“Is that what you’ve been doing?”
“Graham Ashby tried to kill us all.”
“I’m aware of that. Was it necessary to share those thoughts with everyone?”
He shrugged. “They should know what’s in store for them. But I wonder, what were you planning? We weren’t up there to simply enjoy the view.”
She threw him a quizzical look.
“You can’t seriously think that I would have been a party to your madness. Those ideas you tossed out earlier. Insanity, all of it.”
She seemed at once amazed, appalled, repelled, and fascinated by his indignation.
“I came for Graham Ashby,” he made clear. “I used you to get close to him. At first, I thought what you were concocting was worth stopping. Maybe it is. But I don’t care any longer. Not after what Ashby just tried.”
“I assure you, Herre Thorvaldsen, I am not one to be trifled with. As Lord Ashby will soon learn.”
He allowed his voice to assume an icy determination. “Madame, let me make something clear. You should be grateful that I no longer have any interest in your mischief. If I did, I’d stop you. But I could not give a damn. It’s not my concern. You, though, have several problems. The first is Ashby. The second is the American government. That plane was being flown by a former Justice Department agent named Cotton Malone. His boss, from that same department, is here and, I assume, knows exactly what you’re doing. Your plans are no longer secret.”
He turned to leave.
She grabbed him by the arm. “Who do you think you are? I am not a person to be lightly dismissed.”
He clung to the anger that coursed through him. The enormity of all that had happened struck him hard. As he’d watched the plane draw closer to the tower summit, he’d realized that his lack of focus could have cost him his ultimate goal. In one respect, he was glad Malone had stopped the plane. On the other hand, the sick, numbing realization that his friend had betrayed him hurt more than he’d ever imagined.
He needed to find Malone, Stephanie, and Ashby and finish things. The Paris Club was no longer part of the equation. Neither was this ridiculous woman who glared at him with eyes full of hate.
“Let go of my arm,” he said through clenched teeth.
She did not release her grip.
He wrenched himself free.
“Stay out of my way,” he ordered.
“As if I take orders from you.”
“If you want to stay alive, you had better. Because if you interfere with me, in any way, I’ll shoot you dead.”
And he walked away
ASHBY SPOTTED THE CAR WITH CAROLINE INSIDE WAITING AT the curb. Traffic was beginning to congeal on the boulevards that paralleled the Champs de Mars. Car doors had opened and people pointed skyward.
Ripples of concern ebbed through him.
He needed to be away.
The plane had not destroyed the Eiffel Tower. Worse, Eliza Larocque now realized that he’d tried to murder them all.
How could she not?
What happened? Had Lyon double-crossed him? He’d paid the first half of the extorted fee. The South African had to know that. Why would he have not performed? Especially considering that something clearly had happened at the Church of the Dome, smoke curling up from the east confirming that the fire there still raged.
And there was the matter of the remaining payment.
Three times the usual fee. A bloody well lot of money.
He entered the car.
Caroline sat in the rear seat across from him, Mr. Guildhall in the front, driving. He’d need to keep Guildhall near him.
“Did you see how close that plane came to the tower?” Caroline asked.
“I did.” He was glad that he did not have to explain anything further.
“Is your business finished?”
He wished. “For now.” He stared at her smiling face. “What is it?
“I solved Napoleon’s riddle.”
FIFTY-NINE
MALONE LAY ON GRASS THAT WINTER HAD CHILLED INTO brown hay and watched the helicopter land. The rear compartment door slid open and Stephanie leaped out, followed by the corpsman. He released the parachute’s harness and came to his feet. He caught the worry, plain in her eyes, hoping he was okay.
He freed himself from the chute. “Tell the French that we’re even.”
She smiled.
“Better yet,” he said. “Tell them they owe me.”
He watched as the corpsman gathered up the billowing chute.
“Lyon’s arrogant as hell,” he said, “flaunting it in our faces. He was ready with the little towers in London, and he made no effort to conceal his amber eyes. He actually went out of his way to confront me. Either way was a win–win for him. We stop the plane, he sticks it to Ashby. We miss the plane, he makes the client happy. I doubt he really cared which was the ultimate outcome.” Which, he knew, explained the diversions at the Invalides and the other planes. “We need to find Ashby.”
