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Suite 222
InterContinental Paris
3 rue de Castiglione
Paris, France
1230 5 August 2005
The bellman placed Castillo’s suitcase on the nicely upholstered stand next to the dresser, graciously accepted his tip, and left, pulling the door to the suite quietly closed behind him. Castillo made a beeline for the toilette, voided his bladder, then sat down on one of the double beds. He picked up the telephone and dialed a number from memory.
“United States embassy,” a woman’s pleasant voice answered.
“Monsieur Delchamps, s’il vous plaît.”
The Paris CIA station chief answered on the second buzz: “Delchamps.”
“My name is Gossinger, Mr. Delchamps. Perhaps you remember we met recently in the Crillon?”
Delchamps hesitated just perceptibly.
“Oh, yes. Mr. Gossinger, is it? I’ve been expecting your call. You’re in the Crillon again?”
“The Continental. I was wondering if you were free for lunch.”
“Yes, I am. How does a hamburger sound?”
“You’re not suggesting McDonald’s?”
“No. What you get in McDonald’s is a frenchified hamburger. You can still get a real hamburger in Harry’s New York Bar. It’s right around the corner from the Continental. You want to meet me in the lobby? I can leave here right now.”
“A real hamburger sounds fine. I’ll be waiting. Thank you.”
“Your wish is my command, Herr Gossinger,” Delchamps said and hung up.
Delchamps—a nondescript man in his late fifties wearing a some what rumpled suit—came around the corner from the rue de Rivoli ten minutes later.
He offered Castillo his hand.
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Gossinger. How may I be of service?”
“Why don’t we wait until we get to Harry’s?” Castillo replied.
“Whatever you wish, sir,” Delchamps said.
Castillo eyed him a moment. My chain is being pulled. What’s he up to?
“The Continental has an interesting history, Mr. Gossinger,” Delchamps said as they started down rue de Castiglione toward the Ritz and the Place de l’Opera. “Are you interested?”
“Fascinated,” Castillo said, smiling and playing along.
“There was once a monastery where it now stands,” Delchamps said. “Louis XVI and his girlfriend—‘Let them eat cake’ Marie Antoinette—were staying there just before they were taken over to the Place de la Concorde and had their heads removed in the name of liberty.”
“You don’t say?”
“It’s absolutely true.”
“Thank you for sharing that with me.”
