The room was an extension of the sunroom, marble floors, skylights, plants and eighteenth-century furniture. “Whatcha got for me, Del?"The younger man snorted. “What I have is The Great Conrad Flynn and The Mighty Michael Stone crawling up my ass wanting to know where you are and what the hell you're doing. You haven't checked in for thirty-six hours and someone, presumably you, is leaving a mess of dead bodies all over France."Del's voice was low and Lawson had a mental picture of him hunched down in his cubicle at Langley trying to hide from listening ears. “So why are you talking to me instead of patching me straight through to Flynn?""I'm giving you a heads-up. Flynn is one pissed-off camper. I can tell by the way he keeps pacing through the CTC and yelling at everyone. People are dead and you're MIA. If you don't give him the answers he wants to hear when you talk to him, my guess is he's going to pull you off the assignment."Not if he can't find me. “Do you have the info on Vos Loo?""I emailed info about his Switzerland network to you five minutes ago."Lawson pulled out a chair and sat at the desk in the corner of the room.
