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dangerous situations Doc had neutralized with just this kind of swift, brilliant analysis.
    â€œThe driver will have instructions to take her someplace private. Someplace where your contact can remove and examine the chip. Someplace with access to a computer sophisticated enough to read the lines of code and verify that they contain the fiber-optic technology.”
    His face set with intense concentration, Doc paced the blue-and-green Savonnerie carpet that covered the sitting room’s parquet floor.
    â€œI’d guess we have a half hour, an hour at most. When this contact discovers that Paige doesn’t have the microdot, he’ll either let her go or…” His jaw worked. “Or he’ll make sure she doesn’t tell anyone about her visit to wherever he’s taken her.”
    â€œWe’ll find her, Doc.”
    â€œYes, we will. All right, here’s how I think we should—”
    He broke off and dug in his pocket. Maggie’s pulse leapt in anticipation as he pulled out his gold cigarette case. With the information control would provide, they could kick into action.
    â€œDoc, here. Go ahead, Cyrene.”
    For a second or two, the only sounds disturbing the sunny stillness of the sitting room were the wash of the waves on the beach across the street and the hum of traffic that drifted in through the open balcony doors. Then Claire Huffacker’s calm voice filled the air.
    â€œThere are more Rolls-Royces per capita in Cannes than in any other city on earth…” she began.
    â€œWhy doesn’t that surprise me?” Maggie murmured, glancing at the priceless antiques scattered about the sitting room.
    â€œBut I found two that fit your description. One belongs to a reclusive film star, Victor Swanset. He’s an English expatriate who owns a villa on avenue Fiesole, in La Californie.”
    From her intelligence briefings prior to this mission, Maggie knew La Californie was an exclusive residential area that clungto the rugged hills above Cannes. According to the intel briefer, its grandiose Edwardian villas had once been home to a sparkling mix of European royalty and distinguished diplomats and their bevies of mistresses. They sat tucked away among the fragrant stands of pine and eucalyptus trees, and the only access to them was via a steep, winding mountain road.
    â€œNo one has seen Victor Swanset in public for over a decade,” Claire continued. “My sources indicate he’s an anonymous, driving force behind the Cannes Film Festival. Supposedly he’s donated millions to preserve his art. I don’t have anything else on him right now, except…”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe computer cross-referenced a missing-persons report with Swanset’s name listed as a contact. The report was filed about a year ago, on a cook who disappeared from his villa. I’m following up on that now.”
    â€œWhat about the owner of the other Rolls?” Maggie asked.
    â€œIt checks to a French banker. Gabriel Adrenne. He was in Tokyo at an International Monetary Fund conference until two days ago. He supposedly stopped over in Cannes for a few days’ rest before flying back to Paris.”
    Claire paused, then added softly, “I’ve verified that he was also in Cannes last month, when the prototype fiber optics technology was smuggled out of the States.”
    Maggie and Doc exchanged swift looks.
    â€œDo you have a fix on his location here?” Doc growled.
    â€œNothing firm. He keeps a condominium in one of the beach-front palaces, but isn’t using it on this trip. His staff doesn’t have a clue why. From what I’ve been able to gather on him so far, he’s a Donald Trump type. Early forties. Wildly extravagant. Overextended financially. Enjoys the finer things in life, including a string of very expensive ex-wives and mistresses, but is having trouble paying for them. I’ll have more for you when I get