Lost City (NUMA Files 5)

"Thank you very much. We'd like to retrieve any property that is rightfully ours. Do you plan on returning to Paris today?" "That was our intention."

"Bien. I'll show you the way out."

Madame Fouchard led them along a different corridor whose walls were covered with hundreds of portraits. She paused in front of a painting of a man in a long leather coat.

"This is my great-uncle Jules Fauchard," Madame Fauchard said.

The man in the painting had an aquiline nose and a mustache and stood in front of a plane similar to the one Austin had seen at the French air museum. He was wearing the same helmet Skye had turned over to her friend Darnay.

A soft gasp escaped from Skye's throat. It was barely audible, but Madame Fauchard stared at Skye and said, "Is there a problem, mademoiselle?"

"No," Skye said, clearing her throat. "I was admiring that helmet. Is it in your armory collection?"

Racine gave Skye a hard stare.

"No. It is not."

Austin tried to divert the direction of the conversation.

"There is not much family resemblance to you or your son," he said.

Racine smiled. "The Fauchards were coarse-featured, as you can see. We favor my grandfather, who was not a Fauchard by blood. He

married into the Fauchard family and took their name as his. It was an arranged marriage, done to bring together two families in an alliance of convenience. There was no male heir to the Fauchards at the time, so they manufactured one."

"You have a

fascinating family," Skye said.

"You don't know the half of it." She gazed thoughtfully at Skye for a moment and smiled. "I just had a wonderful idea. Why don't you stay for dinner? I'm having a few guests over anyhow. We are putting on a masque, as in the old days. A little costume party."

"It's a long drive back to Paris. Besides, we didn't bring costumes," Austin said.

"You can stay here as our guests. We always have a few extra costumes. We'll find something appropriate. We have everything you'd need to make yourselves comfortable. You can get an early start in the morning. I won't take no for an answer."

"You're very gracious, Madame Fouchard," Skye said. "We wouldn't want to impose."

"No imposition at all. Now, if you'll excuse me, I will talk to my son about tonight's arrangements. Please feel free to wander about the first floor of the chateau. The upper floors are living quarters."

Without a further word, Madame Fauchard whisked off along the corridor, leaving them with only the Fauchard ancestors for company. "What was that all about?" Austin said, as Madame Fauchard disappeared around a corner. Skye clapped her hands and rubbed them together.

"My plan worked! I purposely babbled on about my arms expertise in the armory to get her attention. Once I set the hook, I reeled her in. Look, Kurt, you said that the Fauchard family was the key to this business under the glacier and the attack at Darnay's shop. We couldn't simply leave with empty hands. What's the problem?" "You could be in danger. That's the problem. Your mouth dropped open when you saw the portrait of good ol' Jules. She knows you've seen the helmet."

"That wasn't planned. I was really startled when I saw Jules wearing the helmet I recovered from the glacier. Look, I'm willing to take the chance. Besides, a costume party might be fun. She wouldn't try anything with guests around. She seems quite gracious and not the dragon lady I expected."

Austin wasn't convinced. Madame Fauchard was a charming woman, but he suspected her Whistler's mother act was pure theater. He had seen the cloud pass over her face at Skye's reaction to the portrait above their heads. Madame Fauchard, not Skye, had set the hook and reeled them in. Warning bells were chiming in his brain, but he smiled anyway. He didn't want to alarm Skye. "Let's look around," he said.

It took them an hour to explore the first floor. It covered several acres, but mostly what they saw of it was corridors. Every door they tried was locked. As they made their way through the labyrinth of passageways, Austin tried to memorize the layout. Eventually they came back to the front door vestibule. His unease grew.

"Odd," he said. "A building this size must require a large support staff, but we haven't seen a single soul outside of the Fauchards and the servant who brought us the water."

"That is strange," Skye said. She tried the front door and smiled. "Look here, Mr. Worrywart. We can leave anytime we want to."

They stepped out onto the terrace and walked across the courtyard to the gate. The drawbridge was still down, but the portcullis, which had been up when they entered, had been lowered. Austin put his hands on the bars and gazed through the iron grating.

"We won't be leaving anytime soon," he said with a grim smile. The Rolls-Royce had vanished from the driveway.

THE ALVIN HAD RISEN like a seagull atop a rolling billow before it dropped in a free fall that ended with a bone-jarring clang of metal against metal. The impact threw the three people inside the Alvin from their seats. Trout tried to avoid a collision with Gamay and the small-framed pilot, but his six-foot-eight physique was ill suited for acrobatics and he slammed into the bulkhead. Galaxies whirled around inside his head and when the stars cleared he saw Gamay's face close to his. She looked worried. "Are you all right?" she said with concern in her voice. Trout nodded. Then he pulled himself back into his seat and gingerly explored his bruised scalp with his fingers. The skin was tender to the touch, but he was not bleeding. "What happened?" Sandy said. "I don't know," Trout said. "I'll take a look." Trout tried to ignore the sick feeling in his gut and crawled over to a view port. For an instant, he wondered if the bump on his head was making him see things. The scowling face of a man stared at him. The man saw Trout. He tapped on the acrylic view port with