Samanya sat quietly, temporarily patient—outside the office building, out of the line of vision of the glass walls of the ground floor. He had located and followed de Gruyter to Paris.
He had ascertained that de Gruyter had the attaché case, the object of this assignment.
"The absolute necessity is to destroy that case," the Sequencer had instructed Samanya in clipped, dead serious tones. Of course, the old fox was always dead serious.
"Incinerate it—that is the goal if you cannot return it to the laboratory here, well within the time frame," he had said, "Blow it up if you can't burn it—the last resort is to dump it in as deep a water as you can. Under no circumstances should you attempt to open it.
You have until 1500 Tuesday, Greenwich, not a moment longer."
What had bothered Samanya was that the old man would not tell him what was in the case.
The two of them had always shared the conviction that an agent should be aware of everything possible about the situation they were headed into, the devil with "need to know." But the Sequencer was not forthcoming.
"If I am unable to fulfill the assignment," asked Samanya, "should I report to our contact in the area?"
"If you are unable to fulfill the assignment," answered the weathered Spymaster, "you need not concern yourself with reporting in. You need not concern yourself with anything.
No one need concern themselves—with anything."
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