“None of the residents were hurt,” Volman said, “but four soldiers were killed.”
“What do you know about the Tajoura nuclear facility?” Crocker asked.
“I know that it’s close to here, and I believe it’s no longer in operation.”
“Can you get me some background info about it? History, capacity—you know, stuff like that.”
“Sure. When do you need it?”
“First thing in the morning, if possible. More important, find out anything you can about the kidnappers, the ransom.”
“I will. There it is,” Volman said, pointing at a sand-colored house surrounded by tall palms. “I’ll wait for you at my place.”
“Thanks a lot.”
Crocker was stopped by a phalanx of French soldiers and plainclothes security personnel who checked his passport before escorting him into a round vestibule festooned with blue-white-and-red French flags. Edith Piaf was singing “La Marseillaise” over the sound system. Many of the hundred or so people crowding the large central room were singing along. The mood was more festive than anything Crocker had expected.
“What’s the occasion?” he asked a young man holding a small American flag.
“V-E Day, of course.”
Crocker felt underdressed, out of place. Young women wearing World War Two–era French military uniforms circulated with trays of champagne. One of them stopped in front of Crocker and asked, “Vous êtes américain?”
“Yeah, I’m American, and proud of it.”
She looked more North African than French—Algerian, most likely. Winking, she said, “You are the heroes tonight. Vive les Etats-Unis!” and left.
Crocker surveyed the crowd. Under other circumstances he would have been more than ready to join in the celebration. But the frustration and anxiety he felt tonight were completely at odds with the frivolity around him. In fact, the party seemed perverse, given the violence he’d experienced in Sebha and the situation with Holly and Brian. Spotting the U.S. ambassador, who was dressed in an elegant blue shirt and silver-gray slacks and was talking to a tall man in a vintage French military uniform, he pushed his way through the crowd.
“Sir!”
Saltzman smiled warmly when he saw him and extended a hand. “Tom Crocker. It’s good to see you again. I want you to meet Ambassador Moreau.”
Crocker: “It’s an honor, sir.”
“Mr. Crocker is the leader of a group of American engineers who are doing a study of the city’s electrical grid.”
Moreau: “My pleasure. We’re celebrating one of those critical historical moments, you know. The whole map of Europe could have been different. We could all have been speaking German if you, our American friends, had not decided to join the war in Europe.”
“Our fathers did, yes,” Crocker answered. In fact, his father had quit high school the day after the attack on Pearl Harbor and joined the navy. He was the most honest person Crocker had ever known.
Moreau: “Maybe the situation in Europe was not too different from what the Libyans are facing now.”
Crocker wasn’t sure about that.
The French ambassador put his arm around him and whispered, “Enjoy yourself, Mr. Crocker.”
“I will, sir. Thank you.”
Smiling confidently, Moreau slipped into the crowd, leaving Crocker alone and feeling like a visitor from another planet. A radio-controlled model of a B-19 buzzed overhead.
He spotted Saltzman, who was now huddled with a pretty young brunette, and made a beeline for him. Whispering into the ambassador’s ear, he asked, “Can I talk to you a minute? It’s important.”
“Now, Crocker?”
“Yes. In private, sir.”
They walked out onto a terrace overlooking the moonlit sea. A couple to Crocker’s right giggled and kissed, then left holding hands. Another reminder of Holly.
“Mr. Ambassador, I heard there’s been a ransom offer,” Crocker said.
“Oh, that. Yes,” Saltzman said with a groan, looking as if he wanted an excuse to escape.
“What do you make of it, sir?”
“What do I make of the kidnappers’ ransom demand?”
“Yes.”
“This is very difficult, Crocker. I like you and respect you. I can only imagine the agony you’re in.”
“You can’t, sir. Believe me.”
“Alright. You’re a man who likes the unvarnished truth, so here it is: The ransom note is almost irrelevant.”
Crocker felt staggered. “Irrelevant? Why?”
“Because, one, it tells us very little about the kidnappers except that they’re opportunistic. And two, we can’t make a deal.”