CHAPTER 25
Jacques Dufort leaned back on the park bench. It was a secluded location, twisting off the main path, used by birdwatchers and those who sought solitude. No one was nearby. He checked his watch, waiting for his contact.
A few minutes later, a slight figure approached, glancing over his shoulder as he came down the lane. Guy Barbier was more mystery than man, more fiction than fact. He was older, late fifties, with a harsh face and hawkish nose. Even with his diminutive stature, he instilled fear in whoever he chose—usually those who crossed him, but not always. Some claimed he was an integral part of the vast French intelligence apparatus. Others swore he was a swindler. But most were somewhere in between, suspecting he bought and sold secrets to those who were willing to pay.
