“Male, and make him handsome, muscular, and well hung.”

“Is the brigadier that way inclined?”

“That remains between the brigadier and his psychotherapist,” she said, “but don’t bother with seduction, just give him a nap and use the opportunity to take some holiday snaps of the two of them in living color and in poses I’ll leave to you and the masseur.”

“Understood. And what disposition of the photographic material shall I make?”

“Everything for my eyes only, and don’t hang on to the negatives. I want it all.”

“I’ll need a signed work order,” he said. “How shall I characterize the operation?”

She handed him the blank form, signed. “Call it therapeutic.” She sent him on his way.

30

Brigadier Fife-Simpson stepped out of customs in Nice and into the main hall. He immediately spotted a man in a dark suit holding a sign bearing his name. He checked his watch. His flight had been forty minutes late, and customs had taken longer than he had expected. Roger handed the man his luggage and followed him outside to the curb, where a Mercedes awaited.

A half hour later, after a drive past many beautiful houses, the car turned into a driveway guarded by a high hedge and drove to the front door of a charming cottage, where two servants met and greeted him effusively and took his luggage inside. He was shown to a large, comfortable bedroom, where a massage table had been set up.

He was offered food and drink and opted for the drink, in order to keep the champagne buzz from the flight going.

“Your massage therapist is due in half an hour,” Marie said. “There is a robe in your bathroom.”

He unpacked, changed into the robe, and was seated in a cushy chair when Marie returned with his large whisky. “Enjoy,” she said.

A few minutes later, his whisky gone, there was a knock on the door and a handsome, muscular, young man in a tight-fitting polo shirt entered, carrying a case. Fife-Simpson had expected a woman, but what the hell.

“Good afternoon,” the young man said. “My name is Pierre.” He set his case on the floor and indicated that Roger should mount the massage table, facedown. “Are you well today?” Pierre asked, helping him get comfortable.

“I’m a bit tired,” Roger said.

“Perhaps what would help is a small injection of vitamin B-twelve,” Pierre said. “I am licensed to administer it, and it will greatly enhance your massage experience.”

“Oh, all right,” Roger replied.

“Just a little pinch,” Pierre said. Roger felt a stab in a buttock. “There, now just relax.” He lowered the sheet and began rubbing Roger’s back.

Roger took a few deep breaths, then drifted off.