It took Dana a day to get an appointment with Marcel Falcon.
When she was finally ushered into his office, he said, “I agreed to see you because I am an admirer of your work, mademoiselle. Your broadcasts from the war zone were very courageous.”
“Thank you.”
Marcel Falcon was an imposing-looking man, heavyset, with strong features and piercing blue eyes. “Please sit down. What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to ask you about your son.”
“Ah, yes.” His eyes looked desolate. “Gabriel was a wonderful boy.”
Dana said, “The man who ran him down—”
“The chauffeur.”
Dana looked at him in astonishment.
Think carefully before you answer. Did you ever tell Marcel Falcon that it was Taylor Winthrop who was responsible for his son’s death?
Certainly. As soon as I learned that Winthrop was dead.
What did Marcel Falcon say?
His exact words were “May the rest of his family join him in hell.”
And now Marcel Falcon was acting as though he were unaware of the truth.
“Mr. Falcon, when you were at NATO, Taylor Winthrop was also there.” Dana was watching Falcon’s face, looking for the slightest change of expression. There was none.
“Yes. We met.” His tone was casual.
That’s it? Dana wondered. Yes. We met. What is he hiding?
“Mr. Falcon, I would like to speak with your wife if—”
“I’m afraid she is away on a holiday.”
She had a nervous breakdown, and she’s in a sanitarium in Cannes.
Marcel Falcon was either in a state of complete denial or he was professing ignorance for a more sinister reason.
Dana telephoned Matt from her room at the Plaza Athénée.
“Dana, when are you coming home?”
“I have just one more lead to follow, Matt. Taylor Winthrop’s chauffeur in Brussels told me that Winthrop talked about some secret Russian plan that he didn’t want interrupted. I have to see if I can find out what he was talking about. I want to speak with some of his associates in Moscow.”
“All right. But Cromwell wants you back in the studio as soon as possible. Tim Drew is our correspondent in Moscow. I’ll have him meet you. He can be helpful.”
“Thanks. I shouldn’t be in Russia more than a day or two.”
“Dana?”
“Yes?”
“Never mind. Good-bye.”
Thanks. I shouldn’t be in Russia more than a day or two.
Dana?
Yes?
Never mind. Good-bye.
Tape ends.
Dana telephoned home.
“Good evening, Mrs. Daley—or rather, good afternoon.”
“Miss Evans! It’s grand to hear from you.”
“How is everything there?”
“Just lovely.”
“How is Kemal? Are there any problems?”
“None at all. He certainly misses you.”
“I miss him. Will you put him on?”
“He’s taking a nap. Would you like me to wake him up?”
Dana said in surprise, “Taking a nap? When I called the other day, he was taking a nap.”
“Yes. The lad came home from school, and he felt tired, so I thought a nap would be good for him.”
“I see…Well, just tell him I love him. I’ll call tomorrow. Tell him I’m going to bring him back a bear from Russia.”
“A bear? Well! He’ll be excited.”
Dana called Roger Hudson.
“Roger, I hate to impose, but I need a favor.”
“If there’s something I can do…”
“I’m leaving for Moscow, and I want to talk to Edward Hardy, the American ambassador there. I was hoping that you might know him.”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“I’m in Paris. If you could fax me a letter of introduction, I would really appreciate it.”
“I can do better than that. I’ll give him a call and tell him to expect you.”
“Thank you, Roger. I’m very grateful.”
It was New Year’s Eve. It was a shock to remember that this was to have been her wedding day. Soon, Dana told herself. Soon. She put on her coat and went outside.
The doorman said, “Taxi, Miss Evans?”
“No, thanks.” She had nowhere to go. Jean-Paul Hubert was away visiting his family. This is no city to be alone in, Dana decided.
She began to walk, trying not to think about Jeff and Rachel. Trying not to think. Dana passed a small church that was open, and on an impulse, she went inside. The cool, quiet vaulted interior gave Dana a sense of peace. She sat down in a pew and said a silent prayer.