Lost City (NUMA Files 5)

"Do you think the Fauchards have kidnapped Skye?" Zavala said.

"It's a reasonable assumption, given their previous interest in the helmet."

"If they have the helmet, why would they need Skye?" Gamay asked.

"One guess."

Light dawned in Gamay's face. "I get it. They're using her as bait to lure you into a trap."

Austin nodded. "My first impulse was to go directly to Chateau Fauchard," Austin said. "But then I thought that is exactly what they would expect me to do. We should do the unexpected and go after Emil instead. He might be able to give us some leverage, and I'm

worried about Lessard, too. I think he may be in immediate danger. They'll keep Skye alive until I take their bait."

"What would you like us to do?" Paul said.

"Probe the defenses around the chateau. See if there is a way in. But be careful. Madame Fauchard is much more dangerous than her son. He's a violent sociopath. She's smart as well as murderous."

"Charming," Gamay said. "I can hardly wait to meet her."

They bid each other good-night and returned to their rooms. Austin called the number on the card Mayhew had given him, told the intelligence agent that he needed to get out of Scotland as soon as possible and asked for his help. Mayhew said he was leaving the next morning on an executive jet and would be glad to give Austin and the others on the NUMA team a ride to London, where they could catch a shuttle to Paris.

Austin thanked him and said he would return the favor one day, and then went to catch a few hours of sleep. He lay in bed on his back and brushed aside distracting thoughts so he could concentrate on the task at hand, which was to rescue Skye. Before long, he fell into a restless sleep.

THE EXECUTIVE JET lifted off at daybreak the next morning, but instead of heading toward London's Heathrow airport it set a direct course for Paris. Before the plane was in the air, Austin had talked Mayhew into changing his flight plan. He said he didn't have time to go into details, but that it was a matter of life and death.

Mayhew asked only one question: "Does this have anything to do with the matter we discussed last night?"

"It could have everything to do with it."

"Then I should expect that you will keep me up-to-date as to the progress of your investigations?"

"I'll give you the same report I send to my superiors at NUMA."

Mayhew smiled and they shook hands on the deal. By late morning, they were at Charles De Gaulle airport. The Trouts split off and headed to chateau country and Austin and Zavala hopped aboard a charter flight to the quaint alpine village nearest the glacier.

Zavala had called his friend Denise in the French parliament. After extracting a promise from Zavala to see her again, she arranged

to have a fast eighteen-foot powerboat waiting for them at the village. They had traveled up the twisting river all afternoon and arrived at Lac du Dormeur at dusk. Not wanting to announce their arrival, they kept their speed low as they crossed the misty, mirror-still lake waters and wove their way around the miniature icebergs that spotted the surface. The four-stroke outboard motor was whisper-quiet, but to Austin's ears it was like someone shouting in a cathedral.

Austin steered the boat toward a single-engine float plane that was anchored a few feet off the beach. The boat pulled alongside the plane and Austin climbed onto a float to peer inside the cockpit. The plane was a de Havilland Otter with space for nine passengers. Three seats were stacked with scuba gear, confirming Lessard's observation that the plane was being used as a dive platform. Austin got back in the boat and surveyed the beach.

Nothing moved in the gray light. He ran the boat farther along the shore, pulled it behind a rock outcropping, and then he and Zavala made the long hike up to the power plant.

They traveled lightly, carrying water, power bars, handguns and extra ammunition. Even so, it was dark when they reached the plant. The door to the portal building was unlocked. The interior of the building was hushed except for the hum of the turbine. Austin slowly pivoted on his heel as he stood in the power plant lobby, his ears tuned to the beehive humming that issued from the bowels of the mountain. His coral-blue eyes narrowed. "Something's wrong," he said to Zavala. "The turbine is working."

"This is a power plant," Zavala said. "Isn't the generator supposed to be working?"

"Yes, under normal circumstances. But Lessard told me on the phone that he would try to shut down the turbine. The power loss would start bells clanging at the main office and they'd have to send someone in to investigate."

"Maybe Lessard changed his mind," Zavala said.

Austin shook his head almost imperceptibly. "I hope it wasn't changed for him."

After exploring the office and living quarters, Austin and Zavala left the lobby and made their way to the control room. Austin paused outside the door. All was quiet, but Austin's sixth sense told him that there was someone in the control room. He drew his pistol, signaled Zavala to do the same and stepped inside. That's when he saw Lessard. The plant manager looked as if he had fallen asleep, but the bullet hole in his back proclaimed otherwise. His right arm was outstretched, his fingers inches away from the blood-spattered line of switches that would have stopped the generator.

A look of barely restrained rage came to Austin's face. He silently vowed that someone would pay for killing the gracious Frenchman whose expertise had enabled Austin to rescue Skye and the other scientists trapped under the glacier. Pie touched Lessard's neck. The body was cold. Lessard was probably killed shortly after he called Austin.

The fact that it would have been impossible to save the Frenchman gave Austin little solace. He went over to the computer monitor that displayed a diagram of the tunnel system and sat down in front of the screen to study the flow of water through the tunnels. Lessard had done a masterful job of diverting the water from the glacial streams away from the observatory tunnel using a complex system of detours.