"It's a private matter."
"Not if the police are involved it isn't."
"I can handle it myself."
" I don't think so. You couldn't even spot me." Tachyon sulked. "Tell me what's going on. I just might help you."
"Oh, very well," he snapped pettishly. "I'm searching for any clue as to the whereabouts of my grandson."
That took some explaining. Tachyon fired out the tale in quick staccato sentences while they finished pawing through the jumble, turning up absolutely nothing.
"So you see, I have to find him first and get him out of the country before the French authorities realize what they possess," he concluded, laying his hand on the doorknob. And heard a key rasp in the lock.
"Oh, shit," whispered Tach. "Police?" mouthed Jack. "Undoubtedly," the Takisian mouthed back.
"Fire escape." Jack pointed back over his shoulder. They fled.
"Let's see what we've got." Braun paused to light a cigarette. Tachyon stopped wolfing down his enormous and very belated lunch and fished the paper from his jeans. Tossed it, only to have it land fluttering in the mustard jar. "God damn it, be careful," said Jack, aggrieved, and mopped at the paper with his napkin.
Tachyon continued to shovel it in. With an annoyed grunt the ace pulled out a pair of reading glasses and peered at the Takisians florid hand:
Gisele Bacourt wed Frangois Andrieux in a civil ceremony on December 5th, 1971.
One child, Blaise Jeannot Andrieux, born May 7, 1975. Gisele Andrieux killed in a shoot-out with industrialist Simon de Montfort's personal bodyguard, November 28, 1984. Both husband and wife were members of the French Communist Party.
Franrcois Andrieux had been pulled in for questioning, but was released when nothing conclusive could be found. They had tried the simple expedient of checking the phone book, and-not surprisingly-Andrieux had not been listed. Jack sighed, rocked back in his chair, and returned his glasses to his shirt pocket. The Eiffel Tower cast an elongated shadow across the outdoor cafe.
"It's getting late, and we've got that dinner at the Tour Eiffel."
"I'm not going."
"Oh?"
"No, I'm going to go talk to Claude Bonnell."
"Who?"
"Bonnell, Bonnell! Le Miroir, you know?".. Why?
"Because he's a major figure in the Communist Party. He may be able to obtain Andrieux's address for me."
"And if that fails?" The smoke from the cigarette formed a loop in the air between them.
" I don't want to think about that."
"Well, you better, if you really want to find this guy."
"So what's your suggestion?"
"Try tracing the materials used in the bomb. They had to buy the stuff somewhere."
Tach made a face. "Sounds slow and tedious."
"It is."
"Then I'll pin my hope on Bonnell."
"Fine, you hope, and I'll pursue my bomb idea. Of course, how we're going to get that information I'm not certain. I suppose you could always go to see Rochambeau and pick his brains…"
Tachyon steepled his fingers before his face and peered speculatively over the top at Jack. "I have a better idea."
"What?"
"Don't sound so suspicious. You and Billy Ray could talk to Rochambeau about the bomb. Say that you think it was meant for the senator-it might have been for all we knowsuggest that you pool information."
"Might work." Jack ground out the cigarette. "Billy Ray is a justice Department ace, and Hartmann's bodyguard. 'Course he's bound to ask why I'm involved."
"Just tell him it's because you're Golden Boy." And the tone was undiluted acid.
Bonnell's dressing room backstage at the Lido was typical. The strong odor of cold cream, greasepaint, and hair spray overlaying the fainter scents of old sweat and stale perfume.
Tachyon straddled a chair, arms resting along the back, and watched the joker put the final touches on his makeup. "Could you hand, me my ruff?"
Bonnell clasped it about his neck, rose, took one final critical look at the black and white harlequin costume, and settled back into the battered wooden chair.
"All right, Doctor. I'm ready. Now tell me what I can do for you."
"I need a favor." They spoke in French. "Which is?"
"Do you have membership lists-addresses-for your members?"
"I assume we're speaking of the Party."
"Oh, forgive me. Yes."
"And to answer you, yes, we do."
Bonnell was not helping him any. Tach plowed awkwardly on. "Could you obtain an address for me?"
"That would depend on what you want it for."
"Nothing nefarious, I assure you. A personal matter."
"Hmmm." Bonnell straightened the already meticulously arranged pots and tubes on his dressing table. "Doctor, you presume a great deal. We have met only once, yet you come to me asking for private information. And if I were to ask you why?"
"I'd rather not say."
"I rather thought that would be your answer. So I'm afraid I really must refuse."
Exhaustion, tension, and the throbbing ache from his leg slammed down like a curling storm wave. Tach laid his head on his arms. Fought tears. Considered just giving up. A gentle but firm hand caught his chin and forced his head up. "This really means a great deal to you, doesn't it?"
"More than you can know"
"So tell me so I will know. Can't you trust me? Just a little?"
" I lived in Paris long ago. Have you been a communist for long?" he asked abruptly.
"Ever since I was able to comprehend politics."
"Then I'm surprised I didn't meet you all those long years ago. I knew them all. Thorenz, Lena Goldoni… Danelle."
"I wasn't in Paris then. I was still in Marseilles getting the crap beat out of me by my supposedly normal neighbors." His smile was bitter. "France has not always been so kind to her wild cards."
"I'm sorry."
"Why should you be?"
"Because it's my fault."
"That's an exceedingly silly and self-indulgent attitude."
"Thank you so very much."
"The past is dead, buried, and gone forever past recall. Only the present and the future matter, Doctor."
"And I think that's a silly and simplistic attitude. The actions of the past have consequences for the present and the future. Thirty-six years ago I came to this country broken and bitter. I slept with a young girl. Now I return to find that I left a more permanent mark on this place than I had thought. I sired a child who was born, lived, and died without my ever knowing of her existence. I could curse her mother for that, and yet perhaps she was wise. For the first thirteen years of Gisele's life her father was a drunken derelict. What could I have given her?" He paced away and stood rigidly regarding a wall. Then whirled and rested his shoulders against the cool plaster.
"I lost my chance with her, but the Ideal has granted me another. She had a son, my grandchild. And I want him."
"And the father?"
"Is a member of your party"
"You say you want him. What? You would steal him from his father?"
Tach rubbed wearily at his eyes. Forty-eight hours without sleep was taking its toll. " I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead. All I want is to see him, to hold him, to look into the face of my future."
Bonnell slapped his hands onto his thighs and pushed up from the chair. "C'est bien, Doctor. A man deserves a chance to look upon the intersection of his past, present, and future. I will find you this man."
"Just give his address, there's no reason for you to be involved."