'Unusual?'

'Yes. A few days before I left to come here, we started receiving reports from Allied pilots, saying that when flying over Germany they were hara.s.sed repeatedly by strange lights that tailed their aircraft and appeared to make their engines malfunction.'

'Strange lights?' McArthur asked.

'Yes,' Wentworth-King said, 'Lights... or b.a.l.l.s of fire. One report described an encounter with a, quote, enormous ball of fire, unquote, that made his aircraft's engine cut out. Another report talked about ten small b.a.l.l.s of reddish fire that were, according to the report, flying in formation, at amazing speed. In both cases, the so-called b.a.l.l.s of fire, or Foo fighters, as they've been dubbed, reportedly flew away when fired upon, but usually returned afterward. The lights, or b.a.l.l.s of fire, the Foo fighters, appear to have been systematically tailing the aircraft.'

'What areas?'

'All over Germany, but mostly in the vicinity north of Nuremberg.'

'Have the reports been a.n.a.lyzed yet?' McArthur asked.

'Yes,' Wentworth-King said. 'And according to a.n.a.lysis, if the socalled Foo fighters weren't some kind of atmospheric or electrical phenomenon, they could have been solid objects that were glowing red-hot. And if that's the case, they'd have been no more than three or four feet in diameter, remote-controlled, and, most oddly, shaped like discs or...' He paused to shrug his shoulders and raise his hands in a gesture of disbelief. 'Like saucers... flying saucers.'

To contain his excitement Bradley stared stonily at Gladys, who simply smiled back sweetly, then turned to Wentworth-King and said, 'Isn't this information confidential? Or is it just me you trust?'

Wentworth-King was amused. 'The information's already been published in the British press, so I think it's okay to discuss it now. Not that I have anything else to add. I merely pa.s.s the information on to my American friend here, Bradley, whose imagination is clearly more vivid than mine. And now, alas, duty calls and I have to be off.' He finished his drink, stood up, and offered Gladys his hand. 'It was an absolute pleasure meeting you,' he said. 'We must do it again sometime. You'll find details of our Paris HQ tomorrow in the correspondents' mess in the Scribe Hotel. Do give me a call.'

'I will,' Gladys said.

'Au revoir,' Wentworth-King said, kissing her hand and letting it go with what seemed like great reluctance. 'And to you, Major General,' he said finally. 'And you as well, Bradley. No doubt I'll see you when I see you. Travel safely. And good luck.'

'Same to you,' Bradley said curtly. He didn't look at Gladys again until the urbane lieutenant colonel had left the room, skipping around a uniformed member of the French 2nd Armoured Division and a British lance corporal who were arguing heatedly about something or other. When he had gone, Bradley turned to McArthur. 'Well, what do you think?'

'I think it's Wilson. What's north of Nuremberg?'

'Thuringia... the Harz Mountains,' Bradley said, feeling even more excited, though still angry with Gladys.

'Exactly,' McArthur said. 'We'd better run a check on those reports and see what we come up with. Right now, however, I have to get back to the ALSOS office and see what's cooking there. My departure which should make you two lovebirds happy, though you don't look it right now.' He stood up with a broad grin on his face, finished his drink, then gave them the thumbs-up and left the bar.

'Alone at last with my man,' Gladys said, 'but he's no longer smiling.'

'I'm fine,' Bradley said. 'I'm just surprised you didn't go chasing after that upstanding British officer, Wentworth-King, who so clearly charmed you.'

'Oh, ho,' she responded, grinning. 'The fires of jealousy! I'm having a wonderful day!' She reached out for his hand, squeezed it affectionately, and said, 'A lady my age is easily charmed, Mike, and I do like to flirt. But come on! I was only doing it to tease you because I want you to want me. Do you want me, Mike? Do you want me right now? Here and now, in this grand hotel?'

'What's your room like?' Bradley asked her.

'Come up and see,' she said.

They made love under the pink satin coverlet of the twin bed in a dovegray room filled with elegant Empire furniture and overlooking the rear gardens of the Ministry of Justice. They no longer made love with the vigour of young people, but with the tenderness of two souls united as one, bonded by common experience and a lack of illusions. Bradley took to her body like a lemming to the sea, returning to that place he could fondly call his own, and received all the pleasure he could obtain by simply giving her pleasure. All his love for her returned, pouring out of him like a river, leaving him cleansed and renewed, at peace in her arms. He then slept in those arms, as she slept in his, and when they awakened they made love again, even less vigorously, though as tenderly, as before, then dressed and went for a walk through the darkening city.

'I love Paris,' Gladys told him. 'It's a city made for lovers. I loved it before the war, when I used to visit it a lot from London, and I nearly always thought of you when I walked its streets my married man, my secret, platonic lover, far away in America. Finally I've got you here with me. Isn't it nice?'

'Yes,' Bradley said. 'Very nice.' Already familiar with the city, Gladys led him by the hand down the pa.s.sage that ran alongside the Ritz, from the place Vendme to the rue Gambon, pressing her nose to the elegant shop windows, which she could see in the moonlit darkness, and showing him all the things she would buy before leaving Paris. She took him into the rue de Rivoli, around the place de la Concorde, then along the broad, tree-lined avenue of the Champselysees, which in the moonlight was wonderful.

'It'll all be over soon,' Gladys said. 'Yeah, I guess so,' Bradley replied. 'Do you think you'll be able to find Wilson?'

Bradley sighed. 'I don't know.'

'If you don't find him, you'll go crazy.'

'I just might at that. Of course now that I've got you, it won't be too bad, but I do want to finish it.'

Gladys chuckled softly and slid her arm around his waist. 'You've only got me for the moment,' she said. 'When will you move on?'

'Tomorrow,' Bradley said. 'I have to find myself an army. Probably General Bradley's 1st Army, since they're heading for the Rhine. And you?'

'I might see you in Berlin.'

'And when it ends? Will you return to America or stay here in Europe?'

'I'm not too sure. I mean, I'll have to think about it. I love living here I mean in London, of course and I don't really have anything to go home for. I've been gone a long time, Mike. Maybe too long now.'

She had led him off the Champselysees, down past the Grand Palais, and now they were coming to the river Seine, its water stippled by moonlight, curving away toward the distant Eiffel Tower, silhouetted against the sky. Allied bombers were crossing the sky above the tower, heading for Germany.

'More bombs on Berlin,' Bradley said. 'Now they're learning what the British suffered during the Blitz.'