Teddy gave up. There was no help for it, he was just going to have to break into Fahd’s room again and search for a note or an e-mail regarding flight time.
Teddy went over to the bar and ordered a drink. Ever careful, he didn’t want the Syrians to see him leaving right after his chat with Fahd. An alert spy might notice the correlation, and realize the Texan had come to the party just to talk to them. It was the type of thing Teddy would notice, and anything Teddy could do, he had to assume could be done. The fireplug assassin didn’t look very swift, but it was impossible to tell what he thought. It would not hurt to appear social.
Teddy got himself a bourbon on the rocks and headed happily to the snack table, favoring the company with a liberal sprinkling of comin’-throughs and pardon-me-ma’am’s. He reached the finger foods, snagged a pig in a blanket, dipped it in mustard, and popped it in his mouth. “Don’t tell me that’s French,” Teddy said, helping himself to another one.
Teddy spotted one of the Syrian scientists at the bar refilling his drink. It was Dr. Chaim, the zoologist, the more compliant of the two.
Teddy set his full drink on the tray of a passing busboy, strode up to the bar, and ordered another bourbon on the rocks. He turned and pretended to see the zoologist for the first time.
“Hey, there, buddy,” he said heartily, slapping the zoologist on the shoulder. “Show’s over. We all go home tomorrow. What time are you taking off? My plane leaves at three, but you guys got your own plane, don’t you?”
Dr. Chaim was in the middle of paying for his drink, but it was not in him to be rude. “Dr. Badim and I are on a commercial flight. It doesn’t leave until five.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. Your buddies will be home by then. Aren’t they leaving in the morning?”
“Yes, they leave at eleven.”
“Well, you have a safe trip, buddy.” Teddy saluted him with his drink, and headed back toward the snack table. Not that he wanted another pig in a blanket, but from there he could see what Fahd was doing.
Teddy was in luck. Fahd’s back was turned, and he wasn’t paying attention to him at all. Teddy began working his way toward the door.
Kristin came in. She was not dressed for the party, she wore conservative, comfortable clothes, suitable for travel. She had clearly just come from the airport, probably had checked her bags with the concierge. As Teddy watched, she wove her way through the crowd.
Teddy frowned. Was Rene Darjon here? He hadn’t seen him, and the Silver Fox was hardly inconspicuous.
Teddy followed Kristin, keeping parallel to her as she crossed the floor. She was heading toward Fahd, which didn’t compute, until she veered off and began weaving a path behind him out of his line of sight.
Had she flown back from London for a new mission involving Fahd?
As she went by, Teddy saw her slip something into the side pocket of Fahd’s jacket.
Kristin vanished in the crowd before she could be spotted, let alone identified. Fahd turned to see who had bumped him, but she was gone. He put his hand in his pocket, and came out with a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it, read it to himself. He frowned and took a glance around him. Then he tore it in half, tossed it into a garbage bin, and walked away.
Teddy pushed his way out of the grand ballroom. He reached the lobby in time to see Kristin pull a carry-on bag out the front door. He would have liked to follow her, but he needed to know what the message said.
By the time he returned to the ballroom, the Syrians had made their way across the room. Teddy quickly downed the rest of his bourbon and placed the disposable cup into the garbage can.
Nobody noticed the two tiny slips of paper discreetly tucked in his hand.
* * *
• • •
TEDDY WALKED TOWARD the men’s room, tipping his hat to fellow conference-goers along the way, went in, and closed himself in a stall.
He straightened the crumpled pieces of paper and fit them together.
It was a note:
It’s a go. Leave as scheduled.
87.
TEDDY WENT UP to his room and took off his Stetson hat, his cowboy boots, and the rest of his Floyd Maitland outfit. He got out his makeup kit, went in the bathroom, and changed his appearance to that of Agent Felix Dressler. He put on a suit and tie, and his shoulder holster. He slipped his CIA credentials into his pocket, not that he expected to need them, just out of habit.
He went out front and hailed a cab. He got out two blocks from Kristin’s apartment building and walked the rest of the way. He breezed through the lobby door as another tenant was leaving, and went upstairs.
Teddy took care not to make a sound picking the lock on the apartment door. He eased it open.
Kirstin stood there holding a gun. Her mouth fell open. “I thought you left.”
“I came back.”
“What are you doing here?”
“It would appear I’m about to be shot.”
Kristin looked at the gun in her hand. “Oh.” She lowered it. “Why are you here? I’m pleased to see you, of course, but it’s so late. I just got back from London. I was babysitting an ambassador’s wife.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“I tried to get out of it. Norton was being a prick.”
“I can imagine.”
“I’m beat. Could we do this tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Teddy walked her into the living room, and sat with her on the couch. He gently took the gun from her hand, and laid it on the coffee table.
“What’s so urgent?” Kristin said.
Teddy smiled wistfully. “Oh, I think you know.”
“Believe me, I haven’t got a clue.”
“Oh, I think you do. You’re very smart. You played me, and not many people can play me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t embarrass yourself. You’re the mole. You knew I was in Paris to find you. That’s why you made a play for me, to learn my game. The first night, you went through my pockets while I was asleep. You found the keys to the train station lockers. You snuck out, searched the lockers, found the passports, and figured out what I was up to.
“You said Workman wasn’t interested in you, but anybody could see that wasn’t true. You used him, ended your relationship, but kept him dancing on a string. You made a play for him to gather intel, pumped him for information, found out he’d searched one of the lockers. Got him to tell you the name on the passport. Then you got word to the Syrians to start an Internet search for that name, so I’d think Workman was the mole.”