Topaz - Leon Uris [132]
“How much longer are you going to be in Paris, Mike?”
“Few weeks anyhow. I’ve got a meeting with the Scandinavian people next Wednesday. Give Liz a ring when you get back to Washington and tell her I wasn’t able to find the material she wanted. If she’ll send me another sample, I’ll see what I can do. My boy Jim has a birthday coming up. Have my secretary get him a left-hand fielder’s glove, Ted Williams model.”
“Right.” McKittrick looked at his watch. “My car should be here in a few minutes.”
They fenced in silence for a few moments. “Hell, you may as well say it,” Nordstrom said.
“I’ve got the official word from La Croix. They’re ignoring the entire Topaz affair. What’s next, Mike?”
“Damned if I know. But NATO is going to be in big danger soon. Marsh, there can only be one leader of the free world, can’t there? We’ve done a pretty good job, haven’t we?”
“We’ve done a lot better than when the French were running the show, and we’ve done it for a lot more decent reasons.”
“The boss of this planet is seldom appreciated,” Mike said, “by those he has replaced in the job.”
“Mike,” McKittrick said haltingly, “there’s a base I have to touch. I know how fond you are of Devereaux. We all are. He’s top-drawer. But he’s in big trouble.”
“What are you trying to tell me?”
“If Devereaux comes to you for help, you are under orders not to help him. He’s been written off. And we’ve got to keep on doing business with France.”
“You know, I remember the first time I saw Boris Kuznetov. A scared little guy in a hotel room in Copenhagen. He said something then I’ll never forget. He said, ‘It makes no difference if you are Russian or American. Our profession is cruel, yet ... they cannot take from us all that is human. Humans, in the end, are compassionate. Someday you may need a friend. Someday a friend will need you.’ ”
“Mike, I’m just delivering the message.”
“I got the goddamned message,” Nordstrom snapped.
The secretary entered. “Your car is waiting, Mr. McKittrick.”
“So long, Marsh. Have a good flight back.”
As McKittrick left, he knew that if Devereaux sought help, there was a good chance Mike Nordstrom would disobey his orders.
19
AT TEN O’CLOCK SHARP AT night, André left the Café des Deux Magots as had been prearranged by the telephone conversation.
He drove across the Seine by the Pont d’Austerlitz with an eye on the rear mirror. His tails were still behind him as he continued up Rue de Rivoli, so he circled the great Place de la Concorde and doubled back into the Place Vendôme and at last lost them.
He drove on to the greenery of the Bois de Boulogne and slowed and drifted back and forth near the Pavilion d’Armenonville. During his third pass, headlights of another car, which had pulled off in the bushes, blinked off and on. André turned off the road and parked near the second car.
Robert Proust waited nervously, perspiring even in the cold. They watched the area silently for several moments to assure that all was clear.
“Well, Robert, we’ve come a long way to have to make a secret rendezvous.”
“It’s not very advantageous to be your friend these days,” Robert answered. “Well, I came anyhow. André, you know how closely you’re being watched. Every move, every call. Even if you return to your post in Washington, one of the new people will have orders to watch you.”
“What are you trying to tell me?”
“I’m trying to talk you out of your damn madness. The service knows I would never personally carry out an order against you, but in your case there are standing orders that Fauchet has received from Colonel Brune personally.”
“Yes, good old Ferdinand. He’d like nothing better than to pull the trigger on me himself. Or does he use a strangling wire these days?”
“You have one advantage now ... your years in the service and many friends. They won’t play with you now because it would wreck the morale of the SDECE. But when the time comes, Fauchet will do a clean job. He knows his work.”
André laughed, ignoring the warning. “Do you have the same private postbox at the Rue des Capucines Station?”
“Yes.”
“Good.