“Yes. And it still has to be the real Derek who signs for the working permit in Martinique. Your impersonation can’t go to the extreme of signing Derek’s name.”
Biff glanced down the street. His eyes came to rest on the sleek, black limousine which had brought Dietz to the Claims Division. It was the same car in which Biff had ridden from the airport to the hotel. Looking at it gave Biff an idea.
“Look, Uncle Charlie. If Dietz did get Derek, he must still be holding him. Right?”
His uncle nodded his head in agreement.
“Although he doesn’t know it, of course, since he saw me in the Claims office, and thought I was Derek—”
“Go on, Biff, I think I’m reading you louder and your upcoming idea is getting clearer.”
“Thinking, as he must be, that Derek somehow escaped, wouldn’t he let his guard down now? He must figure the game is almost up.”
“Yes, that’s how I’d figure it myself,” Charlie replied. “And how wrong I’d be!”
“Exactly. So, believing Derek must have escaped, wouldn’t Dietz feel it no longer necessary to take any precautions in returning to his hide-out?”
“I get you, Biff. Following him ought to be a cinch now.”