Burnt Sienna

“And used me to pay Derek back.”

“That isn’t why -”

“I trusted you! I thought you were my friend. But all this time, you’ve been lying to me, playing up to me to -”

“I never lied.”

“You sure as hell never told me the truth.”

“Not all of it. But what would you have done if I had told you?”

She opened her mouth but seemed not to know what to say.

“Your husband really was pla

She still didn’t know what to say.

“I am your friend.” Malone held out his hand. She didn’t take it.

“I never used you,” Malone said. “I don’t care if you never tell the Agency a thing. All that matters to me is that I got you out of there.”

Sie

She looked at him for the longest time. When she finally gripped his hand, it was as if she were on the brink of a cliff, depending upon him to keep her from falling.

2

The bus pulled into Nice around midnight. Given the combination of darkness and glaring lights, Malone wasn’t able to get an impression of the city. Even the salt smell from the sea didn’t register on him, so desensitized were his nostrils by the diesel smell of the bus.

To guard against the risk that Bellasar’s men might be waiting at the bus depot, Malone chose a busy intersection at random and asked the driver to stop. The instant they stepped off, Malone led Sie

They went into a late-night convenience store, where Malone used nearly all of his few remaining dollars to buy sandwiches, fruit, bottled water, and a telephone card.

“Now let’s find a pay phone.”

There was one around the corner, and as Sie

On the other end, the phone rang twice before it was answered. Pulse rushing, Malone started to use the identification phrase he’d been given – “the painter” – when a computerized voice cut him off. Its French was too hurried for him to understand. The co

Sie

“I must have pressed the wrong numbers.”

He tried again, but the same computerized voice cut him off.

“I don’t understand what it’s saying. You try.” He told her the numbers and watched her press them.

Nervous, she listened. Seconds later, she frowned and lowered the phone. “That number’s been disco

“What?”

“Maybe the CIA doesn’t pay its phone bills,” she said bitterly. “The line’s no longer in service.”

Jeb, you son of a bitch, Malone thought. What are you doing to me? What’s gone wrong?

3

It was almost 1:00 A.M. as they walked wearily at random along narrow, shadowy side streets.

“That hotel up ahead looks good,” Sie

“It sure does.”

But they passed the welcoming entrance, knowing that they didn’t dare check in. Without enough cash to rent a room, Malone would need to use a credit card, but by now, Bellasar would have ordered his computer experts to access the databases of every credit-card company, looking for any transactions in Malone’s name. If Malone used a credit card, Bellasar and his men would storm into the hotel room before morning.

“I brought some jewelry,” Sie

“We might have to wait longer.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your husband will check to see if any of your jewelry is missing. He’ll anticipate that you’ll try to sell it. We might walk into a trap.”

“Everything seems a trap.”

The fear on her face made him touch it. “Keep remembering you’re not alone.”

“Not alone.”

Around the next corner, they discovered that their aimless path had brought them to a park overlooking the harbor. Between palm trees, a bench invited them. In the distance, yachts gleamed. Faint music drifted from one, a piano playing “I Concentrate on You”; men and women in evening clothes were chatting and drinking.

“Cocktail?” Malone opened one of the bottles of water and handed it to her.

“I could use one.”

“Hors d’oeuvres?” Malone set out the choices of sandwiches: egg salad, tuna salad, and chicken salad.

“That’s quite a selection.”

“The best in town.”

“The service is awfully good. We’ll have to recommend it to all our friends.”

“And leave a generous tip.”

“Absolutely. A generous tip.”

Sie

“Take my sport coat.”

“Then you’ll be the one who’s cold.”

“I’ll sit close to you.” He stood and put the coat around her, his hands lingering on her shoulders. Then he realized how tired he was and eased back onto the bench. He was so thirsty, it took him only a few deep swallows to drink a quarter of a liter of water. The egg salad tasted like the waxed paper it had been wrapped in. The bread was stale. He didn’t care. Under the circumstances, it was the most delicious meal he had ever eaten. On the yacht below them, the piano player shifted to “The Days of Wine and Roses.”

“Care to dance?” he asked.

Sie

“I couldn’t help thinking about the lyrics to that song,” he said. “About regret and time passing. If we were another couple sitting here, this would be a beautiful night. A moment’s what we make of it, I guess.”

“… Yes, I’d like to dance.”

As they stood and faced each other, Malone felt pressure in his chest. He tried to keep his right hand steady when he put it around her waist. Her left hand trembled a little when she put it on his shoulder. They turned slowly to the distant mournful music that evoked children ru