But his buddy started to walk away, the sight of that familiar flapdoodle stride of his like a dart to Dirk’s homesick heart. What to do? In minutes he’d lose him in the dark. He ached to run after him and call his name: Chris, Chris, it’s me! But that could be a bad move for both of them. If Chris was undercover—what was he doing here if he wasn’t?—his buddy wouldn’t welcome being recognized, especially by one he thought of as the enemy. He’d take off like a rocket and be lost to him in this city of millions. Dirk would never find the best friend he’d ever had to make things right between them. He settled for following him. Chris was probably heading to his living quarters because of the curfew. Learning where his friend could be contacted, his link to home, would be enough for now.

*  *  *

The call from his man in Paris came through for Alistair at six o’clock that evening. Alistair’s mouth felt like a tobacco bin, his stomach a coffee grinder. A full wastebasket of empty cigarette packs and coffee rings on his desk explained the kind of day he’d had waiting for the phone to ring. “You’re not going to like my report,” Henri warned him.

“I wasn’t expecting to,” Alistair said.

“They’re staying. To a man and a woman, they elected to remain in Paris. I tried my best to persuade them to leave, Alistair.”

Alistair thought first of the son of Joanna Bukowski Hudson. She would never forgive him. Then of the little ball of fire, Bridgette Loring. The others’ faces, every one dear to him, swam in, and Alistair closed his eyes with a sigh of resignation. “I’m sure you did, Henri,” he said. “I suspected your mission was futile, but it was worth a shot. Please tell me, though, that they made their decisions based on what was best for them individually, not as a team.”

“I wasn’t allowed the privilege of hearing their conversation, so I can’t say. All I can tell you is that they wished me to assure you that each had a valid reason for remaining. They all agreed that they had invested too much, that their missions were too important to abandon now. They thought the advantage of being forewarned was protection enough.”

Alistair rubbed his forehead wearily. “What naivete. One loose thread can unravel the whole ball of twine. How many times did I tell them that?” He reached to extract another cigarette from its wrapping, reconsidered, and sent the package flying across the room with an angry swipe of his hand. “How did they look?” he asked, swiveling his chair around to a window that offered a distant view of the snow-covered Swiss alps.