Free Covert One 3 - The Paris Option by Robert Ludlum Page A

relentless as himself. So what else should he expect? Besides, he saw the logic of the question.
    He forced himself to sound more accommodating. “I've heard nothing. But after the assistant ran away when he spotted your men, he stopped for petrol. The people at the station reported the assistant had heard about Emile Chambord's death and was distraught, actually in tears. Devastating grief. That should give the motivation. He couldn't go on without his mentor.”
    “You know nothing more? Not even from your French army headquarters?”
    “Not a word.”
    Mauritania considered. “That doesn't worry you?”
    “No news is good news.” Bonnard gave a cold smile at the clicheacute;.
    Mauritania's nose wrinkled with disgust. “That's a Western proverb as dangerous as it's stupid. Silence in a matter such as this is far from golden. A suicide is difficult to fake well enough to fool police detectives with any brains or experience, to say nothing of the Deuxiegrave;me Bureau. I suggest you or your people find out what the police and secret service actually know about the assistant's death, and find out quickly.”
    “I'll look into it,” Bonnard agreed grudgingly. He adjusted his weight, preparing to stand.
    But Mauritania raised his small hand, and, with a sigh, Bonnard sank back down onto the low, hard chair.
    “One more thing, Captain Bonnard. This friend of Zellerbach'shellip;What do you know about him?”
    Bonnard would soon be missed from work and wanted to leave. He controlled his impatience and said, “The man's name is Lieutenant Colonel Jonathan Smith. He's an old friend of Zellerbach's, a medical doctor, and was sent here by Zellerbach's family. At least that's what Smith told the hospital, and from what I've been able to learn from my other sources, it's accurate. Zellerbach and Smith grew up together in some place called Iowa.” He had trouble pronouncing it.
    “But from what you've also told me about the assassination attempt on Zellerbach at the hospital, this Dr. Smith acted more like a man with combat or police experience. You say he came to the hospital armed?”
    “He did, and I agree his actions were far from medical.”
    “Possibly an agent? Placed in the hospital by someone who's unconvinced by our charade?”
    “If Smith is, he's not CIA or MI6. I'm familiar with all their people in Europe and on the European desks at Langley and London SIS. He's definitely American, so unlikely Mossad or a Russian. And he's not one of ours. That I'd definitely know. My sources within American intelligence say he's simply an army research scientist assigned to a U.S. military medical research facility.”
    “Absolutely American?”
    “The clothes, the manner, the speech, the attitude. Plus the confirmation by my contacts. My reputation on it.”
    “Perhaps he could be a Company man whom you don't know? Langley lies about such things. Their business is to lie. They've grown rather good at it.”
    "My
    contacts don't lie. Plus, he's in none of our files at military intelligence."
    “Could he be an agent from an organization you don't know, or don't have sources to?”
    “Impossible. What do you take us for? If the Second Bureau doesn't know any such organization, it doesn't exist.”
    “Very well.” Mauritania nodded. “Still, we'd better continue to watch him, your people and mine.” He rose in a single fluid motion.
    With relief, Captain Bonnard struggled to his feet from the low chair. His legs felt nearly paralyzed. He had never understood why these desert people were not all cripples. “Perhaps,” he said, massaging behind his knee, “Smith is nothing more than what he appears. The United States thrives on a culture of guns, after all.”
    “But he'd hardly be allowed to carry one to Europe on a commercial flight without some predetermined reason, and a very important one at that,” Mauritania pointed out. “Still, perhaps you're right. There are ways to acquire guns here, too, including for