The Dark Hour

by Robin Burcell

  She stared at him, as though he were insane. “What the hell are you talking about, Zachary?”

  “The virus. We know you took it,” he said. “There’s still a vial missing. Is it being sold to this buyer that Luc is picking up?”

  “Luc sent that vial to America. The one I took, I sent to Faas. It was in the cooler. That’s what he was supposed to turn over to you. But this is what you’re looking for. What I was to turn over to Reggie tonight. When Luc opens his safe and finds it missing, he’ll know it was me. I’m as good as dead.”

  The moment the words left her mouth, he saw Luc and another man walk in the front door—fifteen minutes earlier than they’d expected—the other man carrying a briefcase at his side. Griffin pulled out his phone, hit the speed dial that would warn Giustino, figuring the man was the buyer, the same one Becca was being accused of selling the information to.

  “What’s wrong?” Becca asked.

  And suddenly he was faced with the decision. Trust Becca or not? “Giustino is in there, looking for that flash drive you’re holding,” he said.

  “Why?” she asked. And then he saw when the realization hit her. What it meant. Not just that Griffin didn’t trust her—certainly expected under the circumstances—but for her to know that Thorndike had lost faith. Why else send in a team to do what Becca was supposed to do? And then that look was gone, replaced by determination, and she pressed the flash drive into his hand. “I’ll stall Luc. Get Giustino out. Now.”

  He grabbed her by the wrist. “You’re in danger. They know about you. They have to, or why kill Reggie?”

  “Trust me,” she whispered. “Please.”

  In a single heartbeat, he let go. And before he could tell her he trusted her, someone stepped around the corner and pressed a gun into his back.

  “Don’t move.”

  Bertrand. Becca’s so-called fiancé.

  Chapter 70

  December 12

  Washington, D.C.

  There were certain moments in life, Marc thought, when the only thing you could say in the time given is “Oh shit.” This was one of those moments.

  His only advantage was that Olivia Grogan didn’t seem to know that they were aware anything was off—an advantage they were bound to lose any second. He carefully backed away, drew his gun, pointed it at Olivia, and told Ennis, “Get the VP out of here. Now.”

  Ennis radioed Stevens, who then informed the closest Secret Service agent. They immediately ushered the vice president toward the exit. At the same time, Marc stepped around the table, leveled his pistol on Olivia, saying, “Don’t move.”

  But she wasn’t looking at him. She was staring at the Secret Service as they yanked the vice president out the door. She took one step in that direction, but the door slammed shut, the sound echoing throughout the room. Her jaw dropped, and she looked around her frantically, as the crowd became aware that something was going down. A few guests noticed Marc, his gun pointed at Olivia, and a woman screamed, no doubt misidentifying the situation. That was when Olivia finally noticed Marc, or rather his gun. Suddenly she held up the vial, her thumb covering the top, and she shouted, “Everyone. Stop! Stop or you’ll all die!”

  If there was any doubt in Marc’s mind as to the vial’s contents, it fled in that moment. Several more guests screamed, and suddenly there was a very wide circle around him and Olivia, and it widened even farther as his agents started moving people back. Apparently Olivia noticed as she held the vial higher, turning about the room, eyeing everyone like a cornered animal. “Don’t move,” she ordered.

  The crowd froze. Marc’s team of agents looked to him for direction. He gave them a signal to stand down. He wasn’t about to shoot until he knew what would happen if she dropped the thing. Then again, he couldn’t think of any way to get that vial from Olivia Grogan and still avoid an unmitigated disaster.

  Lisette. He searched the room, saw she’d backed away from Olivia into the crowd and was making her way toward him, slowly, surreptitiously, moving only when Olivia’s gaze was somewhere else. Finally she came up behind Marc, half hidden by the melting swan sculpture.

  “You think that’s the virus?” he asked.

  “I’m hoping otherwise.”

  “If it is, what are our options?”

  “Best scenario? It goes straight down and only affects those closest. Still too many people near her, including us. That’s if it falls. If she throws it, all bets are off.”

  “Great.” Marc looked around, not seeing any other choice that didn’t risk lives. “Sacrifice a few for the greater good.”

  “And if we’re in that few?”

  “On the bright side?” Marc replied. “If that happens and there is any fallout, we’ll be too dead to notice.” He kept the nose of his weapon pointed down. There was no shot. Too many people stood around Olivia Grogan for Marc to take her out, even if he dared. He keyed his radio. “Clear the space behind her.”

  Ennis radioed back. “To where?”

