Night Probe!

Pitt drove mechanically on the return, trip to the De Soto. A thought forced its way through the others: one he had ignored. At first he gave it a negative reception, but it refused to be shelved away. Then it began to come together and make sense.

He stopped at a phone booth in the parking lot of a supermarket and rang a number in Washington. The line buzzed and a gruff voice came on.

"Sandecker." Pitt didn't bother identifying himself. "A favor."

"Shoot."

"I need a sky hook."

"Come again."

Pitt could almost imagine the mouth as it clamped another notch on the cigar. "A sky hook. I've got to have a delivery by tomorrow noon."

"What in hell for?"

Pitt took a breath and told him.

Villon eased the executive jet to the left of an afternoon cumulus cloud, the control yoke barely moving beneath his hands. Through the copilot's window, Danielle watched a carpet of Canadian pines glide past below.

"It's all so beautiful," she said.

"You miss the scenery in an airliner," Villon replied. "They fly too high for you to enjoy any detail."

She was in a deep shade of blue, a snug sweater and cotton knit skirt that circled around her knees. There was a sort of savvy look about her that could never quite overcome the feminine warmth that flowed under the surface.

"Your new plane is beautiful too."

"A gift from my well-heeled supporters. The title isn't in my name, of course, but no one touches it but me.

They sat in silence for a few minutes as Villon held the jet on a steady course over the heart of Laurentides Park. Blue lakes began to appear all around them like tiny diamonds in an emerald setting. They could easily make out small boats with fishermen casting for speckled trout.

Finally Danielle said, "I'm happy you invited me. It's been a long time."

"Only a couple of weeks," he said without looking at her. "I've been busy campaigning."

"I thought perhaps…... perhaps you didn't want to see me anymore.

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

"The last time at the cottage."

"What about it?" he asked i

He tilted his head lightly, trying to recall. Nothing materialized and he shrugged, writing it off to womanly touchiness. "Sorry, I must have had a lot on my mind."

He set the plane on a wide sweeping bank and dropped in the autopilot. Then he smiled. "Come on, I'll make it up to you."

He took her hand and led her from the cockpit.

The passenger cabin stretched twenty feet to the lavatory. There were four seats and a sofa, a thick carpeted floor, a fully stocked wet bar and dining table. He opened a door into a private sleeping compartment and bowed toward a queen-sized bed.

"The perfect love nest," he said. "Intimate, secluded and far from prying eyes."

The sunshine poured through the windows and spread over the bedsheets. Danielle sat up as Villon padded from the passenger cabin and passed her a drink. "Isn't there a law against this sort of thing?" she asked. "Sex at five thousand feet?"

"No," she said between sips of a Bloody Mary. "Letting an airplane fly around in circles for two hours without anybody in the cockpit."

"You going to turn me in?"

She stretched back seductively on the bed. "I can see the headlines now: NEW PRESIDENT OF QUEBEC CAUGHT IN FLYING WHOREHOUSE."

"I'm not President yet." He laughed. "You will be after the elections."

"They're six months away. Anything can happen between now and then."

"The polls say you're a shoo-in."

"What does Charles say?"

"He never mentions you anymore."

Villon sat down on the bed and trailed his fingers lightly across her belly. "Now that Parliament has handed him a vote of no confidence, his power has evaporated. Why don't you leave him? Things would be simpler for us."

"Better I remain at his side a little while longer. There is much I can still learn of importance to Quebec."

"While we're on the subject, there is something that concerns me."

She began to squirm. "What is it?"

"The President of the United States is speaking to Parliament next week. I'd like to know what he intends to say. Have you heard anything?"

She took his hand and moved it down. "Charles talked about it yesterday. Nothing to worry about. He said the President was going to make a plea for an orderly transition of Quebec independence."

"I knew it," Villon said, smiling. "The Americans are caving in."

Danielle began to lose control and reached out for him.

"I hope you filled the fuel tanks before we left Ottawa," she murmured in a slurred voice.

"We have enough for three more hours' flying time," he said, and then he came down on top of her.

"There is no mistake?" Sarveux said into the phone.

"Absolutely none," replied Commissioner Fi

"Your man is certain it was Henri Villon."

"Yes, Sir, there was no doubt," Fi

"Thank you, commissioner."

"Not at all, Prime Minister. I'll be standing by."

Sarveux replaced the receiver and paused a moment to rally his senses. Then he spoke into the intercom. "You may send him in now."

Sarveux's face tensed in the first conclusive moment of shock. He was certain his eyes were deceiving him, his mind playing tricks with his imagination. His legs refused to respond, and he could not gather the strength to rise from behind the desk. Then the visitor walked across the room and stood looking down.

"Thank you for seeing me, Charles."

The face bore the familiar cold expression, the voice came exactly as he had known it. Sarveux fought to maintain an outward calm, but he suddenly felt weak and dizzy.

The man standing before him was Henri Villon, in the flesh, completely at ease, displaying the same aloof poise that never cracked.

"I thought…... I thought you were…... were campaigning in Quebec," Sarveux stammered.

"I took time out to come to Ottawa in the hope you and I might declare a truce."

"The gap between our differences is too wide," Sarveux said, slowly regaining his composure.

"Canada and Quebec must learn to live together without further friction," said Villon. "You and I should too."

"I'm willing to listen to reason." There was a subtle hardening in Sarveux's voice. "Sit down, Henri, and tell me what's on your mind."

Alan Mercier finished reading the contents of a folder marked MOST SECRET and then reread them. He was stu

The President sat across from him, seemingly detached, patiently waiting. It was very quiet in the room; the only sound was an occasional crackle from a smoldering log in the fireplace. Two trays of food sat on the large coffee table that separated the two men. Mercier was too engrossed to eat, but the President consumed the late di

Finally Mercier closed the folder and solemnly removed his glasses. He pondered for a moment, then looked up.