The Hostage (Presidential Agent 2)

"Absolutely," Castillo said, and picked up the coffee pitcher.

Delchamps took the cup, added sugar, and stirred it for a moment.

"So there I was, a couple of days ago, when this Lorimer business came up."

"I don't think I follow you," Castillo said.

"The Secret Service guy here is a pal of mine. You know, two old dinosaurs in a forest of young, politically correct State Department flits. Some pal of his called him up and asked him to find Lorimer, and he came to me because he knew I was working on him."

He took a sip of coffee, and then went on: "I knew it was going to go bad, even before the ambassador called me in and asked about Lorimer. He'd had a call from… Whatsername, Cohen, the secretary of state herself."

"Natalie Cohen," Castillo furnished.

"Feisty little broad," Delchamps said. "I like her. Anyway, there I was, about to really bag the little bastard, when somebody blows the whistle on the whole thing."

"You want to explain that?"

"My somewhat cynical makeup made me suspect that somebody in Langley had a big mouth and told somebody in Foggy Bottom that I was about to finish my report on Lorimer. There are people in Foggy Bottom who deeply regret the current feelings of ill will between the Frogs and the United States-and between some senators investigating the oil-for-food scam and the UN-and think it would be just dreadful if we exacerbated those unfortunate situations by suggesting we had information that the Frogs-all the way up to Chirac, and maybe him, too-were involved, and that the bagman was a UN diplomat."

"You thought they were going to kill your report?" Castillo asked.

"Bury it," Delchamps said. "The way Lorimer was buried. If he was lucky."

"Excuse me?" Castillo said.

"It's possible, of course, that he's in Moscow, or maybe Berlin, telling all he knows about who got paid off besides the Russians or Germans. Knowing where the other guys' bodies are buried is a very useful diplomatic tool. It keeps them from talking about where yours are."

"You're suggesting that Lorimer has been killed?" Castillo asked.

"He was lucky if he was killed quick-in other words, just to shut him up. If somebody wanted to know what he knew… They did a real job on his pal, a Lebanese named Henri Douchon, in Vienna. To encourage him to answer questions, they pulled two of his fingernails, and half a dozen of his teeth. Then they cut his throat."

"When was this?" Castillo asked.

"A couple of weeks ago."

"When was the last time anybody saw Lorimer?" Castillo asked.

"Going by his American Express charges, he flew to Vienna on the twelfth of this month. The same day, he bought-or somebody bought using his AmEx card-a train ticket from Vienna here. I don't know if he ever used it; it might be something to throw off anybody looking for him. But he might have come back here. Just don't know. A scenario that occurs to me is that he was grabbed when he went to see his pal Douchon. Then they took him somewhere to ask him questions, or didn't. Following either possibility, they cut him up in little pieces and dropped him into the beautiful Blue Danube. Or he came back here, where they grabbed him, and after he answered their questions, what was left of him was dropped into the Seine."

"Have you considered he might be in hiding?" Castillo asked.

"Sure. Don't think so. My guess is that he's dead. These are very nasty people who wouldn't think twice before they took him out."

"I heard he might have been skimming from the payoff money," Castillo said.

"Could be. I doubt it. He was paid well, of course, but I can't find any trace of big money."

"And you think you would have been able to?"

Delchamps nodded confidently.

"I even got into his apartment," he said. "He had some really nice stuff, antiques, paintings, etcetera. More than he could afford on what the UN paid him, but a lot less, I think, than he would have had had he been stupid enough to try to steal from these guys."

"Okay," Castillo said. "Thanks. But one more question: If, for the sake of argument, he were hiding, where would you guess that would be?"

"In a closet somewhere," Delchamps said. "Or under a bed. Jean-Paul Lorimer was a wimp. He didn't have the balls to be a criminal."

"You knew him?"