try.”
“Why are you in Paris?”
“Claude asked me to consult. As a personal favor.
The summit’s over now, so my schedule’s open. Plus, I was curious.”
“About the bombing?”
He nodded. “Cosmic Solidarity is a new one for me. I try to keep up with new terrorist groups. It’s my business.” He held a menu out to her and smiled. “And that, Miss Tavistock, is the unadulterated truth.” She met his gaze and saw no flicker of avoidance in his eyes. Still, her instincts told her there was something more behind that smile, something yet unsaid.
In Their Footsteps
63
“You don’t believe me,” he said.
“How did you guess?”
“Does this mean you’re not having supper with me?” Up until that moment, Jordan had sat watching them, his gaze playing Ping-Pong. Now he cut in impatiently.
“We are definitely having supper. Because I’m hungry, Beryl, and I’m not moving from this booth until I’ve eaten.”
With a sigh of resignation, Beryl took the menu. “I guess that answers that. Jordie’s stomach has spoken.” Amiel Foch’s telephone rang at precisely seven-fifteen.
“I have a new task for you,” said the caller. “It’s a matter of some urgency. Perhaps this time around, you’ll prove successful.”
The criticism stung, and Amiel Foch, with twenty-five years’ experience in the business, barely managed to suppress a retort. The caller held the purse strings; he could afford to hurl insults. Foch had his retirement to consider. Requests for his services were few and far between these days. One’s reflexes, after all, did not improve with age.
Foch said, with quiet control, “I planted the device as you instructed. It went off at the time specified.”
“And all it did was make a lot of bloody noise. The target was scarcely hurt.”
“She did the unexpected. One cannot control such things.”
“Let’s hope this time you keep things under better control.”
“What is the name?”
“Two names. A brother and sister, Beryl and Jordan 64
Tess Gerritsen
Tavistock. They’re staying at the Ritz. I want to know where they go. Who they see.”
“Nothing more?”
“For now, just surveillance. But things may change at any time, depending on what they learn. With any luck, they’ll simply turn around and run home to England.”
“If they do not?”
“Then we’ll take further action.”
“What about Mme St. Pierre? Do you wish me to try again?”
The caller paused. “No,” he said at last, “she can wait.
For now, the Tavistocks take priority.” Over a meal of poached salmon and duck with rasp-berry sauce, Beryl and Richard thrusted and parried questions and answers. Richard, an accomplished verbal duelist, revealed only the barest sketch of his personal life.
He was born and reared in Connecticut. His father, a retired cop, was still living. After leaving Princeton University, Richard joined the U.S. State Department and served as political officer at embassies around the world. Then, five years ago, he left government service to start up business as a security consultant. Sakaroff and Wolf, based in Washington, D.C., was born.
“And that’s what brought me to London last week,” he said. “Several American firms wanted security for their executives during the summit. I was hired as consultant.”
“And that’s all you were doing in London?” she asked.
“That’s all I was doing in London. Until I got Hugh’s invitation to Chetwynd.” His gaze met hers across the table.
His directness unsettled her. Is he telling me the truth, In Their Footsteps
65
fiction or something in between? That matter-of-fact recitation of his career had struck her as rehearsed, but then, it would be. People in the intelligence business always had their life histories down pat, the details mem-orized, fact blending smoothly with fantasy. What did she really know about him? Only that he smiled easily, laughed easily. That his appetite was hearty and he drank his coffee
“Why are you in Paris?”
“Claude asked me to consult. As a personal favor.
The summit’s over now, so my schedule’s open. Plus, I was curious.”
“About the bombing?”
He nodded. “Cosmic Solidarity is a new one for me. I try to keep up with new terrorist groups. It’s my business.” He held a menu out to her and smiled. “And that, Miss Tavistock, is the unadulterated truth.” She met his gaze and saw no flicker of avoidance in his eyes. Still, her instincts told her there was something more behind that smile, something yet unsaid.
In Their Footsteps
63
“You don’t believe me,” he said.
“How did you guess?”
“Does this mean you’re not having supper with me?” Up until that moment, Jordan had sat watching them, his gaze playing Ping-Pong. Now he cut in impatiently.
“We are definitely having supper. Because I’m hungry, Beryl, and I’m not moving from this booth until I’ve eaten.”
With a sigh of resignation, Beryl took the menu. “I guess that answers that. Jordie’s stomach has spoken.” Amiel Foch’s telephone rang at precisely seven-fifteen.
“I have a new task for you,” said the caller. “It’s a matter of some urgency. Perhaps this time around, you’ll prove successful.”
The criticism stung, and Amiel Foch, with twenty-five years’ experience in the business, barely managed to suppress a retort. The caller held the purse strings; he could afford to hurl insults. Foch had his retirement to consider. Requests for his services were few and far between these days. One’s reflexes, after all, did not improve with age.
Foch said, with quiet control, “I planted the device as you instructed. It went off at the time specified.”
“And all it did was make a lot of bloody noise. The target was scarcely hurt.”
“She did the unexpected. One cannot control such things.”
“Let’s hope this time you keep things under better control.”
“What is the name?”
“Two names. A brother and sister, Beryl and Jordan 64
Tess Gerritsen
Tavistock. They’re staying at the Ritz. I want to know where they go. Who they see.”
“Nothing more?”
“For now, just surveillance. But things may change at any time, depending on what they learn. With any luck, they’ll simply turn around and run home to England.”
“If they do not?”
“Then we’ll take further action.”
“What about Mme St. Pierre? Do you wish me to try again?”
The caller paused. “No,” he said at last, “she can wait.
For now, the Tavistocks take priority.” Over a meal of poached salmon and duck with rasp-berry sauce, Beryl and Richard thrusted and parried questions and answers. Richard, an accomplished verbal duelist, revealed only the barest sketch of his personal life.
He was born and reared in Connecticut. His father, a retired cop, was still living. After leaving Princeton University, Richard joined the U.S. State Department and served as political officer at embassies around the world. Then, five years ago, he left government service to start up business as a security consultant. Sakaroff and Wolf, based in Washington, D.C., was born.
“And that’s what brought me to London last week,” he said. “Several American firms wanted security for their executives during the summit. I was hired as consultant.”
“And that’s all you were doing in London?” she asked.
“That’s all I was doing in London. Until I got Hugh’s invitation to Chetwynd.” His gaze met hers across the table.
His directness unsettled her. Is he telling me the truth, In Their Footsteps
65
fiction or something in between? That matter-of-fact recitation of his career had struck her as rehearsed, but then, it would be. People in the intelligence business always had their life histories down pat, the details mem-orized, fact blending smoothly with fantasy. What did she really know about him? Only that he smiled easily, laughed easily. That his appetite was hearty and he drank his coffee
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