connection and defeat the alarm. Then she took a small Phillips-head screwdriver from her pocket and removed the screws in the lock at the top of the window, which would give way now as soon as it was pushed open.
She had just finished when she heard a commotion coming from Dean’s direction. Lia went there and found him madly trying to stanch the flow of a full cup of coffee before it reached the computer case. The librarian who had helped him before was standing next to him, fretting.
“We need more towels,” he told the librarian in English. Then he turned to Lia and said, “Can you help me take up the monitor? There’s liquid in the case. It’ll get ruined. Please. I don’t want to harm this nice librarian’s machine.”
“Je ne comprends
The librarian told her in French that she had spilled the coffee and was afraid the machine would explode and could she please help. The woman seemed on the verge of tears. Lia told her to get some towels and not to worry.
“Where’s the drive?” Dean asked as she picked up the monitor.
“In my bag.”
He reached in and grabbed the small hard drive, which was about half the size of a paperback book. The case had a hinge and was opened by pressing two detents at the side; Dean had only just gotten it open when the librarian returned. But he handled the whole thing smoothly, grabbing the towels from her and somehow managing to swirl more coffee around while seeming to wipe it up.
The hard drive sat in a cage at the front of the machine, held by four screws as well as its cables. Lia, still holding the monitor, tried to think of a long enough diversion that would let Dean swap the drives. Before she could, the phone at the front desk rang and the librarian dashed over to get it.
“Bit of a ditz,” Lia said. “Take the monitor.”
“Seemed pretty nice to me.”
“Right.”
Lia slid around and unscrewed the drive. She was sliding the new one in when the woman put down the phone and started toward them. Dean managed to swing around and block her view temporarily; Lia fussed over the computer but couldn’t quite get the wires back before the librarian returned.
“Saved,” Lia said in French, standing up with a pile of paper towels and holding them out toward the woman. “Where is the garbage?”
“Here, come with me,” said the librarian.
“You have to connect the cables,” Lia whispered to Dean.
“Cables?”
“So the drive works. They just plug right in. Get at least two screws in. Ask the Art Room if you need help. Go.”
Lia followed the woman to the ladies’ room. The librarian thanked her — then asked what she thought of the helpful American.
“Very… helpful,” said Lia. She tried to stall, but the librarian turned quickly to go back.
A bell began to ring.
“Closing,” said the librarian. “You have it back? Very good.”
“Closing,” said Dean, standing back. “I think we saved it. Maybe — is there a good place to eat?” he asked the librarian. “In town around here?”
The librarian frowned as if thinking, then named two or three restaurants. Dean asked if she could give him directions.
“I could take you there,” offered the librarian.
“Would you really?”
“Dean couldn’t get the power plug to go in before she came out,” Farlekas told Lia from the Art Room. “You’re going to have to get it working.”
Lia stifled a curse and told Dean in what seemed like rusty English that she hoped all Americans were like him.
“You’ll have to go back,” said Farlekas.
“How’d she know I was American?” Dean asked the librarian as the woman shut down the rest of the machines and began locking up.
55
It was a little past 11:00 a.m. when Rubens returned to Crypto City from his meeting at the White House. He went directly to the Art Room, where Tommy Karr was just checking in from Paris.
“You’re not making any jokes,” said Rubens when Karr finished updating him.
“No? Maybe I’m tired,” said Karr.
“Understandable. We haven’t been able to locate the priest?”
Rubens looked at Rockman for the answer, but Karr supplied it.
“The Art Room has been checking. He did a mass this morning and was at some sort of counseling thing this afternoon. I’ll be at the church first thing in the morning.”
“You’re sure Vefoures had another account?” said Rubens.
“I don’t think LaFoote made it up.”
“Very well. Go there first thing. We’ve prepared a report for the French Interior Ministry on some of what we know,” added Rubens. “On the President’s orders.”
“Is it going to Ponclare, too?” Karr’s animosity was obvious.
“That will be their call,” said Rubens.
“Ponclare’s the guy that screwed LaFoote,” said Karr. “He may be a traitor. He may even have killed the old man.”
“You don’t usually jump to conclusions, Tommy.”
“I’m not saying he’s a traitor, just that we ought to be careful.”
“We always endeavor to be careful.”
Tommy laughed, it wasn’t his usual hearty roar.
56
The restaurant the librarian recommended turned out to be right down the street. It also, not coincidentally, happened to be the one to which she was going. Since the hour was early — the French rarely ate before seven — she suggested a drink at the bar.
“Stall for as long as you can,” Farlekas told Dean. “Lia’s just getting into the library now.”
It wasn’t exactly the most difficult order he’d ever had to follow. The woman’s English was very good, and the wine wasn’t all that bad, either. She asked him about America; he told her about California and asked about France.
The woman seemed to suddenly realize that she hadn’t told him her name. “Marie,” she said, holding her hand out across the table. Dean shook the hand, its warmth tickling him for just a moment.
He thought of Lia and felt guilty, as if he were cheating on her somehow. The drinks turned into a light dinner. The woman ended up walking him to the Metro line two blocks away. They exchanged e-mail addresses — and a pair of kisses. The woman watched as Dean bought a ticket and went down to the platform.
Lia was standing there, arms folded. She didn’t acknowledge him.
“Excuse me, mademoiselle,” he said, walking up over to her. “Didn’t we meet in the library?”
Lia gave him a death-wish glare.
