When a French-born Israeli agent, Ferenc, assassinates three Arab terrorists in a Parisian cafe, his fate becomes intertwined with that of the wily seventeen-year-old operative, Chantal, he's failed to hit. By the time they finally surface again, each of them is having a go at playing The Great Impostor--Ferenc, posing as an aristocratic French banker in order to ""find out the real reason behind the anti-Israeli slant in French foreign policy"" . . . and Chantal, attempting to plug a leak in her Maoist Syrian terrorist organization prior to liquidating a planeload of rival Arab fanatics at the Geneva airport. Lest you be misled, the surface-to-air plot positively congeals thanks to a dizzying number of corrupt Foreign Office officials, two-timing grandes dames, Vassily from the Soviet Embassy, and of course ""the Chinese connection."" Suffice it to say that our two inimical conspirators become strange bedfellows, then extermination-prone sitting ducks. Involved is hardly the word--it's ""confusion on confusion""--only Agency-trained mnemonologists will be able to decipher it all.