A Matter of Honor

“If it wasn’t him, how long ago wasn’t it him?”

The officer hesitated. “Twenty minutes, maybe thirty.”

“What make of vehicle?”

The young officer hesitated. “A Citroen, I think.”

“Color?”

“Yellow.”

“Other passengers?”

“Three. Looked like a family. Mother, father, daughter. He was in the back with the daughter. The father said they were engaged.”

Romanov had no more questions.

Jim Hardcastle managed to keep a one-sided conversation going for over an hour.

“Naturally,” he said, “the IMF holds its annual conference in a different city every year. Last year it was Denver in Colorado, and next year it’ll be at Perth in Australia, so I manage to get around a bit. But as the export man you have to get used to a lot of travel.”

“I’m sure you do,” said Adam, trying to concentrate on his benefactor’s words while his shoulder throbbed on.

“I’m only president for a year, of course,” continued Jim. “But I have plans to ensure that my fellow delegates won’t forget 1966 in a hurry.”

“I’m sure they won’t,” said Adam.

“I shall point out to them that Colman’s has had another record year on the export side.”

“How impressive.”

“Yes, but I must admit that most of our profits are left on the side of the plate,” he said, laughing.

Adam laughed as well but sensed that Mrs. Hardcastle and Linda might have heard the line before.

“I’ve been thinking, Dudley, and I’m sure the wife would agree with me, that it would be most acceptable to us if you felt able to join the presidential table for dinner tonight—as my guest, of course.” Mrs. Hardcastle nodded, as did Linda, with enthusiasm.

“I can think of nothing that would give me greater pleasure,” said Adam. “But I fear my commanding officer might not be quite as delighted to hear I had stopped on the way back to England to take in a party. I do hope you’ll understand.”

“If he is anything like my old C.O. I certainly do,” said Jim. “Still, if you should ever be Hull way, look us up.” He took a card out of his top pocket and passed it over his shoulder.

Adam studied the embossed letters and wondered what MIFT stood for. He didn’t ask.

“Where in Dijon would you like to be dropped off?” asked Jim as he drove into the outskirts of the town.

“Anywhere near the center that’s convenient for you,” replied Adam.

“Just holler when it suits you, then,” said Jim. “Of course, I always maintain that a meal without mustard …”

“Can you drop me on the next corner?” said Adam suddenly.

“Oh,” said Jim, sad to be losing such a good listener. And he reluctantly drew the car up alongside the curb.

Adam kissed Linda on the cheek before getting out of the back. He then shook hands with Mr. and Mrs. Hardcastle.

“Nice to have made your acquaintance,” said Jim. “If you change your mind, you’ll find us at the hotel … . Is that blood on your shoulder, lad?”

“Just a graze from a fall—nothing to worry about. Wouldn’t want the Americans to think they’d got the better of me.”