apocalypse watch | Page 8

know what I cannot know, but forever you are my father and mother, and you know that.”

The telephone rang, startling them all.

“The press doesn't have this number, does it?” asked Julian.

“Not that I'm aware of,” replied Jean-Pierre, turning to the phone on the dressing table.

"Only you, Giselle, and my agent have it; not even my attorney or, God forbid, the owners of the theater.. ..

Yes?" he said gutturally.

“Jean-Pierre?” asked his wife, Giselle, over the telephone.

“Of course, my dear.”

“I wasn't sure-”

“I wasn't either, that's why I altered my voice. Mother and Father are here, and I'll be home as soon as the newspapers give up for the night.”

“I think you should find a way to come home now.”

4 “What?”

“A man has come to see you-”

“At this hour? Who is he?”

“An American, and he says he has to talk to you. It's about tonight.”

“Tonight .. . here at the theater?”

“Yes, my dear.”

“Perhaps you shouldn't have let him in, Giselle.”

"I'm afraid I didn't have a choice. Henri Bressard is with him.

"

“Henri? What does tonight have to do with the Quai d'Orsay?”

“As we speak, our dear friend Henri is all smiles and diplomatic charm and will tell me nothing until you arrive.. .. Am I right, Henri?”

“Too true, my dearest Giselle” was the faint reply heard by Villier.

“I know little or nothing myself.”

“Did you hear him, my darling?”

“Clearly enough. What about the American? Is he a boot? just answer yes or no.”

“Quite the contrary. Although, as you actors might say, his eyes have a hot flame in them.”

“What about Mother and Father? Should they come with me?”

Giselle Villier addressed the two men in the room, repeating the question.

“Later,” said the man from the Quai d'Orsay, loud enough to be heard over the telephone.

“We'll speak to them later, Jean-Pierre,” he added even louder.

“Not tonight.”

The actor and his parents left the theater by the front entrance, the night watchman having told the press that Villier would appear shortly at the stage door.

“Let us know what's happening,” said Julian as he and his wife embraced their son and walked to the first of the two taxis called from the dressing-room phone. Jean-Pierre climbed. into the second, giving the driver his address in the Pare Monceau.

The introductions were both brief and alarming. Henri Bressard, First Secretary of Foreign Affairs for the Republic of France and a close friend of the younger Villiers for a decade, spoke calmly, gesturing at his American companion, a tall man in his mid-thirties with dark brown hair and sharp features, albeit with clear gray eyes that were disturbingly alive, perhaps in contrast to his gentle smile.

“This is Drew Latham, Jean-Pierre. He is a special officer for a branch of U.S. Intelligence known only as Consular Operations, a unit our own sources have determined to be under the combined authority of the American State Department and the Central Intelligence Agency.. .. MY God, how the two can get together is beyond this diplomat!”

“It's not always easy, Mr. Secretary,” said Latham pleasantly, if haltingly, in broken French, “but we manage.”

“Perhaps we should speak English,” offered Giselle Villier.

“We are all fluent.”

“Thank you very much,” the American responded in English.

"I

don't want to be misunderstood."

“You won't be,” said Villier, “but please be aware that we-l-must understand why you are here tonight, this terrible night. I have heard things this evening that I have never heard before-are you to add to them, monsieur?”

“Jean-Pierre,” broke in Giselle, “what are you talking about?”

“Let him answer,” said Vilher, his large blue eyes riveted on the Americari.

“Maybe, maybe not,” replied the intelligence officer.

“I know you've talked to your parents, but I can't know what you talked about.”

“Naturally. But it's possible you might assume a certain direction in our conversation, no?”

“Frankly, yes, although I don't know how much you'd been told before. The events of tonight suggest that you knew nothing about Jean-Pierre jodelle.”

“Quite true,” said the actor.

“The Soret@, who also know nothing, questioned you at length and were convinced you were telling the truth.”

“Why not, Monsieur Latham? I was telling the truth.”

“is there another truth now, Mr. Villier?”

“Yes, there is.”

“Will you both stop talking in circles!” cried the actor's wife.

“What is this truth?” “Be calm, Giselle. We are on the same wavelength, as the Americans say.”

“Shall we stop here?” asked the Consular Operations officer.

“Would you rather we speak privately?”

“No, of course not. My wife is entitled to know everything, and Henri here is one of our closest friends, as well as a man trained to keep his own counsel.” - “May we sit down,” said Giselle firmly.

“This is too confusing to absorb standing up.” When'they had taken their seats, hers next to her husband's, she added, “Please continue, Monsieur Latham, and I beg you to be clearer.”

I “I should like to know,” broke in Bressard, every inch the government official, “who is this