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Fournier took a sip of wine and said, “They pay handsomely for information. That’s the most important thing.”
“Have they ever threatened you?”
Fournier smiled. “They have a few uncivilized types, but Max keeps them in line. You’ll like Max. He’s a good man. He’s not one of these radicals who’s always threatening to blow things up.”
Cooke laughed. “Well, as long as Max can keep them in line, this should go well.”
Fournier looked at his watch, drained his wine, and said, “We should go. I like to keep them waiting, but not too long.”
“What time were we supposed to meet with them?”
“One.”
Cooke checked his own watch and frowned. It was 1:38. Both men stood. Fournier pulled back the curtain of their private room and made for the front door. Several patrons tried to get Fournier’s attention and many more were staring and whispering. Fournier ignored them all. When they reached the front door, Fournier’s security officer and Mermet were waiting. Mermet looked to be on the verge of an anxiety attack.
Fournier pulled him aside and asked, “More bad news?”
“Yes. The president’s office called. They want to see the file.”
Fournier inhaled through his nose. “That bitch has really caused me some trouble.” He fished out a cigarette and said, “Tell them I am tied up debriefing a high-level intelligence asset and that we will get them the file tonight.”
Mermet nodded and they started across the street. Fournier offered Cooke a cigarette but he declined, telling his friend that he still rowed and it wasn’t good for his lungs. Fournier pretended not to hear a word he said.
The Hotel Balzac was directly across the street. They continued up the carpeted steps and stopped under the circular portico. Fournier turned to Mermet and said, “Wait down here. This should take thirty minutes or so.” The truth was that Fournier didn’t want too many eyes and ears around what was about to happen. A sizable amount of cash was going to change hands, and depending on how the meeting went, Fournier might be tempted to get into his car and drive straight for Switzerland when it was over.
He and Cooke proceeded across the lobby to the elevator bank. There were more stares and one person who tried to approach him, but Fournier kept his eyes front and center and pushed through. Fortunately, the middle elevator was available. He pressed the top button and in less than a minute they were on the top floor of the six-floor hotel. At the far end of the hall Max’s bodyguard was standing post outside the hotel’s nicest suite.
“Hello, Omar,” Fournier called out. “Sorry we’re late.”
Omar didn’t smile. He stepped forward and in very choppy French said, “Open your jackets.”
“Must we always do this, Omar? This is my country, after all.”
“Rules,” was all he said.
After he was done making sure they weren’t carrying guns, Omar pulled out a key and opened the door. Fournier entered first, with Cooke just a step back. They moved into the large main room, where Max was casually reclined on one of the three sofas.
“Max,” Fournier said enthusiastically. “Good to see you.”
“Yes,” Max said with a wink and a nod toward the TV. “I see you have had a very rough day.”
Fournier dismissed the comment with a scoff. “In this business, Max, I have weathered far worse.”
“Yes, I’m sure you have.” Max turned to Cooke and extended his hand. “I have been looking forward to meeting you for some time.”
“And me as well,” Cooke replied.
“Please sit. Is there anything I can get either of you?”
“No, thank you,” Fournier answered for both of them. “We just finished lunch and we’re on kind of a tight schedule.” He sat on one of the big sofas and Cooke sat down next to him.
“I see.” Max took the insult in stride and sat across from them. “So you would like to get down to business.”
“That would be great. As you know, thanks to your friend Samir over there, I have some other problems I’m trying to deal with.”
Cooke hadn’t noticed the man with the bandage on his face until now. He smiled at him but received no warmth in return.
Fournier asked, “Where is Rafique?”
