not the
LaFoote had never been in the American embassy in Paris, not even as a young man. He’d dealt with plenty of Americans, however; while he found them almost incurably naive and optimistic, they had also been extremely honest. At the time he did not value such a quality. He did now.
LaFoote stopped at the corner of the street, unsure exactly what to do next. Besides the French policeman at
