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QUEBEC CAUGHT IN FLYING WHOREHOUSE ."
"I'm not President yet." He laughed. "You will be after the elections."
"They're six months away. Anything can happen between now and then."
"The polls say you're a shoo-in."
"What does Charles say?"
"He never mentions you anymore."
Villon sat down on the bed and trailed his fingers lightly across her belly. "Now that Parliament has handed him a vote of no confidence, his power has evaporated. Why don't you leave him? Things would be simpler for us."
"Better I remain at his side a little while longer. There is much I can still learn of importance to Quebec."
"While we're on the subject, there is something that concerns me."
She began to squirm. "What is it?"
"The President of the United States is speaking to Parliament next week. I'd like to know what he intends to say. Have you heard anything?"
She took his hand and moved it down. "Charles talked about it yesterday. Nothing to worry about. He said the President was going to make a plea for an orderly transition of Quebec independence."
"I knew it," Villon said, smiling. "The Americans are caving in."
Danielle began to lose control and reached out for him.
"I hope you filled the fuel tanks before we left Ottawa," she murmured in a slurred voice.
"We have enough for three more hours' flying time," he said, and then he came down on top of her.
"There is no mistake?" Sarveux said into the phone.
"Absolutely none," replied Commissioner Finn. "My man saw them board Mr. Villon's plane. We've tracked them on air force radar. They've been circling Laurentides Park since one o'clock.
"Your man is certain it was Henri Villon."
"Yes, Sir, there was no doubt," Finn reassured him.
"Thank you, commissioner."
"Not at all, Prime Minister. I'll be standing by."
Sarveux replaced the receiver and paused a moment to rally his senses. Then he spoke into the intercom. "You may send him in now."
Sarveux's face tensed in the first conclusive moment of shock. He was certain his eyes were deceiving him, his mind playing tricks with his imagination. His legs refused to respond, and he could not gather the strength to rise from behind the desk. Then the visitor walked across the room and stood looking down.
"Thank you for seeing me, Charles."
The face bore the familiar cold expression, the voice came exactly as he had known it. Sarveux fought to maintain an outward calm, but he suddenly felt weak and dizzy.
The man standing before him was Henri Villon, in the flesh, completely at ease, displaying the same aloof poise that never cracked.
"I thought . . . I thought you were . . . were campaigning in Quebec," Sarveux stammered.
"I took time out to come to Ottawa in the hope you and I might declare a truce."
"The gap between our differences is too wide," Sarveux said, slowly regaining his composure.
