Next morning Ambassador Charles Dufort stood with his coat wrapped tight around him, puffing on a thin cigarette as Moreau approached with Renaud a few paces behind.
"You're up early, Capitaine," Dufort said, not looking at him.
"I'm leaving," Moreau said, without ceremony.
Dufort blinked. "Leaving? You mean for the museum visit later?"
Moreau shook his head slowly. "No, sir. I'm going back to Paris."
Dufort turned sharply, cigarette trembling slightly between his fingers. "Moreau, you've not been sanctioned. The Foreign Ministry hasn't cleared your departure. Your orders are to stay here until...."
Moreau cut him off, his voice low and bitter. "If I wait for orders, there won't be anyone left in Paris to give them."
A long silence followed.
Dufort sighed, long and heavy. "Damn it, Étienne. You're serious."
"Have you seen the telegrams coming in? The reports? We both know where this ends. And someone has to stop it."
"You think you can?"
