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.Jean could hear him ascending the knotty-pine stairs, and then he heard the murmur of his voice echoing through the stone basement.Nicky made Jean turn and resume his kneeling position, burrowing the barrel of the pistol into the back of his neck.As they waited, the high boss of the Glaives peppered the DGSE agent with insults, ranging from distaste over Jean’s height to his presumably small penis size.Jean listened to each one with narrowed eyes, his psychological education at work in trying to diagnose Nicky Arnaud.Just before Marcel rushed down the stairs, the diagnosis came in:Psychopath.Pure and simple.“Nicky! He’s not lying.Hartline’s a real shadow, a true spook.” Marcel appeared from the curved hallway, breathing heavily.The dog was with him, appearing happy to be involved.Nicky eased the pressure of the gun.“Who told you this?”“I checked two of our assets.The one in Bonn and the one in Frankfurt.The polizei and BKA have scaled back their search.The guy was a false front.No one knows anything about him.”“So why me?” Nicky asked in a challenging voice, turning his attention back to Jean.“Why would a CIA agent be dicking around with me? Aren’t they concerned with their own national security? What the fuck would they want with me?”Jean’s mind danced.He turned his head enough to see him from one eye.“Hartline killed Leon, didn’t he? Was he mixed up in anything, perhaps doing something that could be perceived as a threat to the U.S.or its allies?”“Maybe,” Nicky said shrugging.“We do business with all types.” His head shook as he appeared to be considering everyone they worked with.Finally he shook his head.“I don’t think so.”“Just be glad it was him and not you,” Jean answered solemnly.“So they’re done? They killed Leon and that’s it?” Nicky asked, sounding dubious.“Probably,” Jean answered.“Trust me, if the CIA wanted you dead, you would already be producing maggots.”Marcel narrowed his eyes but said nothing.“What about the books?” Nicky asked.“The diaries? Props, most likely.Just a way to get to Leon through the man who owed him money,” Jean answered coolly.“The CIA is visionary in its inventiveness.Think about it…using a gay book dealer to get to a mobster.Leon would have never expected a threat to develop there.” Jean’s voice trailed off as he shook his head in a mist of reverie over the plot.He risked standing.“Hartline is most assuredly long gone.I’d forget about him and move on.”Marcel was frowning, shaking his head, an almost amused look on his face.“Okay, so according to you this guy Hartline is CIA, right?”“Yes,” Jean answered cautiously.“So if that’s the case, who the hell was the girl that Luc and Bruno killed?”Jean forced a regretful look.“Probably some poor bimbo that Hartline used as a pigeon.I saw her picture.Beautiful.An absolute shame.You probably did Hartline a favor by wiping her out.”The two mobsters were silent, their minds processing what they had both just learned.Jean tapped out a cigarette, not offering one to either man.“And this is how the CIA operates, gentlemen.Death, to them, is only a means to an end.Their end.” He lit the cigarette, the streams of smoke from his Romanic nose dual wisps of curving ribbon in the still, cold air.“What a story,” Marcel said, eyeing Jean.Napoleon trotted into the safe, sitting by Marcel, leaning against his leg.Nicky was oblivious to Marcel’s tone.He walked from the safe, standing between the wine racks, rubbing his head.“So this entire deal, the whole production of sucking in Leon and Bruno with valuable books, was all bullshit just so the CIA could eliminate Leon?”Jean looked at Marcel.He nodded almost imperceptibly.Jean took the cue.“Yes, Nicky, it’s over.”Nicky gathered himself, taking great breaths of the cool cellar air.He looked at Jean through slit eyes.“You still here?”“Do you need anything else?” Jean asked.Nicky spat at him.“Get the fuck out of my house.”***Frankfurt, GermanyIt was nearly eleven p.m.when Captain Ellis exited Colonel Barron’s office.Jim Sorgi was waiting on him in the staff room, sipping a cup of scorched coffee in an effort to stay awake.He heard the door down the hall slam shut before Ellis walked in, his face telling nothing.“Well?” Sorgi asked, standing with open hands.Ellis stared at him for a long moment, finally allowing the hint of a smile.“He gave us the go-ahead and a short rope.A very thin, brittle, ultra-short rope.”“What’s that mean? We can investigate?”“On a low profile,” Ellis answered, making a lowering gesture with his hands.“That means nothing public.”Sorgi was confused.“So what do we do?”Ellis walked to the computer and logged on.He opened the U.S.Army’s Personnel and Records access program, pointing to the green-and-black screen as the cursor blinked
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