information on computers. That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“You probably ought to tell me the entire story from the beginning,” said Karr, “because it’s not really making any sense to me.”
As patiently as he could, LaFoote told the American about his friend Vefoures. He realized that the man would not care much for the details of their friendship, how they had served together in the army immediately after World War II and how they had both nearly married the same girl; he omitted these details and many others as well, sticking to the important facts. He put himself into the younger man’s shoes and tried to anticipate what he would like and need to hear.
Some years in the past, Vefoures had helped develop a replacement for a chemical explosive several times more powerful than Semtex, the plastic explosive originally manufactured in Czechoslovakia but now fairly common throughout the world. Four or five months before, he had been called back into service by the DST — or by someone who claimed to represent the DST — and, after a few weeks, disappeared. The French secret service did not want to provide any information when LaFoote tried to find him.
“Did not want to, or could not?” asked Karr.
“Either one. I am not sure. It would look the same to me, would it not?”
“How do you know what he was working on?” the American asked.
“I know. We were very close friends. But of course without knowing how it was made, my information would be worthless, no?”
The American’s eyelids flickered up in a way that suggested it wouldn’t be if Vefoures wasn’t supposed to be doing the work at all.
“Plastic explosive is pretty common,” said Karr.
“This is more powerful and easier to shape. The focus — how exactly would I say that?”
“Focus?”
LaFoote’s English was good, but his technical knowledge of explosives was not, and so he had trouble explaining what he believed was the most important quality of the material. There was a way to formulate and construct it that allowed its explosive force to be intensified — in the layman’s terms that were sometimes used, it could be made into an explosive lens that magnified the effect just like a lens magnified light. Of course, like a lens, it did not actually alter the inherent force, merely taking advantage of the fact that explosions had wavelike properties.
“So why is this all significant?” asked the American.
“By arranging explosives in a certain shape, you can intensify the blast.”
“Really? How?”
“You are smarter than you seem, aren’t you?” asked LaFoote. “You are trying to seem as if you don’t understand, but you do.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” The American grinning at him — yes, he was one of those who pretended to be a joker, LaFoote realized. But he was very serious inside. He understood fully what LaFoote was saying.
A very good operative: such a man would have made a good partner in Africa when he served.
“The material might also pass by a standard detector without being picked up,” said LaFoote. “I don’t know about such details. There are many things about it that I don’t know — as I said, I am not a technical man. I am just looking for my friend.”
“And someone wants to stop you.”
“It would seem.”
“The DST?”
“It would seem.”
“How’d they know about the meeting?” asked Karr.
“I used Vefoures’ phone to call your embassy. They must have tapped the phone. I had checked the line with equipment I thought would be good — there must have been something I missed.”
“I’m not sure why you’d contact us,” Karr said.
“There was an NSA listening station in Morocco when I was younger. And one in Eritrea. Good men. We occasionally cooperated.”
“I would have thought you’d call Central Intelligence.”
“They are close with the DST, and military intelligence.”
“And you think they killed your friend.”
“I cannot trust the DST,” said LaFoote. “They are riddled with traitors.”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
“Ponclare?”
“I do not say he is a traitor.” LaFoote chose his words carefully.
“You trust me?”
“Perhaps.”
Karr laughed.
“There are two reasons you should be interested,” LaFoote said. “First, the explosives are so powerful that a trunk of two hundred pounds would be the equivalent of a two-thousand-pound bomb. Or, to put it another way, the amount in a small device, say the computer that you have in your pocket or a cell phone, could blow a hole in an airplane skin.”
“What’s the second thing?”
“The second is that my friend bought a one-way ticket to New York City, which he was to use next week.”
25
They spoke English in London, but Dean found the accents at times made it as indecipherable as Russian or Chinese. When the bartender ran down the list of beers the Golden Goose offered, Dean found himself pointing to the tap. He ordered a Marston, the same as Lang, and then listened as the chief inspector grilled the bartender about Gordon Pierce. Dean thought the detective was much too aggressive and adversarial; all he did was make the bartender defensive. The man finally told the chief inspector not only that he didn’t have to answer any questions from a copper but also that they should feel free to drink up and leave.
Dean touched the policeman’s sleeve. “Gordon was my wife’s cousin-in-law,” he said to the bartender. “We’d just like to know what happened to him, that’s all. I’m from the States. My wife is upset, you know? So’s her cousin.”
“I could tell you were from the States, mate. What’s it to me?”
“We thought it was going to be a holiday. My wife is Rose’s cousin. Rose isn’t taking it well.”
“Pity,” said the bartender, without any sympathy. He walked to the other end of the bar to serve another patron.
Lang lit another cigarette. Dean sipped his ale. That’s what he got for trying to be a liar.
It was just past six; the bar was not very crowded, and more than half of the dozen booths and tables were empty. According to Rose, her brother would generally come here around four or five and stay until ten. Dean thought a stranger would have been more than a little obvious, as they were.
“Rose doesn’t have a sister.”
Dean turned to his right, where a short-haired woman in her forties had just put an empty pint glass on the bar.
“I know. My wife’s her cousin. And actually a second cousin, once removed, but they don’t have much family, and we wanted to see a friendly face in a foreign country. It’s her uncle Tommy’s daughter, Lia,” he added, using the first names that came to his mind.
The woman scowled and pushed the glass farther in.
“You should go to see Rose, if you’re her friend,” said Dean. “She’s not taking it well. She really could use,
