rudeness. I should not have left the way I did.”
“You’ve got it wrong, lady. I’m the one who should apologize. I spoke to Witkowski—”
“Oh, yes, the colonel—”
“That’s what we have to talk about.”
“I should have known,” interrupted the researcher.“Yes, we’ll talk, Monsieur Latham, but not here. Elsewhere.”
“Why? I went through everything you gave me, and it wasn’t just good, it was outstanding. I barely know a debit from an asset, but you made so much so clear.”
“Thank you. But you’re here for another reason, aren’t you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“There is a café off the Gabriel, six blocks east of here, Le Sabre d’Orléans. It is small and not popular. Be there in forty-five minutes. I’ll be in a booth at the rear.”
“I don’t understand—”
“You will.”
Precisely forty-seven minutes later Drew walked into the small, rundown café off the avenue Gabriel, blinking at the lack of light, somewhat surprised at the shabby environs in one of the more expensive real estate sections of the city. He found Karin de Vries, as she had said, in the farthest booth of the establishment. “This is some joint,” he whispered, sitting down opposite her.
“
L’obstination du Français
,” De Vries explained, “and there’s no need to speak so quietly. No one of substance will hear us.”
“Who’s stubborn?”
“The owner. He’s been offered a great deal of money for this property, but he refuses to sell. He’s rich and it’s been in his family for years—long before he was rich. He keeps it to employ relatives—here comes one now; don’t be shocked.”
An obviously drunken elderly waiter approached the table, his walk unsteady. “Do you care to order, we have no food?” he asked in one breath.
“Scotch whisky, please,” replied Latham in French.
“No Scotch today,” said the waiter, belching. “We have a fine selection of wines, and some Japanese junk they call whisky.”
“White wine, then. Chablis, if you have it.”
“It’ll be white.”
“I’ll have the same,” said Karin de Vries. The waitertrudged away and she continued. “Now you can see why it’s not popular.”
“It shouldn’t exist.… Let’s talk. Your husband worked with my brother in East Berlin.”
“Yes.”
“That’s all you can say? Just ‘yes’?”
“The colonel told you. I didn’t know he was here in Paris when I requested the transfer. When I found out, I was astonished, and knew this moment between us was inevitable.”
“You wanted the transfer because of
me
?”
“Because you are the brother of Harry Latham, a man both Frederik and I considered a dear, dear friend.”
“You know Harry that well?”
“Freddie worked for him, although the arrangement was off the books.”
“There
are
no books in those areas.”
“What I mean is that not even Harry’s people, much less Colonel Witkowski and his army G-Two, knew that Harry was my husband’s control. There could be no hint of their association in that ‘area,’ as you call it, not a scintilla.”
“But Witkowski
told
me they worked together.”
“On the same side, yes, but not as control and runner. I don’t think anyone ever suspected that.”
“It was so vital to keep it a secret, even among our own top people?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because of the kind of work Frederik did for Harry—willingly, enthusiastically. If certain events were traced back to the Americans, there could have been terrible consequences.”
“Neither side was particularly clean, and at times both were pretty damned gruesome. It was a negative quid pro quo, so what?”
“I think it was the killing, that’s what I was led to believe.”
“We both killed—”
“Perhaps it was the prominence of many who were assassinated,”Karin de Vries broke in, her eyes wide, almost pleading. “As I understand, a number were in high positions, Germans favored by Moscow, leaders who reported
“You’ve got it wrong, lady. I’m the one who should apologize. I spoke to Witkowski—”
“Oh, yes, the colonel—”
“That’s what we have to talk about.”
“I should have known,” interrupted the researcher.“Yes, we’ll talk, Monsieur Latham, but not here. Elsewhere.”
“Why? I went through everything you gave me, and it wasn’t just good, it was outstanding. I barely know a debit from an asset, but you made so much so clear.”
“Thank you. But you’re here for another reason, aren’t you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“There is a café off the Gabriel, six blocks east of here, Le Sabre d’Orléans. It is small and not popular. Be there in forty-five minutes. I’ll be in a booth at the rear.”
“I don’t understand—”
“You will.”
Precisely forty-seven minutes later Drew walked into the small, rundown café off the avenue Gabriel, blinking at the lack of light, somewhat surprised at the shabby environs in one of the more expensive real estate sections of the city. He found Karin de Vries, as she had said, in the farthest booth of the establishment. “This is some joint,” he whispered, sitting down opposite her.
“
L’obstination du Français
,” De Vries explained, “and there’s no need to speak so quietly. No one of substance will hear us.”
“Who’s stubborn?”
“The owner. He’s been offered a great deal of money for this property, but he refuses to sell. He’s rich and it’s been in his family for years—long before he was rich. He keeps it to employ relatives—here comes one now; don’t be shocked.”
An obviously drunken elderly waiter approached the table, his walk unsteady. “Do you care to order, we have no food?” he asked in one breath.
“Scotch whisky, please,” replied Latham in French.
“No Scotch today,” said the waiter, belching. “We have a fine selection of wines, and some Japanese junk they call whisky.”
“White wine, then. Chablis, if you have it.”
“It’ll be white.”
“I’ll have the same,” said Karin de Vries. The waitertrudged away and she continued. “Now you can see why it’s not popular.”
“It shouldn’t exist.… Let’s talk. Your husband worked with my brother in East Berlin.”
“Yes.”
“That’s all you can say? Just ‘yes’?”
“The colonel told you. I didn’t know he was here in Paris when I requested the transfer. When I found out, I was astonished, and knew this moment between us was inevitable.”
“You wanted the transfer because of
me
?”
“Because you are the brother of Harry Latham, a man both Frederik and I considered a dear, dear friend.”
“You know Harry that well?”
“Freddie worked for him, although the arrangement was off the books.”
“There
are
no books in those areas.”
“What I mean is that not even Harry’s people, much less Colonel Witkowski and his army G-Two, knew that Harry was my husband’s control. There could be no hint of their association in that ‘area,’ as you call it, not a scintilla.”
“But Witkowski
told
me they worked together.”
“On the same side, yes, but not as control and runner. I don’t think anyone ever suspected that.”
“It was so vital to keep it a secret, even among our own top people?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because of the kind of work Frederik did for Harry—willingly, enthusiastically. If certain events were traced back to the Americans, there could have been terrible consequences.”
“Neither side was particularly clean, and at times both were pretty damned gruesome. It was a negative quid pro quo, so what?”
“I think it was the killing, that’s what I was led to believe.”
“We both killed—”
“Perhaps it was the prominence of many who were assassinated,”Karin de Vries broke in, her eyes wide, almost pleading. “As I understand, a number were in high positions, Germans favored by Moscow, leaders who reported
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