The Hostage (Presidential Agent 2)

Assistant Chief Inspector Muller gave Jean-Paul Bertrand time to think this over, and then went on. "One or the other is true, Senor Bertrand. And the question can be simply answered. If you have your passport, then the other is a forgery. And the other Senor Bertrand will be dealt with accordingly. On the other hand, if your passport has somehow been… misplaced… It happens, senor. If it has been misplaced into the hands of the other Senor Bertrand, then he will be dealt with accordingly. I cannot believe that a gentleman of your reputation and standing would loan his passport-"

"I certainly would not!" Jean-Paul proclaimed righteously. "My passport is-or should be-in my safe. I'll get it for you."

"Thank you very much, senor."

"May I offer you a cup of coffee, something to drink, while I get it?"

"No, thank you, senor," Inspector O'Fallon said. "We're on duty."

"I'll be right with you," Jean-Paul Bertrand said. "My safe is in my office, in the rear of the house."

"Thank you, senor," Assistant Chief Inspector Muller said.

"The sitting room is in here," Jean Paul said. "If you'll wait there? Are you sure I cannot offer you anything?"

"Thank you just the same, senor," Muller said. The safe was bolted both to an interior wall and to the floor. Jean-Paul had learned that when he was looking for something in it, it was much easier just to sit on the floor than to bend over and try to look inside. He had done so now.

He had a hell of a time finding the damned passport, but finally did.

A forged passport, I understand. But one with my name on it? What's that all about?

Oh, of course. In case someone checks, there is a valid passport in the name of Jean-Paul Bertrand.

Oh, God, is this incident going to be in the newspapers?

He heard a sound, and looked over his shoulder.

The younger one, Inspector O'Fallon, was standing behind him.

What the hell is he doing in here?

"Inspector O'Fallon, isn't it?" Jean-Paul asked.

"No, not really," Castillo said, in English.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You know how it is, Lorimer. Sometimes people use other names. Will you hand me the passport and stand up, please?"

"What's going on here?"

Castillo snatched the passport from Lorimer's hand as he stepped over him and pushed the safe door open more widely.

Jean-Paul scurried backward on the floor and ran into a set of legs.

Then he felt himself being hauled to his feet.

"Put your hands behind you, please," the man who had said he was Assistant Chief Inspector Muller ordered.

Jean-Paul did as he was told.

He looked around his office.

Muller was doing something with his wrists.

Jean-Paul took a closer look at the face of the man who had said he was Inspector O'Fallon but had just now called him Lorimer, in American English.

But then something else caught his eye.