For obvious reasons, he could not explain his need for the meeting in a note. It would have to be conveyed face-to-face. His father would take the simple message as urgent enough. Beloved, we must meet as soon as possible but at your convenience. Bucky speculated on pins and needles how long it would take for the note to be collected and in what guise he’d be contacted. The drop was made November 5, three weeks before Dirk Drechsler’s Thanksgiving deadline. He visualized someone checking the cavity in the tree daily—perhaps his aunt’s old retainer?—and seeing that it got to the proper recipient. Bucky was torn. He had little choice but to leave the summons, yet he was in a stew of agony that his response would expose the Black Ghost to increased danger. Dirk Drechsler wasn’t worth it.

Bucky came within an inch of telling him so the previous Thursday night, when the traitor cornered him at the boardinghouse and spoke so close to his face in such a silly attempt to be secretive that a spray of spit struck his cheek. The idiot had thought his spring from bondage would materialize immediately. “Any news?”

“Non,” Bucky gritted, pushing him back. “You must be patient, monsieur. I took the first step to honor your request only today. These things take time.”

“Well, don’t wait too long, amigo.”

His contact came one day later, Friday, in the form of a jostle of his briefcase from his hand as he waited for the metro. “Pardon, monsieur,” the man muttered, bending down to pick up the satchel. Handing it to Bucky, he turned quickly and headed off before it was possible to catch a glimpse of his face. Bucky at first suspected the man might be a pickpocket—Paris was rampant with them—and patted his breast pocket for his wallet containing his papers when he saw a corner of a note peeking from under the flap of the briefcase. He looked around to find that none among the self-absorbed, grim-faced crowd of metro riders had the slightest interest in the square of paper he slipped into his pocket. When the train was underway, he read that the meeting was set that evening at six o’clock in a convenient and accessible bibliotheque publique, a large public library a block from the engineering firm where he worked. The password to expect was Victor Hugo.