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Her face took on a cold determined look. "Only when Charles lies in the grave will Quebec become an independent socialist nation."
"You want your husband dead for a cause?" he asked skeptically. "Has your love turned to such hatred that he has become nothing to you but a symbol to be eliminated?"
"We never knew love." She took a cigarette from a box on the nightstand and lit it. "From the beginning, Charles' only interest in me was a need for a political asset. My family's social standing provided him with entrde to society. I've supplied him with some sterling polish and style. But I've never been anything to Charles except a tool to enhance his public image."
"Why did you marry him?"
She drew on the cigarette. "He said he was going to be Prime Minister someday, and I believed him."
"And then?"
"Too late, I discovered Charles was incapable of affection. I once sought a passionate response. Now I cringe every time he touches me."
"I watched the news conference at the hospital on television. The doctor who was interviewed told how your anxiety and concern for Charles touched the hearts of the medical staff."
"Pure theatrics." She laughed. "I'm pretty good at it. But then I've had ten years of rehearsal."
"Did Charles have anything interesting to say during your visit?"
"Nothing that made any sense. They had just wheeled him out of the surgical recovery room. His mind was still numb from the anesthetic. He spoke mostly gibberish, raked up the past, a memory of an auto accident that killed his mother."
Danielle's lover slid out of bed and stepped into the bathroom. "At least he didn't babble away defense secrets."
She inhaled on the cigarette and let the smoke trickle from her nostrils. "Maybe he did."
"Go on," he said from the bathroom. "I can hear you."
"Charles instructed me to tell you to increase security at James Bay."
"Sheer nonsense." He laughed. "They have twice the amount of guards required to cover every square inch as it is."
"Not the whole project. Only the control booth."
He came to the doorway, wiping his bald head with a towel. "What control booth?"
"Above the generator chamber, I think he said."
He looked puzzled. "Did he elaborate?"
"Then Charles mumbled something about 'great peril for Canada if the wrong people discover' . "
"Yes, discover what?"
She made a helpless gesture. "He broke off because of the pain."
"That was all?"
"No, he wanted you to consult with somebody called Max Roubaix."
"Max Roubaix?" he repeated, his expression skeptical. "Are you certain that was the name he used?"
She stared at the ceiling, thinking back, then she nodded. "Yes, I'm positive."
"How odd."
Without further elaboration he reentered the bathroom, stood in front of a large full-length mirror and struck a pose known in muscle control jargon as a vacuum. Exhaling and sucking in his rib section, he expanded his rib cage, straining until the network of blood vessels seemed to erupt beneath the skin's surface. Next he did a side chest shot, left hand on right wrist, arm against upper torso.
Henri Villon studied his reflection with critical concern. His physique was as ideal as physically possible.
