“I suppose the IRA got to him early.”
It was a statement, not a question, and Hannah said, “I used to believe that, but only at first. It was his nature. He was too good at it, you see.”
The door rattled and David Braun came in with a tray. “Coffee and cookies, ladies. It’s a beautiful day.”
“Just put it on the table, David, and go,” Marie told him. “Don’t let us pretend that things aren’t as they are.”
It was as if she had slapped him, and his shoulders slumped as he went out.
“He really does like you,” Hannah told her.
“I’ve no time for false sentiment, not at this stage.”
She started to fill in the sketch and Hannah poured a couple of cups of coffee and placed one at Marie’s hand. She took her own and went to the open window and looked out through the bars.
“Come on, Dillon,” she said softly. “Sort the bastards.”
Teddy’s Presidential authorization had the same magical effect at Mitchell Field that it had had at Andrews. The duty officer, a Major Harding, had an Air Force limousine with a sergeant driver over from the vehicle pool in fifteen minutes.
“You look after Mr. Grant real good now, Hilton,” he said.
“Consider it done, sir.”
They moved out of the base and took a road that led through rolling green countryside. “Very pretty,” Teddy said.
“I’ve seen worse,” Hilton told him. “My last posting was Kuwait. I’ve only been back two months.”
“I thought you had a tan,” Teddy said.
Hilton appeared to hesitate. “Were you in the military, Mr. Grant?”
“My arm, you mean?” Teddy laughed. “Don’t be embarrassed. I was an infantry sergeant in ’Nam. Left the arm there.”
“Life’s a bitch,” Hilton told him.
“It’s been said before. Now tell me about Fort Lansing.”
“During the Vietnam War, there was one regiment after another through there, but when the conflict was over it was rundown. There was some kind of resurrection at the time of the Gulf, but it’s just a primary infantry training base these days.”
“I just want the museum.”
“Hell, no problem. It’s open to the public.” They pulled onto a freeway. As he picked up speed, he said, “There’s a diner five miles along the way, and after that nothing for thirty miles. Do you want a coffee or a pit stop or something?”
“Good idea,” Teddy said. “But only for ten minutes. I want to get going,” and he sat back and tried to concentrate on the Post again.
• • •
In Paris, Michael Rocard parked as close as he could get to his apartment and walked to the front door. He hurried upstairs, only a satchel in one hand, and unlocked the door of his apartment.
Considering his age, his hair had a considerable amount of color in it and he looked ten years younger than he was, although the excellent suit he wore helped in that respect.
He checked the messages on his answering machine, listening to them one by one, then froze almost in panic as he came to Judas’s message in Hebrew. Berger dead. He went to the sideboard and poured cognac. What even Judas didn’t know was that Rocard and Berger had been occasional lovers. In fact, Rocard had developed a genuine and considerable affection for him. He unlocked a drawer in his desk, took out the special mobile, and punched out the numbers. Judas answered almost immediately.
“It’s Rocard.”
“You fool,” Judas told him. “Running off to Morlaix like a dog in heat and at a time like this.”
“What can I say?”
“So, Berger is dead, knocked down by a London bus. What’s the saying? Everyone is entitled to fifteen minutes of fame? Well, Berger got his, only it was a fifteen-second announcement of how he met his death on London local television.”
The cruelty was devastating, but what came next was worse. “You’ll need a new boyfriend for your London trips.”
Was there anything the bastard didn’t know?
Rocard mumbled, “What can I do?”
“Nothing. If I need you, I’ll phone. Three days, Rocard, only three days to go.”
He switched off and Rocard stood there, clutching the mobile, thinking of Paul Berger, and there were tears in his eyes.