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Authors: Stella Rimington
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‘I’ll need to tell Martin.’
‘Of course,’ said Liz, though there was resignation in her voice.
Isabelle said hesitantly, ‘Is he still so . . . obsessed with Milraud?’
Liz sighed, and Isabelle added gently, ‘It’s understandable, Liz. The two of them worked closely together. That must make Milraud’s betrayal very painful.’
‘I know, but I had hoped he was getting over it. There’s been no real sign of Milraud for several years. Just rumours and false leads. Martin used to jump at each one, but the last time there’d been a possible sighting he didn’t seem to feel the need to go rushing off after it. I thought that was a good sign.’
‘This is different, alas.’ They looked through the sheaf of photographs. ‘I’m afraid there can be no doubt. It is Milraud. Which makes it especially galling that he got away.’
Liz shrugged. ‘These things happen.’
Isabelle admired her equanimity. Had their roles been reversed, she liked to think she would have stayed equally calm. But she wouldn’t have bet on it. ‘Anyway,’ she replied. ‘we will do our very best to find him. I’ll get these photographs out straightaway. We’ll check the airlines, the railway stations, the hotels. But I’m afraid he’ll be long gone by now.’
Liz nodded. ‘Unless you think there’s anything I can do here, I need to be getting back to London. I want to send the pictures out to Bruno Mackay. He’s gone out to Sana’a to join the CIA man there whose source gave us this lead. I’ll send the pictures of Numéro Deux too. Maybe someone out there can identify him, though it’s pretty unlikely. He could be absolutely anybody.’ Then, seeming to sense Isabelle’s gloom, Liz added, ‘Cheer up, Isabelle. You may get a break. If Milraud was stupid enough to show up in the Luxembourg Gardens, he may have made some other mistakes as well.’
Chapter 11
Three hours later Isabelle was still in the office, Liz having long gone. Isabelle would have liked her to stay longer, though she knew that there was nothing she could do by sticking around. She liked her English colleague, not least because she was a woman who seemed comfortable with herself. She was intelligent and very focused but she was also attractive and easy to get on with. Too many of Isabelle’s female colleagues seemed so intent on proving to their male colleagues that they were their equals that they lost all femininity.
It also pleased her to see Liz so happy in her relationship with Martin Seurat, even if inevitably it made her a little jealous. Isabelle was divorced. Her former husband was a diplomat; their two careers just hadn’t fitted together and Isabelle had not been prepared to give up hers for her marriage. And nowadays she worked such long and irregular hours that there didn’t seem much prospect that she’d find a successor to him.
She was married to her work , she thought to herself, imagining her own obituary. How ghoulish – she decided to stop feeling sorry for herself and get on with finding Milraud.
Ten minutes later, as she was wishing for the hundredth time she hadn’t given up her beloved Gitanes Blondes, there was a knock on her door.
‘ Entrez ,’ said Isabelle mildly, thinking it was time she went home. Her young son was at her mother’s apartment; he often spent the night there when Isabelle was working late. So often in fact that Isabelle sometimes wondered guiltily if he would grow up thinking he had two mothers. But it wasn’t too late to collect him now.
Her assistant Madeline came in, looking unusually excited. ‘I think we’ve found something. They have been checking the hotels of the inner arrondissements and they’ve discovered where Milraud was staying.’
‘ Was ?’
‘Yes. He checked out two hours ago. A place on the Rue Jacob. He must have gone back there when we lost him. He got the receptionist to call him a taxi.’
‘Where was he going?’
‘The taxi company can’t reach the
‘Of course,’ said Liz, though there was resignation in her voice.
Isabelle said hesitantly, ‘Is he still so . . . obsessed with Milraud?’
Liz sighed, and Isabelle added gently, ‘It’s understandable, Liz. The two of them worked closely together. That must make Milraud’s betrayal very painful.’
‘I know, but I had hoped he was getting over it. There’s been no real sign of Milraud for several years. Just rumours and false leads. Martin used to jump at each one, but the last time there’d been a possible sighting he didn’t seem to feel the need to go rushing off after it. I thought that was a good sign.’
‘This is different, alas.’ They looked through the sheaf of photographs. ‘I’m afraid there can be no doubt. It is Milraud. Which makes it especially galling that he got away.’
Liz shrugged. ‘These things happen.’
Isabelle admired her equanimity. Had their roles been reversed, she liked to think she would have stayed equally calm. But she wouldn’t have bet on it. ‘Anyway,’ she replied. ‘we will do our very best to find him. I’ll get these photographs out straightaway. We’ll check the airlines, the railway stations, the hotels. But I’m afraid he’ll be long gone by now.’
Liz nodded. ‘Unless you think there’s anything I can do here, I need to be getting back to London. I want to send the pictures out to Bruno Mackay. He’s gone out to Sana’a to join the CIA man there whose source gave us this lead. I’ll send the pictures of Numéro Deux too. Maybe someone out there can identify him, though it’s pretty unlikely. He could be absolutely anybody.’ Then, seeming to sense Isabelle’s gloom, Liz added, ‘Cheer up, Isabelle. You may get a break. If Milraud was stupid enough to show up in the Luxembourg Gardens, he may have made some other mistakes as well.’
Chapter 11
Three hours later Isabelle was still in the office, Liz having long gone. Isabelle would have liked her to stay longer, though she knew that there was nothing she could do by sticking around. She liked her English colleague, not least because she was a woman who seemed comfortable with herself. She was intelligent and very focused but she was also attractive and easy to get on with. Too many of Isabelle’s female colleagues seemed so intent on proving to their male colleagues that they were their equals that they lost all femininity.
It also pleased her to see Liz so happy in her relationship with Martin Seurat, even if inevitably it made her a little jealous. Isabelle was divorced. Her former husband was a diplomat; their two careers just hadn’t fitted together and Isabelle had not been prepared to give up hers for her marriage. And nowadays she worked such long and irregular hours that there didn’t seem much prospect that she’d find a successor to him.
She was married to her work , she thought to herself, imagining her own obituary. How ghoulish – she decided to stop feeling sorry for herself and get on with finding Milraud.
Ten minutes later, as she was wishing for the hundredth time she hadn’t given up her beloved Gitanes Blondes, there was a knock on her door.
‘ Entrez ,’ said Isabelle mildly, thinking it was time she went home. Her young son was at her mother’s apartment; he often spent the night there when Isabelle was working late. So often in fact that Isabelle sometimes wondered guiltily if he would grow up thinking he had two mothers. But it wasn’t too late to collect him now.
Her assistant Madeline came in, looking unusually excited. ‘I think we’ve found something. They have been checking the hotels of the inner arrondissements and they’ve discovered where Milraud was staying.’
‘ Was ?’
‘Yes. He checked out two hours ago. A place on the Rue Jacob. He must have gone back there when we lost him. He got the receptionist to call him a taxi.’
‘Where was he going?’
‘The taxi company can’t reach the
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