Free Midnight in Europe by Alan Furst

followers, but, if you can do something for them, they will give you whatever they need to.”
    “And that’s what you did.”
    “Made sure to do. I had a taste of life as a ‘stateless person,’ not a pleasant way to live, all kinds of civil servants will torment you, not to mention the police, because to be stateless is somehow a crime. For me, I made the mistake of being born in a little ghetto village in what was sometimes Russia, though it isn’t now, with no record of my birth.”
    “You are Jewish?”
    “Some of my ancestry was, some not. My mother died when I was seven, I was then raised on an estate in Poland, not welcomed, tolerated as the result of a youthful indiscretion. I left there when I was fourteen and have been looking after myself ever since.”
    “You appear to have survived it.”
    De Lyon nodded. “You grow up quickly, or not at all.” He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Speaking of ‘stateless persons,’ I’m sure you’re aware of your own situation.”
    “How so?”
    “You carry a Spanish passport?”
    “I do.”
    “If Franco wins this war, some members of the Spanish émigré community will still be considered as enemies. Especially those known to have worked for the Republic and against Franco. They already have a list, of course, with new names added as they are discovered. For example, working with this office is likely to landyou on the list, and I doubt a victorious Franco Spain would renew your passport. And that will mean your name would appear on a French list too. I believe resident-alien status has to be renewed, not so?”
    “Yes, it does. How can you be so sure my name will be on their list?”
    “There are some people in this embassy who work secretly for the other side. And Franco maintains a considerable spy service in Paris, they may have watched you enter the building.”
    “Well, there’s not much I can do about their list. As for my legal status, in an emergency my law firm would help me get American citizenship, we already work with clients who have nationality problems and in some cases we do that without charge.”
    “Then you will be safe. Still, I tell you all this by way of saying that I won’t think badly of you if, on reflection, you wish to make use of the door.”
    Ferrar’s reply was gentle but firm. “No, I said I would try to help, and I tend to keep my word.”
    “Very well, a trait I admire. Would you like to see what you are getting yourself into?”
    “I might as well.” He paused, then said, “Are you the director of the Oficina Técnica?”
    De Lyon was amused. “I believe they pay me as a technical consultant. But there is a nominal director, a diplomat who has served this embassy for thirty years, he has on his desk an in-tray, and an out-tray, and every day he moves papers from one to the other. He does process payment vouchers when I ask him to, you will be shocked to learn the amount of money that flows through this office. Now, to get you into trouble as soon as possible, would you care to join me at eleven this evening? A visit to a nightclub?”
    “Where shall we meet?”
    “I’ll pick you up at eleven, if you’ll tell me where you live.”
    Ferrar gave de Lyon his address. “I’ll be in front of the building,” he said.
•
    Ferrar heard de Lyon coming before he caught sight of him. From one of the streets that ran downhill to the Place Saint-Sulpice came the fierce whine of a small, powerful engine, which paused for a growl as the driver used a downshift instead of the brakes, then whined again, the sound echoing off the church on the square. De Lyon pulled up in a British two-seater, a blue sports car with a soft top and a leather strap across the hood. Ferrar folded himself into the passenger seat, de Lyon said good evening, then put the car into first gear and away they flew. “Do you like it?” de Lyon shouted over the engine.
    “Yes. What is it?”
    “What?”
    “What is it.”
    “Oh, a