The gray, oppressive clouds of a Parisian winter hung low over 83 Avenue Foch. Inside the sterile, cold interrogation block, the silence following the gunshot was absolute.
Arthur de Molay had calculated every detail. He had told his plant—the thug disguised as an SOE agent—that this was merely a performance. The gun would be empty, the "prisoner" would be a hero, and Julian would be the fool who failed the test.
Ding Moqun—now the feared Director De Molay—had wanted this effect. He believed that if he could deceive his own enforcers like Inspector Girard, he could deceive anyone. But as he watched Julian hold the Browning M1900 with a strange, discerning stillness, he felt a flicker of unease.
"Julian," Arthur said, his voice a low, gravelly warning. "What are you waiting for? He is an
