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it?”
    “We’ll cross that bridge when we have to,” Franklin said. “There’s a bigger picture here. We have a moral duty to ensure the peace talks continue without interruption.”
    “After all, as you’ve already suggested, Rachel Whitticker might be perfectly safe holed up in a five star hotel somewhere, having a lovely time,” Angelis said.
    “What’s she doing for money?” Ingrid asked. “Any recent transactions on her credit card?”
    Angelis moved from his spot leaning against the file cabinet to stand beside Sol Franklin. “According to the French bodyguard, the girl was flashing her plastic around with gay abandon in the upmarket Parisian fashion boutiques. She actually used the guard to carry her shopping for her. We’ve checked with the stores—it seems she used a credit card registered to Jayne Whitticker.”
    “Her grandmother gave her a card?”
    Angelis shrugged.
    “You’re not suggesting she stole it?”
    “Not at all. The Secretary of State just wanted to keep her granddaughter occupied, one supposes.”
    “And she used the card to pay for her train ticket to London?” Ingrid asked.
    “No. The transactions stop after a large withdrawal of cash from an ATM. She’s smart enough not to leave a trail.”
    “So she’ll be using that cash in the UK?”
    “That’s the assumption we’re making.”
    “Same goes for her cell phone—I guess she’s not using that either?” Ingrid asked.
    “Not a peep from it since last night.” Angelis turned around and separated two wooden slats on the window shade. He peered outside. “We really should get going. We have a lot to do.”
    “When you say ‘we’ who exactly are you referring to?” Ingrid asked Franklin.
    “Nick’s company have pretty much come to our rescue. They can provide support on the ground and the intel we need. We can’t risk going through Bureau channels to gather intelligence about the girl—it’d raise too many flags right across all the security services.
    “I still don’t understand why you need me. It sounds as if Mr Angelis’ company have things pretty much under control.”
    “Nick needs a US government agent to work with on the ground. You are the best candidate for the job. If you refuse to help us, well… not to put too fine a point on it…”
    “We’re a tad screwed.” Angelis helpfully finished Franklin’s sentence.
    “Really?”
    “If things go tits up and it’s just me and my associates on the case, the fallout—not just for my company, you understand, for the US government too—would be catastrophic. Relying entirely on an outside agency? Our role has to remain completely unofficial throughout.”
    “Wait a minute.” Ingrid wriggled forward on her chair. “Are you saying you want me involved to carry the can if things go wrong?”
    Franklin glared at Angelis. “Not at all.” He continued to stare at Angelis until the private spook slunk away, back to his original position. “When we find Rachel we need a US government representative present. To act as a chaperone.” He smiled resignedly at her. “As one Federal agent to another, I’m asking for your help here.”
    Ingrid thought about the alternative—returning to the training session in an airless conference room at New Scotland Yard. She pictured all the bored detectives who clearly wanted to be some place else. A thought occurred to her. “If she left Paris last night, how come the Secretary of State didn’t miss her? Wouldn’t they have spoken on the phone?”
    “The negotiations went on well into the early hours. Then resumed at eight a.m. the following morning. The Secretary of State didn’t have a chance to miss her,” Sol Franklin said.
    “Do you have any idea why Rachel Whitticker has come to the UK? Why not hang out in Paris instead?”
    “With a babysitter?”
    “OK—once she’d shaken off the unwanted companion—she could have gone to Berlin, or Milan, or a half dozen other fabulous European cities. Why