MISRATAH, LIBYA
Deladier had shaved and showered, changing into slacks and a polo shirt with blazer. “Don’t wait up for me,” he said with a grin.
Hurtubise waved nonchalantly from the bed. He had a notepad and two pencils, obviously absorbed in another planning session. “I’ll leave the light on, in case you’re back before dawn.”
The younger man ran a hand through his thick, dark brown hair and made a point of checking his wallet. He had turned one quarter of his paycheck into cash: more than enough for an extended stay in the city. “Oh, I’ll be back. After all, how long does it take to lay two sisters?”
Marcel conjured up a male-bonding smile. “Kiss them for me.”
“Of course! Twice each.” Deladier turned to go.
“Paul.”
“Yes?”
“What are their names?”
Deladier felt an ephemeral spike of fright. He recovered quickly: “Ah, Francesca and … Elena. Why?”
Hurtubise picked up his pad again. “I just like to know who’s getting my stand-in kisses, that’s all.” He grinned again. “Have fun.”
“Always, my friend. Always.”
Forty-five seconds after the door closed, Hurtubise picked up the phone and dialed another room number. The occupant answered on the second ring. “Alfonso? Yes, he just left. Have our friends tail him from the lobby until he returns.”