Paris Match Read Free Page B

lap, along with a copy of the International New York Times and one of Paris Match . Stone tried that, but his French wasn’t good enough to read it, so he reverted to the Times . He switched on the TV and found CNN.
    His phone rang. “Yes?”
    “It’s Rick.”
    “Good morning, Rick.”
    “Do you have the TV on?”
    “Yes, on CNN.”
    “Turn it to the local news, channel two.”
    Stone switched and found a Frenchwoman gazing into the camera, producing a torrent of her language. “Okay, got it. What am I watching?”
    “Just hang on for a minute.”
    “Have you planted something on TV, Rick?”
    “No, but I got a tip to watch this.”
    The woman’s image disappeared, replaced by that of a burning vehicle.
    “What’s this, a bomb in Paris?”
    “No, that’s your van,” Rick said.
    Stone looked more closely, but it was hard to tell. “And why is it on fire?”
    “Someone is sending either you or me a message.”
    “If the message is for me, what is it?”
    “If it’s for you, I think it means, ‘Pay attention this time.’”
    “To what?”
    “To the people who tried to kill you when you were last in Paris.”
    “The Russians?”
    “Looks that way.”
    “Let’s assume for a moment that the message is for you, instead of me. What is the message?”
    “‘Stop trying to protect Stone Barrington.’”
    “What happened to the driver?”
    “He was standing, leaning on the van, having acigarette—he’s not allowed to smoke in the van—and someone laid a cosh upside his head.”
    “Is he all right?”
    “He’s in our little clinic at the embassy, and he has a very bad headache, but the doc says he’ll be okay.”
    “So, how are you going to react to this message?”
    “By replacing the van. We have more than one. A black one will be there at noon to pick you up for your lunch date with Marcel duBois.”
    “How did you know I was having lunch with duBois?”
    “I’m in the CIA, remember?”
    “Oh, yeah, I forgot: you know everything.”
    “Near enough to everything—enough to put two men in the van this time: one to protect you and the other to protect him.”
    “Well, I hope your plan works. From what I just saw on TV, I don’t think the air-conditioning could keep up.”
    “It’ll be okay this time, I promise. You know, this incident is probably going to help us more than it’ll hurt.”
    “How will it do that?”
    “By telling Lance that our little operation here is a good idea. Lance likes learning that he was right.”
    “Who doesn’t?”
    “You’re going to be getting another call this morning.”
    “From whom?”
    “Mirabelle Chance.”
    “The last woman I met in Paris was one of yours. Is Mirabelle one of yours, too?”
    “I’m working on that. In fact, you could be a great help to me.”
    “You want me to recruit her for you? I wouldn’t know how to begin.”
    “She clearly likes you. We know that from her behavior at the dinner last night.”
    “I hope you’re right. I certainly like her.”
    “She may raise the subject with you. I, and particularly Lance, would be grateful if you could help her move in our direction.”
    “What do you want from her?”
    “Anything we can get. She’s very well connected in Paris, beginning with her father and brother, and continuing down her client list, which is heavy with the wives and mistresses of government officials.”
    “Okay, Rick, if she asks me if she should become a resource for the Agency, I’ll say, sure, why not?”
    “Come on, Stone, you can do better than that.”
    “I can’t promise that I will.”
    “I’ll rely on your good sense. Gotta run. The van will be there at noon.” He hung up.
    Stone stared at the breakfast in his lap, congealing before his eyes. Eggs Benedict did not benefit from getting cold. The phone rang. “Hello?”
    “Good morning, Mr. Barrington,” Mirabelle said.
    “Good morning, Mademoiselle Chance,” he said.
    “Are you free for breakfast?”
    “I am, if we can do it