“I did no such thing,” the woman whose breast pin said she was VIVIAN FRANÇOIS replied in a jittery-sounding voice. While her mouth said one thing, her eyes were saying something totally different.

Jack extended the gold shield. “This gives us the authority to turn you over to Interpol, Scotland Yard, your very own DGSE, and the American CIA or MI6.” When François didn’t look impressed, Jack smiled, and said, “Or how about those cuties at Mossad?” That got her attention. “One phone call, and an agent will be here within twenty minutes.” While Vivian François considered her options, Harry held up his shield, his face full of menace.

“This is what I suggest, mademoiselle. We are going to forget we were here yesterday and forget that you lied to us. We are going to ask you again for your cooperation, and for that cooperation, we will be leaving this behind when we leave.” Jack pulled out the wad of euros that represented five hundred American dollars. He held the euros in one hand, his cell in the other. “I have every agency that I just mentioned on speed dial. Mossad is number one. Now, where is Ms. Petrie?”

François started to wring her hands. “I can tell you where I sent her. I cannot tell you if she is still there. She said she would call me, but she has not done so. She did not tell me what trouble she was in, but she did appear to be frightened. I sent her to a friend who . . . how do you say in English, rents rooms by the day? Ah, yes, boardinghouse with meals included, no?”

“Boardinghouse, yes,” Jack said. “Where? Write it down. How long will it take us to get there?” Bingo!

François drew a crude map. “There is no point in explaining since you do not know the area, monsieur. Just give this map to the cab driver. Forty-five minutes by cab if you leave now.”

“Has anyone else been here looking for Ms. Petrie?”

François hesitated. Harry advanced a step and held out the gold shield at eye level. “I think so, yes. My night clerk left me a message that two men came in a little after ten o’clock last evening and asked the same questions you asked. He told them to come back this morning because he knew nothing. The man is . . . how do you say . . . slow. That is why he works at night. Nothing goes on at night.”

“I do not want to frighten you, mademoiselle, but this would be a very good time for you to go somewhere else. For a day or so. Those men do not carry gold shields, and they are not nice like we are. We mean you no harm. I cannot say the same for them. Do you understand what I just said?”