It was a small Peugeot two-seater. And he recognized the driver.
The car pulled in beside him and stopped. ‘Hello, Max,’ said Nadia Bukayeva, gazing at him from beneath the brim of her fur-fringed hat. ‘You are surprised to see me, yes?’
‘Why are you here?’
‘He sent me to collect you.’
It was futile to pretend he did not know who had sent her. But there was something he genuinely did not know. ‘Why you?’
‘To test you, I think. Maybe to test me also. I was shocked when he told me. Why are you coming over to us?’
Max had expected to be asked the question sooner or later. But he had not expected Nadia Bukayeva to be the one who asked it. He steeled himself. ‘The offer was too good to refuse.’
‘Of course. It always is. But remember: no one will trust you until you prove you can be trusted. That is how it is for all of us.’
‘Did Norris trust you?’
‘I did what I had to do. That is how it is also. But I am glad Sam did not die.’
Max looked her in the eye. ‘You should be.’
‘Because otherwise you would kill me, yes?’
Max did not reply, but went on looking at her. She did not flinch. And neither did he.
‘Will you come with me now?’
‘Where are we going?’
‘To meet him. He is not far. He is waiting for you.’
‘Very well.’ Max tossed his bag into the dicky seat and climbed in beside her. ‘Let’s go.’
Nadia nodded, put the car into gear and started away.
As the car crossed the bridge over the railway line, a shadow detached itself from the larger shadow of the station canopy: a slightly built, dark-skinned young man, dressed in weather-stained army clothes. He briefly shaded his eyes to check the progress of the car, then he turned and moved swiftly along the platform towards the gate into the courtyard.
TO BE CONTINUED
AUTHOR’S NOTE
None of the recorded history of the Paris Peace Conference of 1919 has been altered in this novel. Real people, places and events have been depicted as accurately as possible. I am indebted to the authors of numerous books on the subject for the insights they gave me, most notably Margaret Macmillan (Paris 1919) and the late Harold Nicolson (Peacemaking, 1919). In truth, the conjuring up of the past, whether for fictional or non-fictional purposes, can never be precise. But I am grateful to the staff of the Bibliothèque Historique de la Ville de Paris for helping me make it as precise as it could be in this case. I am also grateful to my good friend Toru Sasaki for providing the Japanese translation of the surname Farngold.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robert Goddard was born in Hampshire and read History at Cambridge. His first novel, Past Caring, was an instant bestseller. Since then his books have captivated readers worldwide with their edge-of-the-seat pace and their labyrinthine plotting. The first Harry Barnett novel, Into the Blue, was winner of the first WHSmith Thumping Good Read Award and was dramatized for TV, starring John Thaw. His thriller Long Time Coming won an Edgar in the Mystery Writers of America awards.
Also by Robert Goddard
Past Caring
In Pale Battalions
Painting the Darkness
Into the Blue
Take No Farewell
Hand in Glove
Closed Circle
Borrowed Time
Out of the Sun
Beyond Recall
Caught in the Light
Set in Stone
Sea Change
Dying to Tell
Days without Number
Play to the End
Sight Unseen
Never Go Back
Name to a Face
Found Wanting
Long Time Coming
Blood Count
Fault Line
For more information on Robert Goddard and his books, see his website at www.robertgoddardbooks.co.uk
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First published in Great Britain
in 2013 by Bantam Press
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Copyright © Robert and Vaunda Goddard 2013
Robert Goddard has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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