developments. Is that clear?’ He was watching White very carefully. ‘I assume another meeting is planned between this woman Falconer and Sorsky.’
Reluctantly, White gave a small nod.
‘When is it taking place?’ asked Bech.
White was looking very uncomfortable. ‘Tomorrow. I’ll get authorisation to brief you, and in return I must ask you not to repeat your surveillance. It could be very dangerous, not only for Sorsky but also for my colleague from London.’
Chapter 17
Another park, another bench. Sorsky was late; Liz had been waiting for almost half an hour, feeling very exposed sitting by herself in Parc La Grange near the shores of Lake Geneva. Summer was still months away and a breeze off the lake lent a sharp edge to the evening air. The sailing boats heading for harbour before sunset were tacking fast.
She suppressed a yawn. Having got up in London at the crack of dawn to catch an early flight, she was tired now. Still, she could catch up on sleep at the weekend. Unless something happened to detain her here, she would fly back to London tomorrow. She was having lunch with her mother and Edward on Saturday, but otherwise she had the weekend clear. Martin was in Paris; when she had spoken to him earlier in the week they had arranged to meet in two weeks’ time.
While they were chatting, she’d mentioned the difficulties Edward was having with his daughter.
‘Do these commune people have a name for themselves?’ Martin had asked. ‘Or would that go against their anarchist principles?’
‘I don’t know, but I’ll see if Edward does. Relations with his daughter are a bit tricky at the moment. She doesn’t appreciate that he’s trying to be helpful.’
‘Sometimes people of her age don’t want to be helped. But it’s very frustrating when it’s your own child.’ A sigh came over the line, and Liz knew he was thinking of his own daughter. ‘After my divorce Danielle got very upset – but she wouldn’t talk about it. Not to me anyway.’
Liz knew things had got better since Danielle had gone to the Sorbonne and stopped living with her mother. Martin tried to see her regularly, at least once a month, and recently when she’d changed her digs, she had actually asked him to help.
‘I am going to give Isobel Florian at the DCRI a call,’ Martin had said. ‘She’s taken on the job of monitoring violent groups, so she may know something about this lot. I’ll let you know what she says.’
A man came through the gates of the park from Quai Gustave Ador and Liz’s mind snapped into the present. It was Sorsky all right. In the distance the city’s famous fountain, the jet d’eau , was shooting water high into the air where the lake met its inland river.
Watching Sorsky coming towards her, hunching his shoulders as he walked, she remembered how he’d looked all those years before. Funny how it came back to her, even though she’d barely known the man. He took the gravel path that would bring him past the bench she was sitting on; he was walking slowly, not looking in her direction. While she waited for him to reach her, Liz scanned the park yet again. Across a broad stretch of lawn two women were sitting chatting together, keeping a casual eye on a couple of toddlers. Near them a gardener was scarifying a patch of grass with a metal rake, its tines flashing whenever they caught the rays of the lowering sun. Late for a gardener to be working, she thought. Further back from the gates, a young couple canoodled on a picnic blanket spread under a large plane tree. It all looked innocuous enough though she knew that any or all of it could be surveillance.
Sorsky did not seem particularly concerned; he kept walking along the path towards her, but when he arrived at the bench and sat down he was breathing noisily. For a minute or so he said nothing as his breathing gradually slowed. Then, ‘So we meet again, after rather less time than before.’
He looked weary as he went on, ‘I’m
Reluctantly, White gave a small nod.
‘When is it taking place?’ asked Bech.
White was looking very uncomfortable. ‘Tomorrow. I’ll get authorisation to brief you, and in return I must ask you not to repeat your surveillance. It could be very dangerous, not only for Sorsky but also for my colleague from London.’
Chapter 17
Another park, another bench. Sorsky was late; Liz had been waiting for almost half an hour, feeling very exposed sitting by herself in Parc La Grange near the shores of Lake Geneva. Summer was still months away and a breeze off the lake lent a sharp edge to the evening air. The sailing boats heading for harbour before sunset were tacking fast.
She suppressed a yawn. Having got up in London at the crack of dawn to catch an early flight, she was tired now. Still, she could catch up on sleep at the weekend. Unless something happened to detain her here, she would fly back to London tomorrow. She was having lunch with her mother and Edward on Saturday, but otherwise she had the weekend clear. Martin was in Paris; when she had spoken to him earlier in the week they had arranged to meet in two weeks’ time.
While they were chatting, she’d mentioned the difficulties Edward was having with his daughter.
‘Do these commune people have a name for themselves?’ Martin had asked. ‘Or would that go against their anarchist principles?’
‘I don’t know, but I’ll see if Edward does. Relations with his daughter are a bit tricky at the moment. She doesn’t appreciate that he’s trying to be helpful.’
‘Sometimes people of her age don’t want to be helped. But it’s very frustrating when it’s your own child.’ A sigh came over the line, and Liz knew he was thinking of his own daughter. ‘After my divorce Danielle got very upset – but she wouldn’t talk about it. Not to me anyway.’
Liz knew things had got better since Danielle had gone to the Sorbonne and stopped living with her mother. Martin tried to see her regularly, at least once a month, and recently when she’d changed her digs, she had actually asked him to help.
‘I am going to give Isobel Florian at the DCRI a call,’ Martin had said. ‘She’s taken on the job of monitoring violent groups, so she may know something about this lot. I’ll let you know what she says.’
A man came through the gates of the park from Quai Gustave Ador and Liz’s mind snapped into the present. It was Sorsky all right. In the distance the city’s famous fountain, the jet d’eau , was shooting water high into the air where the lake met its inland river.
Watching Sorsky coming towards her, hunching his shoulders as he walked, she remembered how he’d looked all those years before. Funny how it came back to her, even though she’d barely known the man. He took the gravel path that would bring him past the bench she was sitting on; he was walking slowly, not looking in her direction. While she waited for him to reach her, Liz scanned the park yet again. Across a broad stretch of lawn two women were sitting chatting together, keeping a casual eye on a couple of toddlers. Near them a gardener was scarifying a patch of grass with a metal rake, its tines flashing whenever they caught the rays of the lowering sun. Late for a gardener to be working, she thought. Further back from the gates, a young couple canoodled on a picnic blanket spread under a large plane tree. It all looked innocuous enough though she knew that any or all of it could be surveillance.
Sorsky did not seem particularly concerned; he kept walking along the path towards her, but when he arrived at the bench and sat down he was breathing noisily. For a minute or so he said nothing as his breathing gradually slowed. Then, ‘So we meet again, after rather less time than before.’
He looked weary as he went on, ‘I’m
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