running, I hopped out from behind the chair and scooted through the closet, past the bathroom door and across the bedroom. The door was locked, but there was a knob to unlock it. I twisted the knob, slipped out into the empty hallway, and eased the door closed behind me.
Marisa was still sound asleep. I stayed just long enough to remove the patch from the back of her hand. The drug should wear off in about an hour, and with luck she should sleep soundly for the rest of the night. "Au revoir, baby," I whispered, and gave her a kiss.
I sidled along the dark hallway, pausing at the head of the stairs. No one in sight. Down the stairs I went, trying desperately to be quiet.
The lights in the library were off. Three small night-lights were the only illumination, and they certainly didn't give enough light for photographs. I looked at the entrance from the hallway. There were two large oak doors, but closing them would probably wake the dead. No curtains on the windows. I looked out. The lawn was there, quite spacious for Washington, with a few trees and shrubs, bounded by a high masonry fence topped with barbed wire. Beyond the fence was another building. I could see windows.
If Lamoureux encoded his messages in here, anyone in the yard could look in the window and watch him do it. If he did it in the chair he was sitting in when Marisa introduced me, anyone in the window of that building across the way could see him with binoculars.
No, he didn't encrypt messages in here. He did it at the embassy or upstairs in his bedroom or office.
I glanced at my watch. I had been in the building for sixty-seven minutes—far too long—and I was going to have to turn on every light in this library if I were going to photograph all the book spines. I scanned the shelves. A good many American and British authors, even a few German, but the works were in French.
The Sum of All Fears. That might be it.
As I walked out of the library I almost bumped into a guard. My heart nearly leaped from my chest. At least, I assumed he was a guard; he was a fit man wearing a suit and he looked quite capable.
"Ah, I wonder if you could show me the way out," I said thickly, as if I had had a bit too much to drink. "I seem to be a little lost."
"Of course, sir," the guard said in good English. "Right this way."
Four minutes later I unlocked the Mercedes and climbed in. The sky was getting light to the east.
On Monday at headquarters I gave the digital camera to the wizards and told them about the Clancy paperback. They thanked me and that was that.
The person who said "Silence is golden" must have worked in the
intelligence business. If you pull off a difficult assignment you never hear another word about it. I must have done okay on this one because no one ragged me about what I should have done. They wouldn't even tell me if one of the books I photographed was the key they were searching for to Lamoureux's codes.
So Marisa Petrou faded into my past. A few weeks later, just as the baseball season got interesting, the trolls in the inner sanctum sent me to Iraq, which is one of the world's hellholes, let me tell you. It was truly a long hot summer; I couldn't wait to get back to the land of the beer and home of the hot dogs.
CHAPTER ONE
aurice Marton died of a heart attack thirty-seven thousand feet above the Mediterranean. He did it quietly, the same way he had lived his life. He felt a sudden, severe chest pain, couldn't breathe, and reached for the call light above his seat. As he looked up, gasping, groping for the button, his heart quit beating altogether. Maurice Marton slumped in his first-class airline seat. By chance, he was in a window seat and his head sagged toward the window. Also by chance, the aisle seat beside him was empty.
It was several minutes before the flight attendant noticed Marton. The man was slumped down, facing the window, and although his eyes were open, the attendant couldn't see them and thought he was asleep. As is
Marisa was still sound asleep. I stayed just long enough to remove the patch from the back of her hand. The drug should wear off in about an hour, and with luck she should sleep soundly for the rest of the night. "Au revoir, baby," I whispered, and gave her a kiss.
I sidled along the dark hallway, pausing at the head of the stairs. No one in sight. Down the stairs I went, trying desperately to be quiet.
The lights in the library were off. Three small night-lights were the only illumination, and they certainly didn't give enough light for photographs. I looked at the entrance from the hallway. There were two large oak doors, but closing them would probably wake the dead. No curtains on the windows. I looked out. The lawn was there, quite spacious for Washington, with a few trees and shrubs, bounded by a high masonry fence topped with barbed wire. Beyond the fence was another building. I could see windows.
If Lamoureux encoded his messages in here, anyone in the yard could look in the window and watch him do it. If he did it in the chair he was sitting in when Marisa introduced me, anyone in the window of that building across the way could see him with binoculars.
No, he didn't encrypt messages in here. He did it at the embassy or upstairs in his bedroom or office.
I glanced at my watch. I had been in the building for sixty-seven minutes—far too long—and I was going to have to turn on every light in this library if I were going to photograph all the book spines. I scanned the shelves. A good many American and British authors, even a few German, but the works were in French.
The Sum of All Fears. That might be it.
As I walked out of the library I almost bumped into a guard. My heart nearly leaped from my chest. At least, I assumed he was a guard; he was a fit man wearing a suit and he looked quite capable.
"Ah, I wonder if you could show me the way out," I said thickly, as if I had had a bit too much to drink. "I seem to be a little lost."
"Of course, sir," the guard said in good English. "Right this way."
Four minutes later I unlocked the Mercedes and climbed in. The sky was getting light to the east.
On Monday at headquarters I gave the digital camera to the wizards and told them about the Clancy paperback. They thanked me and that was that.
The person who said "Silence is golden" must have worked in the
intelligence business. If you pull off a difficult assignment you never hear another word about it. I must have done okay on this one because no one ragged me about what I should have done. They wouldn't even tell me if one of the books I photographed was the key they were searching for to Lamoureux's codes.
So Marisa Petrou faded into my past. A few weeks later, just as the baseball season got interesting, the trolls in the inner sanctum sent me to Iraq, which is one of the world's hellholes, let me tell you. It was truly a long hot summer; I couldn't wait to get back to the land of the beer and home of the hot dogs.
CHAPTER ONE
aurice Marton died of a heart attack thirty-seven thousand feet above the Mediterranean. He did it quietly, the same way he had lived his life. He felt a sudden, severe chest pain, couldn't breathe, and reached for the call light above his seat. As he looked up, gasping, groping for the button, his heart quit beating altogether. Maurice Marton slumped in his first-class airline seat. By chance, he was in a window seat and his head sagged toward the window. Also by chance, the aisle seat beside him was empty.
It was several minutes before the flight attendant noticed Marton. The man was slumped down, facing the window, and although his eyes were open, the attendant couldn't see them and thought he was asleep. As is
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