“I’ll remember.”
The Charles de Gaulle Airport was something out of science fiction, a kaleidoscope of stone columns and what seemed to Mary like hundreds of escalators running wild. The airport was crowded with travelers.
“Stay close to me, children,” Mary urged.
When they got off the escalator, she looked around helplessly. She stopped a Frenchman passing by, and summoning up one of the few French phrases she knew, she asked haltingly, “Pardon, monsieur, où sont les bagages?”
In a heavy French accent, he said witheringly, “Sorry, madame. I don’t speak English.” He walked away, leaving Mary staring after him.
At that moment, a well-dressed young American hurried up to Mary and the children.
“Madam Ambassador, forgive me! I was instructed to meet you at the plane, but I was delayed by a traffic accident. My name is Peter Callas. I’m with the American embassy.”
“I’m really glad to see you,” Mary said. “I think I’m lost.” She introduced the children. “Where do we find our luggage?”
“No problem,” Peter Callas assured her. “Everything will be taken care of for you.”
He was true to his word. Fifteen minutes later, while the other passengers were starting to wend their way through Customs and Passport Control, Mary, Beth, and Tim were heading for the airport exit.
Inspector Henri Durand, of the general directorate of External Security, the French intelligence agency, watched as they got into the waiting limousine. When the car pulled away, the inspector walked over to a bank of phone booths and entered one. He closed the door, inserted a jeton, and dialed.
When a voice answered, he said, “S’il vous plâit, dire à Thor que son paquet est arrivé à Paris.”
When the limousine pulled up in front of the American embassy, the French press was waiting in force.
Peter Callas looked out of the car window. “My God! It looks like a riot.”
Waiting for them inside was Hugh Simon, the American ambassador to France. He was a Texan, middle-aged, with inquisitive eyes in a round face, topped by a wave of brightred hair.
“Everyone’s sure eager to meet you, Madam Ambassador. The press has been snapping at my heels all morning.”
Mary’s press conference ran longer than an hour, and when it was over she was exhausted. Mary and the children were taken to Ambassador Simon’s office.
“Well,” he said, “I’m glad that’s over. When I arrived here to take up this job, I think it got one paragraph on the back page of Le Monde.” He smiled. “Of course, I’m not as pretty as you are.” He remembered something. “I received a telephone call from Stanton Rogers. I have life-and-death instructions from the White House to see that you and Beth and Tim enjoy every moment that you’re in Paris.”
“Really life and death?” Tim asked.
Ambassador Simon nodded. “His words. He’s very fond of you all.”
“We’re very fond of him,” Mary assured him.
“I’ve arranged a suite for you at the Ritz. It’s a lovely hotel off the Place de la Concorde. I’m sure you’ll be quite comfortable there.”
“Thank you.” Then she added nervously, “Is it very expensive?”
“Yes—but not for you. Stanton Rogers has arranged for the State Department to pick up all your expenses.”
Mary said, “He’s incredible.”
“According to him, so are you.”
The afternoon and evening newspapers carried glowing stories of the arrival of the President’s first ambassador in his people-to-people program. The event was given full coverage on the evening television news programs, and in the morning papers the following day.
Inspector Durand looked at the pile of newspapers and smiled. Everything was proceeding as planned. The buildup was even better than expected. He could have predicted the Ashleys’ itinerary during the next three days. They’ll go to all the mindless tourist places that Americans want to see, he thought.
Mary and the children had lunch at the Jules Verne restaurant in the Tour Eiffel, and later they went to the top of the Arc de Triomphe.
They spent the following morning gazing at the treasures of the Louvre, had lunch near Versailles, and dinner at the Tour d’Argent.
Tim stared out the restaurant window at Notre Dame and asked, “Where do they keep the hunchback?”