“Mr. President, Charles Ferguson.”

“Any progress?” Cazalet was suddenly alert.

“I think you could say that. We managed to trace the lawyer who called himself George Brown.”

And now Cazalet was excited. “The one who saw Riley at Wandsworth?”

“The same.”

“And he told you where she is?”

“He didn’t know.”

“How in the hell can you be sure?” and there was anger there now.

“Let me put you on to Blake Johnson, Mr. President.”

There was a pause, he could hear them talking, and then Johnson’s voice sounded. “Mr. President? Dillon and I questioned the man involved thoroughly and he didn’t know where she is.”

“You’re using the past tense.”

“Yes, well, he’s dead. Let me explain, please.”

When Blake was finished, the President said, “So Judas was just a voice on the phone.”

“That’s obviously the way he runs things. It’s a little like the old Communist cell system. Each individual only knows one or two other people.”

“Like Berger knew this lawyer in Paris, Rocard?”

“That’s right.”

“So, it’s Paris next stop?” Cazalet said.

“Absolutely. Too late tonight, but Dillon and I will be on our way in the morning.”

“Fine, put me back to the Brigadier.”

A moment later, Ferguson said, “Mr. President.”

“What do you think?” Cazalet asked.

“I’ve spoken to a contact in the French Secret Service, very much on the old pals basis. As a boy, Michael Rocard was in Auschwitz, and so was his wife. He was the only survivor of his family.”

“Good God,” the President said. “So that’s why he’s a Maccabee?”

“It would appear so.”

“Right, I can only pray that Blake and Dillon can get the right information out of him.”

Cazalet sat there thinking about it. There was a knock on the door and Teddy entered, a couple of folders under his good arm.

“A few things for you to sign, Mr. President.”

He put one of the folders on the desk and opened it. Cazalet said, “I’ve just had Ferguson and Blake on the phone.”

“Any progress?”

“You could say that,” and the President filled him in.

Teddy was immediately excited. “This guy, Rocard, he must hold the key. Dammit, he must have found out about your daughter and told Judas.”

“That would make sense. Anyway, where do I sign?”

Teddy led him through a number of papers, and when Cazalet was finished, he folded the file and picked it up. As he did so, the other file slipped from beneath his arm, and a few papers scattered. One of them was the charcoal sketch Marie de Brissac had done of the black raven with the lightning in its claws.

It was the President who picked it up. “What in the hell are you doing with this, Teddy?”

“It’s a sketch your daughter did for Dillon, Mr. President. Apparently, Judas has a silver lighter with that crest on it. Dillon thought that as we know Judas served in the Yom Kippur War, it must be a regimental crest. I got hold of a book of Israeli divisional signs, shoulder flashes, crests, everything. Dillon thought that if we knew the outfit, it might be a lead, but I got nowhere.”

“That’s because you’ve been looking in the wrong book,” the President said. “Black raven with lightning in its claws. That’s the 801st Airborne. One of those outfits thrown up from nowhere by the Vietnam War. I took part in a big cleanup operation in the Delta in January of sixty-nine. They were on the left flank.”

“My God!” Teddy said.

“I know,” the President nodded. “Remember what Dillon said? Judas sounded American but denied it. He was lying for obvious reasons. If he served with the 801st, he must be American.”

“You’re damn right he must be an American and you can sure as hell bet, the kind of guy he is, that he was an officer.”

“That makes sense.” The President sat back. “As I recall, they operated out of Fort Lansing. That’s in Pennsylvania. A few of those new airborne units were based there.”

“I’m going to go and check,” Teddy said and made for the door.

The President said, “Just a minute, Teddy. If they’ve got an archives section, which they probably have, you could have a problem if you ask for details of officers who served with the regiment.”

“Somehow I don’t think Judas has his own special Maccabee sitting down there just waiting to see if anyone’s going to make that sort of check, but I’ll be more subtle. Leave it to me.”

Teddy was back within ten minutes. “Yes, they do have an archives setup. I spoke to the curator, a nice lady named Mary Kelly who was just closing up. Twelve airborne units operated out of there. I told her I’m taking time off from the history department at Columbia to do a book on airborne warfare in Vietnam.”

“That’s pretty clever, Teddy, but what in the hell are you looking for?”

“We know he told Dillon his war was the Yom Kippur War. Now that was nineteen seventy-three. He wasn’t in the Six-Day War, which was nineteen sixty-seven. Why not?”

“I take your point.” Cazalet nodded. “Because he was serving in Vietnam.”

“So I’ll check the list of officers serving with the regiment, and I’ll be looking for Jewish officers, naturally.”

“But Teddy, there were a lot of Jewish officers.”

“Sure, my old company commander for one.” Teddy was suddenly impatient and forgot himself. “For Christ’s sake, Jake, it’s better than doing nothing. I can take one of the jets from Andrews in the morning if you’ll authorize it. I’ll be there in no time.”

Jake Cazalet raised a hand defensively. “Okay, Teddy, go with my blessing.” He reached for the Codex phone. “I’ll let Ferguson know.”

Hannah Bernstein drifted up from darkness. The light was very bright from a small chandelier in the vaulted ceiling. The room was paneled in dark wood and seemed very old. The bed enormous. There was dark oak furniture, a large Persian carpet spread across a polished oak floor.

She got to her feet and stood up, swaying a little, then walked to the barred window and looked out. What she saw, although she didn’t realize the fact, was the same view that Marie de Brissac had from her room – the bay, the jetty with the speedboat beside it, the launch on the other side, a night sky bright with stars, moonlight dancing on the water.

The door opened and Aaron entered, followed by David Braun with a tray. “Ah, up and about, Chief Inspector. Coffee for you, nice and black. You’ll feel much better afterwards.”

“Like the last time?”

“I had no option, you know that.”

“Where am I?”

“Don’t be silly. Drink your coffee, then have a shower and you’ll feel much better. The bathroom is through there. This is David, by the way.”

Braun said in Hebrew to Aaron, “Chief Inspector? It’s astonishing.”

Hannah said in the same language, “Go on, get out of here, the both of you.”

He was right about one thing. The coffee helped. She drank two cups, then undressed, went into the bathroom and stood under a cold shower for a good five minutes. She toweled her short hair briskly, then finished it off with the wall-mounted hair dryer.

“All the comforts of home,” she said softly and went back into the bedroom and dressed.

She was standing by the window ten minutes later when the key sounded in the lock. She turned and Aaron opened the door and stood to one side. Judas followed him, a menacing figure in the black jump suit and hood.

He was smoking a cigar and his teeth gleamed in a smile. “So, the great Detective Chief Inspector Hannah Bernstein. What’s a nice Jewish girl doing in a job like yours, when she should be married with three kids?”

“Making chicken soup with noodles for her lord and master?” she asked.

“I like it!” he said in Hebrew. “Sorry about your pal Dillon, but when you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go. Mind you, from what I hear, the bastard has been on borrowed time for years.”