"Don't turn around, but that is probably one of your M. Beret's boys who just swung in behind us."
"Why do you keep calling him 'my' M. Beret? He isn't mine. If anything he's yours. You're the one who dined with him last night. I didn't even eat." I could see headlights in the rearview mirror.
Jeno accelerated slightly and turned into the narrow street. "I'll drop you just past that warehouse, up there, on the right. You'll have to jump out while the car is moving. Are you trained for that?" It wasn't a skill we used in Pyongyang, but that was no business of Mossad.
"See you around," I said and reached for the door handle.
"You might want to release your seat belt first, Inspector."
"European sequencing," I said. Fortunately, we had slowed enough so that when I jumped out, I only stumbled against a lightpost and fell into a pile of boxes. Jeno?s car disappeared; the one that had been following us squealed around the corner and roared past.
When I limped in the front door of my hotel, M. Beret was sitting with a book in his lap, dozing. He looked up when the door clicked shut.
"Ah, Inspector. Alarm bells have been ringing. Your mission is in an uproar wondering where you are. The talks were recessed and angry words have been exchanged. Your side says you have been kidnapped. Quite exciting. And you? Been skiing on the Italian side?"
"I don't ski."
"Then you must have bruised your shoulder jumping from a car. It takes practice."
"How would you know if I bruised my shoulder?"
"You're limping like a bird with a sprained wing."
"I'm tired, if you don't mind. I'd like to get some sleep. Will you do me a favor and tell my mission that I was knocked unconscious in a disco and nearly suffocated in the crush of young, sex-starved bodies, but that I'm alright now?"
"Of course, Inspector, that is probably as believable as anything." He closed his book and watched me climb the stairs. "How was the lamb, by the way?"
"Good night, monsieur."
I heard him move softly to the door.