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By Root 926 0

her voice mail. Then he heard a click and a recorded voice tell him to dial “O.” A moment later a woman answered. “Parlez-vous anglais?” he asked. Yes, the woman spoke a little English. Vera, she said, had been called away two days earlier on a family emergency; it was not known when she would return. Would he like to speak with another doctor? “No. No, thank you,” he said, and hung up. For a long moment he stared at the wall. There was only one place left. Maybe, for some reason, she’d gone back to her apartment.

For the third time he used his credit card, this time wondering if he shouldn’t go to another phone, one outside the building. Before he could hang up, the number rang through and on just the second ring a man answered.

“Monneray residence, bonsoir.”

It was Philippe picking up the call from the switchboard. Osborn was silent. Why was Philippe monitoring Vera’s calls without giving them a chance to ring long enough for her to pick them up herself? Maybe McVey had been right and it had been Philippe who’d alerted this “group” to who Vera was and where she lived, then later helped him escape from under the noses of the police, but not until he’d notified the tall man.

“Monneray residence,” Philippe said again. This time his voice was hollow, as if he were suddenly suspect of the call. Osborn waited a half beat, then decided to take the chance.

“Philippe, it’s Doctor Osborn.”

Philippe’s reaction was anything but cautious. He was excited, delighted to hear from him. He made it sound as if he’d been worrying himself to death about him.

“Oh, monsieur. The shooting at La Coupole. It was all over the television. Two Americans, they said. You are all right? Where are you?”

Uh uh, Osborn told himself. Don’t tell him.

“Where is Vera, Philippe? Have you heard from her?”

“Oui, oui!” Vera had telephoned earlier in the day and left a number. It was to be given only to him if he called, and to no one else.

A noise outside the phone booth made Osborn look around. A small black woman in a hotel uniform was vacuuming the hallway. She was old, and her hair twisted up under a bright blue scarf made her look Haitian. The hum of the vacuum grew louder as she worked closer.

“The number, Philippe,” he said, turning his back to the hallway.

Fumbling a pen from his pocket, Osborn looked for something to write on. There was nothing, so he wrote the number on the palm of his hand, then repeated it just to make sure.

“Merci, Philippe.” Without giving the doorman a chance for another question, he hung up.

Against the sound of the old woman’s vacuum, Osborn picked up the phone, again debated moving to another telephone, then said the hell with it, dialed the number written on his hand and waited for it to ring through.

“Oui?” He started as a man’s voice came on, tough and forceful.

“Mademoiselle Monneray, please,” Osborn said.

Then he heard Vera say something in French and add the name Jean Claude. The first line clicked off and he heard Vera say his name.

“Jesus, Vera—” he breathed. “What the hell is going on?—Where are you?” Of all the women he’d ever known, none affected him as Vera did. Mentally, emotionally, physically—and what had been built up inside him came gushing out pell-mell, like an adolescent, without thought or judgment.

“I call your grandmother’s worried to death about you and her English is worse than my French and the best I can understand is she hasn’t heard from you. I start thinking about the Paris inspectors. That they’re mixed up in this and I sent you to them. . . . Vera, where the hell are you? Tell me you’re okay—”

“I am okay, Paul, but—” She hesitated. “I can’t tell you where I am.” Vera glanced around the small, cheery, yellow-and-white bedroom with a single window that looked out on a long floodlit driveway. Beyond it were trees and then darkness. Opening the door she saw a stocky man in a black sweater with a pistol at his waist monitoring the call on a wireless, recorder. An assault rifle leaned against the wall next to him. Looking up, he saw her staring at him, her hand covering the phone.