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.Le Saux smiled with his mouth, not his eyes, as he waved to a waiter in a white apron, who was swabbing dirt around on an empty table.“Deux marcs, s'il vous plat.”Captain Marius said, “You're the one who called?”“That's right.”“You said there were dollars? One hundred of them?”Carsten Le Saux reached into his trouser pocket and produced a hundred-dollar bill.As he laid it on the table, the captain nodded but did not pick it up.Their marcs arrived.The captain reached for his.The two men sipped slowly.At last Le Saux said, “I've heard you and your boat had a close call at sea a few nights ago.”“Where did you hear? From who?”“From a source.He was convincing.He said you were almost run down by some large vessel.A rather unpleasant experience, I expect.”Captain Marius studied the hundred-dollar bill.He picked it up and folded it into an ancient leather pocket purse he produced from somewhere.“It was two nights ago.Fishing had been bad, so I sailed out to a bank I know and most others don't.It was where my father would go when there was no catch closer in.” He took a half-crushed packet of cigarettes printed in Arabic from his shirt pocket and extracted a pair of bent, foul-smelling, Algerian cigarettes.Le Saux took one.Marius lit both, blew a toxic cloud into the air of the curtained room, and leaned closer.His voice was intense, as if he were still shaken by the event.“It came out of nowhere.Like a skyscraper or a mountain.More like a mountain, because it was a behemoth.Only moving.A moving, mountainous behemoth, bearing down on my little boat.No lights inside or outside, so it was darker than the night itself.Later I saw it did have its running lights on, but who could see them so far above, eh?” He sat back and shrugged, as if it no longer mattered.“It missed us to port.We were nearly swamped, but here I am.”“The Charles de Gaulle?”“Or the Flying Dutchman, hein?”Carsten Le Saux also sat back, thoughtful.“Why would she be running dark? Were there destroyers? Other ships?”“I saw none.”“What was her course?”“From her wake, I'd say south-southwest.”Le Saux nodded.He waved to the waiter again and ordered another pair of marcs.He pushed back his chair, rose, and smiled down at the fishing boat captain.“Merci.Be careful out there.” He paid the waiter as he left.Twilight had turned into indigo night.On the crowded waterfront, the pungent odors of fish and alcohol filled the air.Le Saux paused to gaze at the rows of masts and listen to the lulling sound of ropes slapping against wood hulls.The ancient harbor had supported one city or another here since the days of the Greeks in the seventh century B.C.He turned and gazed around as if he were a tourist, then he walked quickly along above the quays.To his left, on a hill high above Marseille, stood the ornate basilica of Notre-Dame-de-la-Garde, the modern city's guardian, aglow with light.At last, he turned into an old brick building on a narrow side street and climbed the stairs to a two-room apartment on the fourth floor.Once inside, he sat on the bed, picked up the phone, and dialed.“Howell.”Le Saux grumbled, “How about a pleasant 'good evening'? I retract that.Considering your generally surly nature, I would accept a simple 'hello.'”A distant snort at the far end of the line.“Where the devil are you, Carsten?”“Marseille.”“And?”“And the De Gaulle was at sea southwest of Marseille a few hours before General Moore reappeared at Gibraltar.I checked before I talked to the captain of the fishing boat and also discovered there were no NATO or French naval exercises scheduled at the time.Actually, none this week at all.The De Gaulle was heading farther south and west toward the Spanish coast.And get this, she was running dark.”“Dark, was she? Interesting.Good job, Carsten.Thanks.”“It cost me two hundred American.”“More likely one hundred, but I'll send the hundred in pounds.”“Generosity is its own reward, Peter.”“Would it were so, would it were so
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