“There’s a bigger problem,” she said. “When we passed the top of the tower, I saw Henrik.”
“He had to have seen me in that cockpit.”
“My thought exactly.”
The corpsman grabbed Stephanie’s attention and pointed to her handheld radio. She stepped away and spoke into the unit, then quickly returned.
“We caught a break,” she said, motioning for the chopper. “They triangulated the signals being sent to those planes. We have a ground location.”
SAM HAD FLED THE SUMMIT AS A SECURITY DETAIL UNLOCKED the exit doors for the observation deck, mindful of Stephanie’s instruction that he must not be compromised. He’d made it back to the first platform long before the Paris Club descended and the members re -entered the meeting room. He’d watched as Eliza Larocque and Henrik confronted each other. Though he could not hear what they were saying it wasn’t hard to sense the tension, especially when Henrik yanked himself free of her grip. He’d heard nothing from Stephanie and there was no way he could sneak himself back into the meeting room, so he decided to leave.
Somebody had tried to crash a plane into the Eiffel Tower, and nearly succeeded. The military was obviously aware, as the chopper riding herd over the plane proved.
He needed to contact Stephanie.
He freed the tie from around his neck and released the top button of his shirt. His clothes and coat were below in the police station, beneath the south pylon, where he and Meagan had changed.
He paused at the first-level platform’s open center and gazed down at the people below. Hundreds were waiting in line. An explosive crash nine hundred feet above them would have been horrific. Interesting that the authorities were not evacuating the site. In fact, the chaos from above had been replaced with utter calm. As if nothing had happened. He sensed Stephanie Nelle’s involvement with that decision.
He fled the railing and started down the metal risers for the ground. Henrik Thorvaldsen was gone. Sam had decided not to confront him. He couldn’t, not here.
Halfway down, the cell phone in his pocket vibrated.
Stephanie had given one to both him and Meagan, programming the numbers of each, along with hers, into the memory.
He found the unit and answered.
“I’m in a cab,” Meagan said. “Following Ashby. I was lucky to snag one. He ran, but stopped long enough to watch the plane fly by. He was shocked, Sam.”
“We all were.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Surprise laced her voice. “He was shocked it missed.”
ELIZA FACED THE GROUP, BUT HER MIND SWIRLED WITH SO many conflicting thoughts it was hard to concentrate.
“What happened up there?” one of the members asked.
“The security people are investigating, but it appears the plane malfunctioned. Thankfully, the problem was rectified in time.”
“Why were the exit doors locked?”
She could not tell them the truth. “We should soon know the answer to that as well.”
“What did Herre Thorvaldsen mean when he said that plane was our fate—we were meant to die—and Lord Ashby was involved?”
She’d been dreading the inquiry. “There is apparently a private feud between Lord Ashby and Herre Thorvaldsen. One I was unaware of until a few moments ago. Because of that animosity, I’ve asked Herre Thorvaldsen to withdraw his membership, and he agreed. He apologized for any fear or inconvenience he may have caused.”
“That doesn’t explain what he said on that deck,” Robert Mastroianni said.
“I think it was more his imagination talking. He has a personal dislike for Lord Ashby.”
Her newest recruit did not seem satisfied. “Where is Ashby?”
She manufactured another lie. “He left, at my request, to handle another matter of vital importance. He may or may not make it back for the rest of the meeting.”
“That’s not what you said at the top of the tower,” one of them noted. “You wanted to know where he was.”
She told herself that these men and women were not stupid. Don’t treat them as so. “I knew he would be leaving, I was simply unaware that he’d already left.”
“Where did he go?”
“That cache of unaccounted-for wealth I told you about. Lord Ashby is searching for it, and he has located a new lead. Earlier, he asked to be excused so he could explore its possibilities.”
She kept her voice calm and firm, having learned long ago that it was not only what you said, but how you said it that mattered.
“We’re going to continue on?” one of the others asked.
She caught the surprise in the question. “Of course. Why not?”
“How about that we were all nearly killed?” Mastroianni said.