“A good-humored mate will be a treasure, which thine eyes will delight to look upon.” She paused. “The next day I found this.”
And she motioned at the lighted cavern.
He’d had enough.
He raised his right arm, pointed his index finger downward, and twirled, signaling Larocque should turn around.
She caught his message and stole a glance over her right shoulder. Behind her stood Stephanie Nelle and Sam Collins.
Both held guns.
“Did I mention that I didn’t come alone?” Malone said. “They waited until you arrived to come down.”
Larocque faced him. Anger in her eyes confirmed what he already knew. So he said what she was surely thinking, “Delight to look upon it, madame, because that’s all you get.”
Sam relieved Ambrosi of his gun. No resistance was offered.
“And I’d keep it that way,” Malone said to Ambrosi. “Sam there got dinged with a bullet. Hurt like hell, but he’s okay. He’s the one who shot Peter Lyon. His first kill. I told him the second would be a whole lot easier.”
Ambrosi said nothing.
“He also watched Henrik Thorvaldsen die. He’s still in a piss-poor mood. So am I, and Stephanie. We’d all three just as soon shoot you both dead. Lucky for you, we aren’t murderers. Too bad neither of you can say the same.”
“I’ve killed no one,” Larocque said.
“No, you just encourage others to do it and profit from the acts.” He stood. “Now get the hell out.”
Larocque stood her ground. “What will happen to this?”
He cleared his throat of emotion. “That’s not for me or you to decide.”
“You realize this is my family’s birthright. My ancestor was instrumental in destroying Napoleon. He searched for this treasure until the day he died.”
“I told you to get out.”
He’d like to think this was how Thorvaldsen would have handled the matter, and the thought provided a small measure of comfort.
Larocque seemed to accept his rebuke with the knowledge that she had little bargaining power. So she motioned for Ambrosi to lead the way. Stephanie and Sam stepped aside and allowed them both to leave.
At the doorway, Larocque hesitated, then turned toward Malone. “Perhaps our paths will cross again.”
“Wouldn’t that be fun.”
“Know that that encounter will be quite different from today’s.”
And she left.
“She’s trouble,” Stephanie said.
“I assume you have people out there?”
Stephanie nodded. “The French police will escort them out of the tunnel and seal it off.”
He realized it was over. Finally. The past three weeks had been some of the most horrific of his life.
He needed a rest.
“I understand you have a new career,” he said to Sam.
The younger man nodded. “I’m now officially working for the Magellan Billet, as an agent. I hear I have you to thank for that.”
“You have yourself to thank. Henrik would be proud.”
“I hope so.” Sam motioned at the chests. “What is going to happen with all this treasure?”
“The French get it,” Stephanie said. “No way to know where it came from. Here it sits, in their soil, so it’s theirs. Besides, they say it’s compensation for all the property damage Cotton inflicted.”
Malone wasn’t really listening. Instead he kept his attention on the doorway. Eliza Larocque had sheathed her parting threat in a warm cloak of politeness—a calm declaration that if their paths ever crossed again, things would be different. But he’d been threatened before. Besides, Larocque was partly responsible both for Henrik’s death and for the guilt that he feared would forever swirl inside him. He owed her, and he always paid his debts.
“You okay about Lyon?” he asked Sam.
The younger man nodded. “I still see his head exploding, but I can live with it.”
“Don’t ever let it get easy. Killing is serious business, even if they deserve it.”
“You sound like somebody else I once knew.”
“He a smart fellow, too?”
“More so than I ever realized, until lately.”
“You were right, Sam,” he said. “The Paris Club. Those conspiracies. At least a few of them were real.”
“As I recall, you thought I was a nut.”
He chuckled. “Half the people I meet think I’m one, too.”
“Meagan Morrison made sure I knew she was right,” Stephanie said. “She’s a handful.”
“You going to see her again?” Malone asked Sam.
“Who says I’m interested?”
“I heard it in her voice when she left the message on my phone. She went back in there for you. And I saw how you looked at her after Henrik’s funeral. You’re interested.”
“I don’t know. I might. You have any advice on that one?”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Women are not my strong point.”
“You can say that again,” Stephanie added. “You throw ex-wives out of planes.”
He smiled.
“We need to go,” Stephanie said. “The French want control of this.”
They headed for the exit.
“Something’s been bothering me,” Malone said to Sam. “Stephanie told me that you were raised in New Zealand, but you don’t talk like a Kiwi. Why’s that?”
Sam smiled. “Long story.”
Exactly what he’d said yesterday when Sam had asked about the name Cotton. The same two words he’d told Henrik the s
everal times when his friend had inquired, always promising to explain later.
But, sadly, there’d be no more laters.
He liked Sam Collins. He was a lot like himself fifteen years ago, just about the time when he’d started with the Magellan Billet. Now Sam was a full-fledged agent—about to face all of the incalculable risks associated with that dangerous job.
Any day could easily be his last.
“How about this,” Sam said. “I’ll tell you, if you tell me.”
“Deal.”
WRITER’S NOTE
This novel took me first to France, then to London. For several days Elizabeth and I roamed Paris, scouting every location that appears in the novel. I wasn’t particularly fond of being underground, and she disliked the height of the Eiffel Tower. Our various neuroses aside, we managed to discover all that we went there to find. As with those of my previous seven novels, this plot involved concocting, combining, correcting, and condensing a number of seemingly unrelated elements.
Now it’s time to draw the line between fact and fiction.
General Napoleon Bonaparte did indeed conquer Egypt in 1799, and ruled that land while he awaited the right moment to return to France and claim absolute power. He certainly saw the pyramids, but there is no evidence that he ever ventured inside. A story exists that he entered the Great Pyramid at Giza and emerged shaken, but no reputable historian has ever verified that account. The notion, though, seemed intriguing, so I couldn’t resist including my own version in the prologue. As to what happened inside with a mysterious seer (chapter 37), that was all my concoction. Napoleon’s savants, though, did exist, and together they unearthed an ancient civilization heretofore unknown, creating the science of Egyptology.
Corsica seems a fascinating place, though I wasn’t able to actually visit. Bastia (chapters 2 and 14) is described as correctly as photographs would allow. Cap Corse and its ancient watchtowers and convents are also faithfully rendered. Rommel’s gold is an actual treasure lost from World War II, with a Corsican connection, as described in chapter 6. The only addition I made was the fifth participant and clues left inside a 19th century book about Napoleon. The actual treasure remains, to this day, unfound.