ECAUSE OF the time difference it was one hour earlier back in England than in France. At Harrowsfield, Professor Mallory sat fully dressed at a desk in the small study adjacent to his bedroom. He was prepared to work through the night on a new project that would follow after the successful completion of the Fedir Kuchin matter. He puffed his pipe and sent acrid plumes of smoke to the stained ceiling. A light rain started falling as the professor finally set aside the journal in which he was making notations and sat back in his chair, lost in thought.

He heard a tap at the door.

“Yes?”

“It’s me, Professor,” said Liza.

He rose from the chair as she opened the door. She was dressed in a long nightgown with a beige wool robe over the top. Her hair hung down to her shoulders. Slippers covered her feet.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

She sat down on a small worn leather couch across from him as he retook his seat. “I just heard from Whit. He and Reggie have confirmed the site and the details have been worked out for the final phase.”

“That’s excellent.” He studied her. “But you look concerned.”

“It was something in Whit’s voice. He sounded upset. So I called Reggie and spoke to her. She also sounded upset, but when I pushed her on what was the matter, she refused to talk about it. When I tried ringing Whit back, he didn’t answer.”

“So you think they might have had a row?”

“It seems so. And it couldn’t have come at a worse time.”

Mallory put his pipe aside, wandered over to the window, and looked out past the rain-splattered glass. “Did you contact Dominic too?”

“No, he and Whit are rooming together, so I didn’t think he could be candid. And I don’t want to create even more tension.”

Mallory clasped his hands behind his back and stared moodily out into the dark. “I should have anticipated this. I should have had Whit remain behind and sent either Caldwell or perhaps David Hamish with Dominic. Whit has resentment, a great deal more than I had thought, apparently.”

“You don’t think that will interfere with him performing his duties?”

“If I had the answer to that I wouldn’t be worried, would I?”

She glanced over at his desk. “Burning the midnight oil again?”

“I seem to do my best thinking after dark.”

“Any further word on funding?”

Surprised, he turned to her. “Why, what have you heard?”

“Folks know it takes a lot to keep this place functioning. It’s not like we do this for money, but people are paid some wages. And the upkeep here. And then there’s the mission expense. The rent on the villa where Reggie is staying is quite staggering. It all adds up.”

Mallory remained silent for a few moments before sighing and sitting back down. “Things are a bit tight, I won’t deny it. The villa lease is all right, though. A gentleman of considerable means with a Ukrainian background stepped up for those funds. And I have one or two other prospects. It must be done discreetly, of course.”

“Of course.” She added, “When was the last time you had a holiday, Miles?”

“A holiday?” He chuckled. “I could be incredibly saccharine and say that what I do here is a holiday, but I will refrain from doing so.”

“Seriously, Miles, when was the last time?”

His eyes took on a faraway look. “I suppose while Margaret was still alive. Rome. And Florence. She always loved the statue of David. She would sit and stare at him for hours. Quite the fan of Michelangelo was my dear wife. It was a nice visit. She became ill after we returned. Six months later she was gone.”

“If I recall that was eight years ago.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose it was. Time does march on, Liza.”

“Everyone here is under considerable strain, but some more than others. You are our leader. We cannot afford to lose you.”

“I’m fine. Or as fit as an overweight and sedentary old professor can be.” He looked around. “I do love it here, this old wreck of a place. Regina loves it here too. I hear her wandering around at all hours of the night.”

“She visits the cemetery regularly. Did you know that?”

Mallory nodded. “In particular the grave of Laura R. Campion. No connection that I have ever been able to discern. Yet she does seem drawn to the woman.”

Liza gave him a piercing stare. “Was there a particular reason you targeted Reggie for recruitment?”

He gave her a hard look before saying, “None different than any other. She passed all the hurdles. But it really starts off with a simple judgment call on my part. In that regard Regina Campion was hardly unique.”

She eyed him for a few seconds before looking away.

“Now this American,” Mallory began.

“Bill Young.”

“Yes, it’s not good. A distraction. Perhaps more. We have no real information on the man. Anyone can pose as a former lobbyist.”

Liza ran a hand along the drawstring of her robe. “True enough. By the way, Whit also reported that Reggie will be traveling to Les Baux with him tomorrow.”

Mallory looked startled. “Les Baux? For what purpose?”

“Whit didn’t know why. He felt strongly that she should be working on Kuchin instead.”

“As do I. I think I’ll ring her right now.”

“Don’t do that, Miles.”

“But—”

“She’s under a lot of stress, but Reggie has the best instincts of anyone we have in the field. I think we can trust her. I think she’s earned that, don’t you?”

Mallory seemed frozen with indecision, but his features finally relaxed. “All right. I largely agree with that assessment,” he added stiffly.

Liza rose and glanced at the desk once more. “I suppose you’re working on the next one?”

“Never wise to let the grass grow, you know.”

“Well, let’s pray Reggie and the others come back alive so they can do it all again.”

She closed the door softly behind her.

Mallory stared after her for a few moments, then went back to his desk, rummaged in a drawer, and pulled out the photo he’d received from Whit. He sat down and began studying the picture of Bill Young.

A troubling premonition was creeping up his spine. And something told him it had everything to do with this man. He did trust Reggie, but there was always a limit to trust in anyone. And nothing could interfere with their getting to Kuchin. It was too important. He debated for a bit and then decided to do it. He slipped a mobile phone out of his pocket and thumbed in a text message. The professor was not nearly as electronics- illiterate as he let on. He put the mobile away and sat back in his chair. He hoped he had done the right thing.

Sometimes in this line of work all you had were your instincts. When you were right, all was well. When you turned out to be wrong, however? Well, innocent people sometimes died.