Free Risking the World by Dorian Paul Page B

woman was too damn smart, charming, and committed . . . traits she shared with David.  To top it off she was a looker.
    "Are you still on the line?" James asked.
    "Yep, sorry."  Why should it matter to him if the brainy scientist with auburn hair and fierce determination had taken his playboy pal by storm?
    "Anything else?" James asked.
    "Can you double the surveillance on David and Dr. Ashe?  Varat's gonna make a run at them once he sees they're living together, and with extra back-up we might pick up a thread before this blows up on us."
    "I shall.  And may I ask that you not give up on David just yet?"
    "Hear ya."
    Bobby'd flown into London at the crack of dawn this morning, expecting to return to D.C. on the last flight tonight.  But after what he'd learned today he decided to extend his trip, visit Casablanca with David, and judge for himself if his friend could do the job.  He cleared his backlog of requests and authorizations, and it was late evening when he crossed Grosvenor Square and looked back at the American Embassy.  Eero Saarinen's post-war building, crowned by a massive eagle, projected great power.  Appropriate when image matched reality the day conquering Ike rose to the Presidency.  But now the building cowered behind concrete barriers defending the Red, White, and Blue against determined fanatics.
    Bobby's crepe-soled shoes gripped the damp pavement as he walked to the Haybrooke, a small hotel constructed from a series of nineteenth century townhouses.  The historian in him liked staying in Mayfair, established by British nobles during the Regency period of George III.  Nothing wrong with soaking up a touch of aristocracy if he was going to spend time with David, whose Ruskin heritage predated the age of the Prince Regent.
    The impoverished boy in him loved the elegance of the Haybrooke, and the fact that he could afford to splurge once in a while.  There were tea tables off the lobby, and silver bowls of apples on the mahogany reception counter.  But it was the bar, with its old leather globes and game hunting trophies that personified his youthful view of the British Empire.  He took a seat at the rail, ordered a bitter, and wondered if the world on display here ever existed outside his imagination.  Tonight, his only companion was a leggy dark-haired beauty at the end of the run of stools.  East European by her looks, and on the prowl.
    She twisted his way, stretching her beige turtleneck over impressive breasts.  "Hello, I'm Marta.  You just arrived?"
    "Touched down this morning."
    "Good flight?" she asked.  Her accent was Romanian.
    "Dandy."
    "And now it's bedtime, but you're wide awake."
    "Got that right, honey."
    Marta's smile displayed white teeth that must've cost a fortune.  "I can rock you to sleep.  American cowboys tell me I give a good ride."
    This gal was hot!   He wanted to take her up on the offer and maybe he should.  He was the one sleeping alone every night, unlike David who never needed to look for somebody to get laid.  Although it was unlikely Claire Ashe was one of his conquests by the way she practically recoiled at the thought of shacking up with him at Sherborne House.  Remembering her expression made him smile.
    "It's okay for us to get together.  I use protection." Marta patted her small purse.  "You look like a strong man, but I have many –"
    "Thanks, honey, not tonight."  He didn't bother to say he usually carried condoms too, and not only because of disease.  He didn't know who sired him, and wouldn't wish that fate on any kid.
    "Too bad, cowboy.  It would be fun with you.  You seem like a nice man."
    Yep, a nice man who didn't have faith in his best friend. But was that surprising, when he didn't even like his twin brother, Johnny, much less trust him?  He motioned the bartender to refill their glasses.
    After he drained his second pint, a young man in a jogging suit poked his head in the bar and retreated just as quickly.  Had Marta's