“But I—”
“It doesn’t matter, lad. If our enemy is as strong as you’ve made me believe, they could have representatives in high places everywhere. Investigations are easily redirected. The point is that lots of people are looking for you and we can’t send you on the straightest route to Liechtenstein. You’ll be taking the boat train into France and will make your way to Paris by rail. From there you’ll fly to Geneva, making two plane changes, and then travel to Liechtenstein by train. You arrive at approximately noon tomorrow.”
Locke sat down in the chair opposite Burgess. “And once I’m there?”
Burgess pulled the fresh passport from his pocket and handed it to Locke. “You check into your hotel as American businessman Sam Babbit coming to the country to make some rather large financial transactions. You have chosen Mr. Felderberg for his discretion and willingness to operate on short notice. At a rather exorbitant fee, I might add.”
“Which I’ll need if the cover is to hold.”
Burgess nodded. “A man like Sam Babbit must be seen passing big bills freely. He would not have come to Liechtenstein if he was one to spare expense. Have no fear in this area, though. I have the money for you, roughly seventy-five hundred pounds.”
“From where?”
“Nothing more glamorous than my bank account, lad.” Burgess stopped and his face tightened. “Brian was a good friend. You can’t put a price tag on what I owe him. In any case, you will arrive in the community of Vaduz tomorrow in plenty of time to check into your hotel before meeting with Felderberg. He will be waiting at a restaurant near Castle Vaduz at four P.M. The mountain is steep and the only access to the restaurant is by tram. Once you reach it, the rest will take care of itself.”
“What do I tell Felderberg?”
“I’m afraid that’s up to you, lad. He will know soon enough that you are not who you claim to be; an international financier is usually quite adept at sizing up his clients. Be direct but don’t reveal too much at once. Remember, it’s conceivable Felderberg is working for the enemy.”
Locke’s mouth dropped. “I hadn’t thought of that….”
“Then don’t bother worrying about it, lad. It’s unlikely anyway because Lubeck never would have made it all the way to San Sebastian if Felderberg was one of them.”
“He has bodyguards, of course.”
“Oh, several of them. But the Hauser restaurant always holds a private room for him. He meets his clients inside alone — discretion, again. But his guards will be right outside. You will be alone with him only until he directs otherwise.” Burgess’s eyes bored deeply into Locke’s. “I won’t lie to you, lad. There’s danger in this, quite a bit, in fact. But Felderberg’s the key for us now, the key to what your friend Lubeck uncovered. I hate sending you out alone into the field but …” He shrugged. “Remember, though, I’ll only be a phone call away.”
“But you don’t have a phone.”
“The number I’m going to give you belongs to a young lady who can reach me in a matter of minutes. If an emergency arises, call her and say that you wish to speak with Uncle Colin.”
“Then what?”
“One of two things. Either the girl will ask for your number and call back immediately to take your message, or she will say Uncle Colin has gone fishing, which means they got to me and you’re on your own.”
“And what about after the meeting with Felderberg?”
“You go wherever he sent your friend Lubeck, lad. The next link in the chain.”
Dogan received the Commander’s message late Friday night. At first he rejected the meeting because he owed the bastard nothing. But the night quickly turned sleepless and Dogan couldn’t help wondering if his superior might have reconsidered his decision of Thursday. Not that Dogan would be ecstatic about returning to Division Six. The terms would be different now, his entire essence redefined; he knew that. So why bother?
Because, simply, he had nothing better to do. His life was his work; the field, the code he shared with men like Vaslov. It was in his blood and no transfusion could clear it.
He didn’t set the alarm or request a wake-up call but arose at seven all the same and walked to the Champs-Élysées after a quick shower. The Commander was at his usual table. He didn’t so much as look up from his newspaper as Dogan approached, and seemed to take no note of him until Dogan sat down across the table and blocked out the sun.
“Glad you made it,” the Commander said.
“Just happened to be in the neighborhood.”
A brief glance up, squinting his eyes against the sun. “Breakfast, Grendel? Some croissants perhaps?” He pointed to a basket covered with a checkerboard napkin. “Café au lait?”
“Sure.”
The Commander poured him out a cup, then peered briefly across the table.
“There’s been a change of heart” was all he said.
“Concerning?”
“Don’t be coy, Grendel. It doesn’t suit you.” A pause. “Your reinstatement is being strongly considered.”
“And what have I done in the past thirty-six hours to deserve such an honor?”
“It’s nothing you’ve done. It’s something you’re about to do.”
Dogan felt confused. He waited for the Commander to go on.
“Simply stated, we want a man killed, taken out with a minimum of fuss.”
“Why not call on one of your new superstars, maybe another from Keyes’s graduating class?”
The Commander hesitated, flipping nervously to another page of his newspaper. He didn’t appear to be reading very carefully today.
“This assignment,” he began finally, “requires a rather … tactful approach. Nothing can be done officially, nothing can exist that leads back to us.”
“So since I’m no longer in the Division, I’m the perfect man for the job.”
“As I said before, do this job for us and that condition becomes temporary.”
“Any guarantees on that?”
“None that would make you any less suspicious. The Division needs you. You’ve really made your mark.”
“Which could end up as my epitaph if this turns out to be a suicide mission against some crazy Third World leader. Kaddaffi maybe? Or Khomeni?”
The Commander shook his head and raised his eyes. They looked small behind his glasses. “Someone far more mundane, I’m afraid. A State Department intelligence man named Brian Charney was killed yesterday by an agent he was running who’s turned rogue. The man is looking for buyers of certain information, sensitive information he possesses that can do us extreme harm if it falls into the wrong hands. Of course you can see the need for immediacy here, as well as tact.”
“I’m sure you have a file on this target.”
The Commander nodded and pulled a manila envelope from his lap, placing it on the table. “His name is Christopher Locke.”
“Any idea who’s running him now?”
“No, but it doesn’t matter. We want him put away quick. What we do know is that he’s headed for a meeting in Liechtenstein. You’re to be on the next available plane.”
“I haven’t accepted the assignment yet.” Then: “Why is he going to Liechtenstein? Who is this meeting with?”
“Claus Felderberg. I’ve written all the details down. No reason to go over them now.” The Commander slid an envelope across the table.
“Felderberg,” Dogan said, “the financier. A broker in dollars, not information. Seems strange this Locke would be heading for him.”
The Commander nervously cleared his throat. “No questions, Grendel. Do you want the assignment or not?”
Dogan tore a croissant in half and stood up over his untouched coffee, picking up the envelope. “I’ll send you a postcard from Liechtenstein.”