“Hello, Ed.” I cleared my throat. This was going to be hard, even talking to a machine. “This is Eric Truell. I’m calling you Monday night. You’re going to get some material Tuesday that will upset you a lot. The documents will show that I have been working closely with the CIA on some things. This has all been very complicated. You’ve been so good to me, I owe you an explanation. I’ll give it to you when I see you, which I hope will be soon. I love the Mirror and don’t want to hurt it.”

The watcher pounded the door again. That was all I had to say. I didn’t have anyone else to call.

I didn’t feel like going back to the hotel yet, so I lingered inside the gates of the university for a few minutes, and then walked back down Rue Sherbrooke. Bézy’s men were still tagging along behind. I was looking in the window of a Gianni Versace boutique—gazing at a long-legged mannequin who reminded me of Annie-when one of Bézy’s men ran up behind. “Monsieur Bézy wants you back in the hotel,” he said. “No more walking tonight.”

Back in my room, I ordered an expensive dinner from room service. If I was Bézy’s prisoner, I would at least make him pay for it. The meal arrived on an elaborate cart: smoked salmon, grilled sea bass with crushed tomatoes and tarragon, a hazelnut torte for dessert and a bottle of Chablis. The waiter laid out this feast with care. I wrote a twenty-five-dollar tip on the bill.

But I only picked at the food. The reality was dawning on me that I was a prisoner. I had to get away soon. Already, Bézy was preventing me from roaming the city at will. The next morning, after I refused his offer of employment, he would have to take harsher measures. Certainly he would carry out his threat to send out the dossiers about me and the CIA, but he would want a tidier solution, one that would stop me from making more problems. It seemed impossible that he would allow me to survive as a free actor.

I needed to flee, but I didn’t know how. I wished now that I had spent more time with Frank. I had the fountain pen and the other toys he had given me, but I wasn’t sure I knew how to use them. Fighting my way out of the hotel sounded suicidal; slinking away would be more my style.