a deformed court jester, shouting at his benefactor. “May God love you and may the holy Jesus embrace you, monsieur! May the glories of heavenly paradise be—”
“Get the hell away from me, you drunken old tramp!”
Oh, I certainly will
, thought Jean-Pierre, studying the license plate of the departing Peugeot.
It was late afternoon when Latham took the elevator down to the embassy basement complex for the second time in eighteen hours, not, however, to head for Communications, but instead to the sacrosanct Documents andResearch. A marine guard sat at a desk to the right of the steel door; he recognized Drew and smiled.
“How’s the weather up there, Mr. Latham?”
“Not as cool and clean as yours, Sergeant, but then, you’ve got the most expensive air-conditioning.”
“We’re very delicate down here. You want to enter our hall of secrets and hard-core porn?”
“They showing dirty movies?”
“A hundred francs a seat, but I’ll get you in for nothing.”
“I could always count on the marines.”
“Speaking of which, the fellas in the squad want to thank you for the freebies you set up for us at that café in the Grenelle.”
“My pleasure. You never know when you might want to see a dirty movie.… Actually, the people who own that place are old friends and your presence had a calming effect on some unattractive regulars.”
“Yeah, you told us. We dressed to the nines, like we were in an operetta or something.”
“Sergeant,” interrupted Drew, looking at the guard. “Do you know a Karin de Vries in D and R?”
“Only to speak to—‘good morning, good night,’ that’s about it. She’s a real good-looking girl, but it seems to me she tries to hide it. Like with those glasses that must weigh five pounds and those dark clothes that definitely aren’t Paris.”
“Is she new here?”
“I’d say about four months, transferred from NATO. Word is that she’s kinda quietlike and keeps to herself, y’know what I mean?”
“I think so.… All right, keeper of the mystic keys, get me into a front seat.”
“Actually, it’s in the first row, third office on the right. Her name’s on the door.”
“You peeked?”
“Damn right. When that door’s locked, we patrol the place every night, keep our hands on our sidearms in case there are uninvited stragglers.”
“Ah, the secret-missions types. You should be in the movies, the cleaner ones.”
“You should talk. A full-course dinner with all the wine we could drink for
thirteen
gyrenes? And a nervous owner who kept racing around telling everybody we were his best friends and probably his American relatives, who would be at his place with bazookas the minute he called us, anytime he was in trouble? That’s a straight arrow, Hardy Boys scenario?”
“A harmless, innocent invitation by an ardent admirer of the Corps.”
“Your nose is growing longer, Mr. Pinocchio.”
“You’ve torn my ticket. Let me in, please.”
The marine pressed a button on his desk and a loud click was heard in the steel door. “Enter the Wizard’s palace, sir.”
Latham walked inside, into the low, continuous hum of computer equipment. Documents and Research consisted of succeeding rows of offices on both sides of a central aisle, and as in the communications complex, everything was white, antiseptic, with overhead neon tubes crossing the low ceiling like columns of thick, bright circular stalks. He walked to his right, to the third office door; in the center of the upper panel was a black plastic strip with white lettering, MADAME DE VRIES . Not Mademoiselle, but Madame, and the widow De Vries had several questions to answer regarding one Harry Latham and his brother Drew. He knocked.
“Come in,” said the voice inside. Latham opened the door, greeted by the startled face of Karin de Vries; she was seated at her desk on the left wall. “Monsieur, I hardly expected you,” she said, in her voice the sound of fear. “I apologize for my
“Get the hell away from me, you drunken old tramp!”
Oh, I certainly will
, thought Jean-Pierre, studying the license plate of the departing Peugeot.
It was late afternoon when Latham took the elevator down to the embassy basement complex for the second time in eighteen hours, not, however, to head for Communications, but instead to the sacrosanct Documents andResearch. A marine guard sat at a desk to the right of the steel door; he recognized Drew and smiled.
“How’s the weather up there, Mr. Latham?”
“Not as cool and clean as yours, Sergeant, but then, you’ve got the most expensive air-conditioning.”
“We’re very delicate down here. You want to enter our hall of secrets and hard-core porn?”
“They showing dirty movies?”
“A hundred francs a seat, but I’ll get you in for nothing.”
“I could always count on the marines.”
“Speaking of which, the fellas in the squad want to thank you for the freebies you set up for us at that café in the Grenelle.”
“My pleasure. You never know when you might want to see a dirty movie.… Actually, the people who own that place are old friends and your presence had a calming effect on some unattractive regulars.”
“Yeah, you told us. We dressed to the nines, like we were in an operetta or something.”
“Sergeant,” interrupted Drew, looking at the guard. “Do you know a Karin de Vries in D and R?”
“Only to speak to—‘good morning, good night,’ that’s about it. She’s a real good-looking girl, but it seems to me she tries to hide it. Like with those glasses that must weigh five pounds and those dark clothes that definitely aren’t Paris.”
“Is she new here?”
“I’d say about four months, transferred from NATO. Word is that she’s kinda quietlike and keeps to herself, y’know what I mean?”
“I think so.… All right, keeper of the mystic keys, get me into a front seat.”
“Actually, it’s in the first row, third office on the right. Her name’s on the door.”
“You peeked?”
“Damn right. When that door’s locked, we patrol the place every night, keep our hands on our sidearms in case there are uninvited stragglers.”
“Ah, the secret-missions types. You should be in the movies, the cleaner ones.”
“You should talk. A full-course dinner with all the wine we could drink for
thirteen
gyrenes? And a nervous owner who kept racing around telling everybody we were his best friends and probably his American relatives, who would be at his place with bazookas the minute he called us, anytime he was in trouble? That’s a straight arrow, Hardy Boys scenario?”
“A harmless, innocent invitation by an ardent admirer of the Corps.”
“Your nose is growing longer, Mr. Pinocchio.”
“You’ve torn my ticket. Let me in, please.”
The marine pressed a button on his desk and a loud click was heard in the steel door. “Enter the Wizard’s palace, sir.”
Latham walked inside, into the low, continuous hum of computer equipment. Documents and Research consisted of succeeding rows of offices on both sides of a central aisle, and as in the communications complex, everything was white, antiseptic, with overhead neon tubes crossing the low ceiling like columns of thick, bright circular stalks. He walked to his right, to the third office door; in the center of the upper panel was a black plastic strip with white lettering, MADAME DE VRIES . Not Mademoiselle, but Madame, and the widow De Vries had several questions to answer regarding one Harry Latham and his brother Drew. He knocked.
“Come in,” said the voice inside. Latham opened the door, greeted by the startled face of Karin de Vries; she was seated at her desk on the left wall. “Monsieur, I hardly expected you,” she said, in her voice the sound of fear. “I apologize for my
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