A voice came over the cruiser’s loudspeaker. “Ahoy, Halcyon. Heave to. We’re coming aboard.”

Susan and Monte exchanged a look. Captain Simpson came hurrying toward them.

“Mr Banks …”

“I heard it. Do as they say. Stop the engines.”

“Yes, sir.”

A minute later, the pulse of the engines stopped, and the yacht lay still in the water. Susan and her husband watched as armed sailors from the Navy cruiser were lowered into a dinghy.

Ten minutes later a dozen sailors were swarming up the ladder of the Halcyon.

The naval officer in charge, a lieutenant commander, said, “I’m sorry to trouble you, Mr Banks. The Italian government has reason to believe that you are harbouring a fugitive. We have orders to search your ship.”

Susan stood there watching, as the sailors started spreading out, moving along the deck and going below to search the cabins.

“Don’t say anything.”

“But …”

“Not a word.”

They stood on the deck in silence, watching the search go on.

Thirty minutes later they were assembled again on the main deck.

“There’s no sign of him, Commander,” a sailor reported.

“You’re certain of that?”

“Absolutely, sir. There are no passengers aboard, and we have identified each member of the crew.”

The Commander stood there a moment, frustrated. His superiors had made a serious mistake.

He turned to Monte and Susan and Captain Simpson. “I owe you an apology,” he said. “I’m terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you. We’ll leave now.” He turned to go.

“Commander …”

“Yes?”

“The man you’re looking for got away on a fishing boat half an hour ago. You should have no trouble picking him up.”

Five minutes later, the Stromboli was speeding toward Marseilles. The Lieutenant Commander had every reason to be pleased with himself. Half the governments of the world had been pursuing Commander Robert Bellamy, and he was the one who had found him. There could be a nice promotion in this, he thought.

From the bridge, the navigation officer called out, “Commander, could you come up here, please?”

Had they spotted the fishing boat already? The Lieutenant Commander hurried up to the bridge.

“Look, sir!”

The Commander took one look and his heart sank. In the distance ahead, covering the horizon, was the entire Marseilles fishing fleet, a hundred identical boats returning to port. There was no way in the world to identify the one Commander Bellamy was on.

Chapter Forty-Seven

He stole a car in Marseilles. It was a Fiat 1800 Spider convertible, parked on a dimly lit side street. It was locked and there was no key in the ignition. No problem. LooKing around to make sure he was not observed, Robert made a rip in the canvas top and shoved his hand inside to unlock the door. He slid inside the car, reached under the dashboard and pulled out all the wires of the ignition switch. He held the thick red wire in one hand while, one by one, he touched the other wires to it until the dashboard lit up. He hooked two wires together, and touched the remaining ones to the two wires hooked together until the engine began to turn over. He pulled out the choke and the engine roared into life. A moment later, Robert was on his way to Paris-

His first priority was to get hold of Li Po. When he reached the Paris suburbs, he stopped at a phone booth. He telephoned Li’s apartment and heard the familiar voice on the answering machine: Zao, mes amis … Je regrette que je ne sois pas chez moi mais il n’yapas du danger queje ne repondepas a votre coup de telephone. Prenez garde que vous attendiez le signal de I’appareil.

Good morning. I regret I am not home, but there is no danger of my not returning your call. Be careful to wait for the tone. Robert counted out the words in their private code. The key words were: Regret … danger … careful.

The phone was tapped, of course. Li had been expecting his call, and this was his way of warning Robert. He had to get to him as quickly as possible. He would use another code they had employed in the past.

Robert walked along the Rue St Honore. He had walked this street with Susan. She had stopped in front of a shop window and posed like a mannequin. Would you like to see me in that dress, Robert? No, I’d prefer to see you out of it. And they had visited the Louvre, and Susan had stood transfixed in front of the Mona Lisa, her eyes brimming with tears …

Robert headed for Le Matin. Half a block from the newspaper office, he stopped a teenager on the street.

“Would you like to make fifty francs?”

The boy looked at him suspiciously. “Doing what?”

Robert scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to the boy with a fifty-franc note.

“Just take this into Le Matin to the Want Ads desk.”

“Bon, d’accord.”

Robert watched the boy go into the building. The ad would get in in time to make next morning’s edition. It read: “Tilly. Dad very ill, needs you. Please meet with him soon. Mother.”

There was nothing to do now but wait. He dared not check into a hotel because they would all have been alerted. Paris was a ticking time bomb.

Robert boarded a crowded tour bus and sat at the back, keeping a low, silent profile. The tour group visited the Luxembourg Gardens, the Louvre, Napoleon’s Tomb in Les Invalides, and a dozen other monuments. And always, Robert managed to lose himself in the middle of the crowd.

He bought a ticket for the midnight show at the Moulin Rouge as part of another tour group. The show started at two a.m. When it was over, he filled in the rest of the night moving around Montmartre, going from small bar to small bar.

Day Twenty-Two

Paris, France

The morning papers would not be out on the streets until five a.m. A few minutes before five, Robert was standing near a newspaper stand, waiting. A red truck drove up and a boy threw a bundle of papers onto the pavement. Robert picked up the first one. He turned to the Want Ads. His ad was there. Again there was nothing to do but wait. At noon, Robert wandered into a small tobacconist shop, where dozens of personal messages were tacked to a board. There were help-wanted ads … advertisements for apartments to let … students seeking roommates … bicycles for sale … In the middle of the board, Robert found the message he was looking for. “Tilly eager to see you. Call her at 50 41 26 45.”

Li Po answered on the first ring. “Robert?”

“Zao, Li.”

“My God, man, what is happening?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“My friend, you’re getting more attention than the President of France. The cables are burning up about you. What have you done? No, don’t tell me. Whatever it is, you’re in serious trouble. They’ve tapped the phone at the Chinese Embassy, my phone at home is tapped, and they’re watching my flat. They’ve been asking me a lot of questions about you.”

“Li, do you have any idea what this is all …?”

“Not over the phone. Do you remember where Sung’s apartment is?”

Li’s girlfriend. “Yes.”

“I’ll meet you there in half an hour.”

“Thanks.” Robert was keenly aware of what jeopardy Li Po was putting himself in. He remembered what had happened to Al Tray-nor, his friend at the FBI. I’m a fucking Jonah. Everyone I come near dies.

The apartment was on Rue Benouville in a quiet arrondissement of Paris. When Robert reached the building, the sky was heavy with rain clouds, and he could hear the distant rumble of thunder. He walked into the lobby and rang the doorbell of the apartment. Li Po opened the door at once.

“Come inside,” he said. “Quickly.” He closed the door behind Robert and locked it. Li Po had not changed since the last time Robert had seen him. He was tall and thin, and ageless.

The two men clasped hands.

“Li, do you know what the hell is going on?”