before you left."
Gallagher turned full around with a loud squeak from his chair. Something
about her tone added to his unease.
"Harry wants to have another meeting tomorrow," she said.
"About Conley?"
She nodded.
"Did he say why?"
"Only that he wants to expand the scope of the assignment. Give it more
importance."
"What does that mean?"
Larson begged off with an open palm. "That's all he would say."
Gallagher stroked his beard and released a long exhalation. This assignment
already suffered enough pressures.
"Nine o'clock tomorrow," she said. "Right after the editorial
meeting."
"I'll be there," Gallagher answered, giving her a worried look.
This was already their second day of French. For Claire, the slow pace was
getting a little frustrating. She listened as Conley formulated another
question---this one about Peter's investigation of smuggling circles in Prague.
Conley's grammar was more or less correct. But he searched for words. Her
impression was that he hadn't utilized his French in quite a while. At last he
reached a punctuation mark.
"He called around lunchtime on those two days," she answered,
referring quickly to her notes. "In the evenings he ventured into cafes
and bars where these Albanian criminals are supposed to congregate."
"What was he hoping to gain?"
"He didn't attempt any direct contacts. He just wanted visual
impressions."
"Did he succeed?"
"As far as he told me, yes."
Claire reviewed scenes and people that Peter had described, then took a deep
breath while Conley scribbled on his notepad. The two of them were camped at
another window table, this one in a cafe along the Champs Elysees. They'd
each had several cups of coffee. Vehicles hummed outside along the wide
boulevard.
Today the void inside her felt more acute. Comparisons came to mind. Peter's
mastery of French had been so complete, almost to the point where she'd taken
it for granted. Just one of the ways in which he'd been exceptional…such
a scholar, so many languages…
She and Conley devoted another hour to Prague, then the second half of the
morning to Moscow. She endured the session with her best cheer, but was glad
when he wrapped up around 12:45 and signaled for the check.
"I'd invite you for lunch again today, Steve," she said.
"However I'm meeting a friend."
"I'm monopolizing your time as it is, Claire."
He smiled, appearing satisfied with the interview. Claire smiled back, as
best she could. They'd gotten through another day.
"I chose this café because it's near Peter's office," she
said. "Peter got it because our apartment is rather small. I'll take
you there now and give you the keys. You can work there the rest of the week,
if you want."
Minutes later they were striding up a broad sidewalk of the boulevard,
toward the Arc de Triomphe. Conley bore his laptop case in one hand.
Claire grew eager to recount her progress to Veronique, over lunch.
Conley was tolerable in half-day allotments. And he did seem committed to
this assignment, in his own methodical way. Still, why couldn't he show a bit
more drive, like Peter?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Overall Conley felt upbeat. He'd held his focus and re-activated his French.
Nonetheless being alone in Bradford's office was unsettling.
He was seated at Bradford's desk in an upholstered chair. Everything
appeared preserved since Bradford's last visit---the Friday after Prague and
just before the next leg to Moscow. Bradford's personal effects were all
around: on the desk a photographic portrait of Claire, on one wall a framed
Harvard diploma with a summa cum laude notation, on another a large map
encompassing Europe and the former Soviet Union. Furnishings were modern,
standard-issue stained-wood, supplied by the office leasing company that
managed the floor. Conley swiveled around. A tall, two-paned, French-style
window looked out on Avenue Wagram. By leaning forward and looking to his left
up the street, he could see one corner of the Arc de
Gallagher turned full around with a loud squeak from his chair. Something
about her tone added to his unease.
"Harry wants to have another meeting tomorrow," she said.
"About Conley?"
She nodded.
"Did he say why?"
"Only that he wants to expand the scope of the assignment. Give it more
importance."
"What does that mean?"
Larson begged off with an open palm. "That's all he would say."
Gallagher stroked his beard and released a long exhalation. This assignment
already suffered enough pressures.
"Nine o'clock tomorrow," she said. "Right after the editorial
meeting."
"I'll be there," Gallagher answered, giving her a worried look.
This was already their second day of French. For Claire, the slow pace was
getting a little frustrating. She listened as Conley formulated another
question---this one about Peter's investigation of smuggling circles in Prague.
Conley's grammar was more or less correct. But he searched for words. Her
impression was that he hadn't utilized his French in quite a while. At last he
reached a punctuation mark.
"He called around lunchtime on those two days," she answered,
referring quickly to her notes. "In the evenings he ventured into cafes
and bars where these Albanian criminals are supposed to congregate."
"What was he hoping to gain?"
"He didn't attempt any direct contacts. He just wanted visual
impressions."
"Did he succeed?"
"As far as he told me, yes."
Claire reviewed scenes and people that Peter had described, then took a deep
breath while Conley scribbled on his notepad. The two of them were camped at
another window table, this one in a cafe along the Champs Elysees. They'd
each had several cups of coffee. Vehicles hummed outside along the wide
boulevard.
Today the void inside her felt more acute. Comparisons came to mind. Peter's
mastery of French had been so complete, almost to the point where she'd taken
it for granted. Just one of the ways in which he'd been exceptional…such
a scholar, so many languages…
She and Conley devoted another hour to Prague, then the second half of the
morning to Moscow. She endured the session with her best cheer, but was glad
when he wrapped up around 12:45 and signaled for the check.
"I'd invite you for lunch again today, Steve," she said.
"However I'm meeting a friend."
"I'm monopolizing your time as it is, Claire."
He smiled, appearing satisfied with the interview. Claire smiled back, as
best she could. They'd gotten through another day.
"I chose this café because it's near Peter's office," she
said. "Peter got it because our apartment is rather small. I'll take
you there now and give you the keys. You can work there the rest of the week,
if you want."
Minutes later they were striding up a broad sidewalk of the boulevard,
toward the Arc de Triomphe. Conley bore his laptop case in one hand.
Claire grew eager to recount her progress to Veronique, over lunch.
Conley was tolerable in half-day allotments. And he did seem committed to
this assignment, in his own methodical way. Still, why couldn't he show a bit
more drive, like Peter?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Overall Conley felt upbeat. He'd held his focus and re-activated his French.
Nonetheless being alone in Bradford's office was unsettling.
He was seated at Bradford's desk in an upholstered chair. Everything
appeared preserved since Bradford's last visit---the Friday after Prague and
just before the next leg to Moscow. Bradford's personal effects were all
around: on the desk a photographic portrait of Claire, on one wall a framed
Harvard diploma with a summa cum laude notation, on another a large map
encompassing Europe and the former Soviet Union. Furnishings were modern,
standard-issue stained-wood, supplied by the office leasing company that
managed the floor. Conley swiveled around. A tall, two-paned, French-style
window looked out on Avenue Wagram. By leaning forward and looking to his left
up the street, he could see one corner of the Arc de
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