"You're in luck. He'll see you. But beyond that, who knows?"
"I'll be convincing," Lisa replied with a sigh.
She took great care building his drink, and when she finished, she stood facing him at the bar. There was something special in the way she looked at him. Her eyes dimmed, becoming smoky behind the long lashes, and her full breasts brought a catch in his throat as she took a lazy breath.
"You're afraid."
"Aren't you?" he replied.
"It is too late for fear now, my darling."
She came across the room toward him, tucking the blouse into her skirt with her free hand, making it taut over the lush curves.
"Could I have a cigarette?" she asked, handing him the drink.
He held out the pack, and she plucked a cigarette from it with long, crimson-tipped fingers. She put the filter tip between equally red lips and leaned over toward the flame.
The front of her blouse fell open, and his eyes slid into the deep darkness between her breasts.
His lip quivered and his mouth went dry.
"He is set," she said, looking up at him with bold, appraising eyes. "Half of the money has been delivered. I have already arranged for the other half. He has the equipment. Believe me, darling, it will soon be over."
She tugged him to his feet. She was standing so close that he could feel the faint touch of her breasts on his chest and the heat of her breath on his neck.
"You're shaking, darling."
He was, and he knew it. But now he didn't know if it was from fear of what they were about to do, or the nearness of her body.
"Come, darling… into the bedroom."
She tugged on his arm and he followed her like a robot. As he neared the bed, the fog of desire momentarily left his brain.
"I shouldn't… they'll be waiting…"
"Darling, after tomorrow it will be along time… this may be our last time for a long while."
Slowly she unbuttoned the blouse and revealed the naked body beneath it. Then, deftly, she freed the zipper on the skirt and shrugged, the garments puddling at her feet.
"God," he gasped, "you're so beautiful."
Her breasts were heavy, yet firm and high, creamy white with coral tips that gleamed like beacons of desire. Her shoulders were firm and wide, yet capable of turning to melted butter when the right man put his arms around them. Her ribs poked excitingly against the flawless skin below her breasts, pointing like arrows to her navel, and below.
"Tomorrow," he moaned, stripping the clothing from his own body. "Tomorrow it will all be over."
She oozed back onto the bed and he fell between her legs.
"No, my darling, tomorrow it will just be starting… for us."
Carter fixed a scotch neat and moved to the hotel balcony. The drizzle that had shrouded Paris for the last forty-eight hours had lifted. Now the lights of the city blinked invitingly under a clear, starry sky.
Carter was weary. It had been a long day. But he was also itchy. It had been a good mission, and it had gone well, but he remembered Ludmilla, and for the last few hours he had been wondering how long she would last.
He needed to get her out of his mind.
In the distance he could see the lights of Montmartre and the gleaming dome of Sacre Coeur.
He knew a couple of little cafes around the square up there where he could easily find someone who would chase the thoughts of Ludmilla from his mind. He finished his drink and slipped a tie under his collar. The knot was barely adjusted when the telephone jangled.
"Yeah?"
"Nick, Carpenter at the office."
"Yes?"
"Home calling. They would like you to buzz them back from here."
"I'll be right there."
He cursed, shrugged into his jacket, and went downstairs. It took fifteen minutes to reach the Amalgamated Press and Wire Services offices.
Inside, he punched the proper code into a rear elevator that whisked him to the top floor and the real offices: AXE, Paris branch.
Hal Carpenter waved to him as he entered the computer room. "Use line three on the scrambler phone. It's already open all the way through."
"To whom?"
"To the old man himself."
"Oh, Christ," Carter growled, "there goes my week's vacation."
"Seven-four-seven."
"Ginger, Nick here. What's up?"
"That was quick."
"I'm a slave to command."
"Ill put you through."
Carter waited, and then the gruff, cigar-ruined voice boomed across the sea and half of France. "N3, good job… congratulations."
"Thank you, sir."
"How did the interrogation go?"
"Fine. We have all the contacts, routes, and most of the greedy bastards in the States who were ready to sell. Simonov has agreed to go hot again until the stateside boys can set up a sting."
"Good enough. Where is he now?"
"On his way to London. The MI6 people want to have a go at him tonight. Our boys will fly him out to Andrews in the morning."
"That's what I like," David Hawk said and chuckled. "A neat package. I checked with Alma Control about an hour ago. You asked for a few days."
"Yes, sir. Thought I'd hit Nice, get some sun. Is it off?"
"Not exactly. Remember Lisa Berrington?"
It only took two clicks of his memory bank. "I remember."
"She's got a problem. It's personal, wants to talk to you."
"But she's already talked to you."
"Yes. It's nothing we can do anything about, but we do owe her something."
"Yes, we do," Carter replied, remembering how the woman had looked on the floor of a Hong Kong hotel room with a bullet in her.
It had been an easy mission. No one should have gotten hurt. Lisa Berrington had almost bought the farm.
"I really can't authorize anything, and I won't. But if, after you talk to her, you want to check it out. you can. You're on vacation for a week."
Carter thought of all the beautiful, braless bodies on the pebbly beaches of Nice, and the equally lovely scenery not far away at Cannes and St.-Tropez.
Then he thought of Lisa Berrington.
"You still there, N3?"
"Yeah, I'm still here. You have a number?"
Hawk gave him a stateside number in Alexandria just outside Washington, and he signed off.
"Carpenter?"
"Yeah, Nick?"
"You got anything to drink around here?"
"You know that's against company policy, Nick."
"I didn't ask you about company policy."
"Last drawer down on your right."
It was a cheap brand that Carter hated, but at that point, in that place, it was any port in a storm. At that, it was better than the vodka he'd been slugging down not too many days before.
He poured three fingers in a foggy glass and dialed.
"Hello?"
The voice wasn't recognizable through the distortion on the scrambler line. "Lisa Berrington?"
"Yes."
"Lisa, this is Nick Carter."
"Oh, thank God…"
"I just talked to Washington. I hear you have a problem."
"Lots."
She launched into it, and hardly put a comma or a period in until she was finished. He had wiped out the three fingers by the time she finally wound down.
"That's it in the proverbial nutshell. Not much, huh?"
"I'm afraid not. Why me, Lisa?"
He swore he could hear her swallow hard before she spoke again. "Because you're so damned efficient… and you seem to know so many people all over the world… and Delaine sounded so frightened… I thought you might be able to talk to Stephan and poke around…"
"Whoa, hold it, hold it… slow down, darlin'."
"And if there is anything wrong, I guess I figure you can work miracles. Ginger said you were in Europe. She didn't say where."
Carter thought for a moment, and decided that it didn't matter… now. "I'm in Paris. You said you were coming over?"