  What was it Ennis had said about that hallway? “En route to the restrooms. Exit the courtyard,” Marc replied. “Move as many as you can outside, shut the doors, and do not let them back in until it’s been cleared. Contact HQ, advise of possible bio threat and your location.”

  “Ten-four.”

  Marc felt Lisette standing behind him, though he couldn’t see her directly. They’d worked together enough that oftentimes it was as though they could read each other’s minds. It’s what made them a good team. “Any chance—”

  “That I can keep her talking?”

  “Yes,” he said, even though what he really wanted was for Lisette to evacuate with the others. She would never leave, not while the threat remained. None of the agents would. They were all dedicated. At least Ennis and the rest of the team were far enough away that if Olivia did drop the vial, they might be spared.

  Lisette took a step to the side, calling out, “Olivia! Talk to me. What’s going on?”

  “What’s going on?” Olivia glanced at the vial in her hand, then back at Lisette, never noticing that Ennis had started funneling guests down the hallway. “Everything went wrong.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course not. How could you?” She looked up to the ceiling a moment, as though blinking back tears, then took a deep breath. “It was supposed to be so simple, but now I don’t know what to do.”

  “I can help you, Olivia. That’s why I’m here. You know that.”

  “How can you help? You don’t even know, do you? You were supposed to be gone. All of you.”

  She started to turn, would have seen Ennis directing the guests down the hallway, but Lisette took a step forward, saying, “What are you talking about?”

  Olivia focused on Lisette, giving a manic laugh. “This!” she said, holding up the vial. “You realize what it is, don’t you?”

  “No. What is it?”

  “A virus. A deadly virus. And all I was supposed to do was sprinkle it in the hors d’oeuvres and let everyone have their fill. And then I would just walk away, not eating any of it. But they’re not here . . .” She looked at the table, then back at Lisette. “The food was supposed to be on the table, and I would just place a few drops in each tray . . .”

  “But you’re not going to do that,” Lisette said, slowly sidestepping, keeping Olivia’s attention on her instead of her surroundings.

  “I can’t. Even if I wanted to,” Olivia said, tears in her eyes. “I would have survived this horrible tragedy. People would have looked up to me. I would have been able to govern where others failed, where my husband failed, and everyone would understand that I was braving this tragedy for the greater good.”

  “You wouldn’t survive, Olivia. You’ll die right along with the rest of us once it leaves the vial and hits the air.”

  “And how would you know that?”


  “It’s my job. I’m a microbiologist. Whoever told you this information was just using you.”

  “You’re wrong. My father wouldn’t have lied to me.”

  “Yes, Olivia. That same virus killed the entire crew on a stolen freighter off the coast of Brazil. That vial you have was taken from a lab in France.”

  Olivia stared openmouthed. “How did you know?” She looked around the room, as though noticing for the first time that everyone was filing out. “He wouldn’t lie to me,” she said, almost a whisper, never taking her eye off the crowd, or rather what was left of it, thirty guests Marc estimated, including his agents. She looked down at the vial, then back at the people, and Marc’s finger instinctively squeezed the trigger to that first click. A hairbreadth more . . .

  “He’s using you,” Lisette said, and Olivia shifted her attention. Marc held his position, kept his aim, willing her to drop the thing.

  “The greater good . . . That’s what my father always said.”

  “It’s not the greater good, Olivia.”

  “It is,” she said, suddenly facing the crowd and drawing her hand back to throw the vial.

  Marc fired. The swan sculpture burst. Olivia jerked back, a look of shock on her face.

  Her hand flew open. Time seemed to fragment. The rest of the room seemed to disappear. And all he saw was the vial falling to the ground.

  Chapter 71

  December 12

  Château d’Montel Winery

  Outside Paris

  Sydney stood in the shadows at the arched entryway that led from the ballroom to the foyer. Her phone vibrated at the very same time she was pulling it out to warn Giustino that Luc had walked in the door. The call was from Giustino.

  “The safe is empty. The drive’s not here.”

  “Well, Luc is,” she said. “Get out. Now.”

  She looked toward the gallery, but couldn’t see Griffin or Becca from where she stood, and so she moved to the other side of the arch, giving her a better view. Luc and the stranger beside him still stood in the entryway, Luc shrugging out of his coat. Several guests mingled about in the foyer, perhaps waiting for coats. Suddenly Luc glanced up.

  Sydney followed his gaze and saw Becca first, walking toward the stairs, and behind her, Griffin, followed by the man Becca had been dancing with. He walked closely behind Griffin, a coat draped over his right arm, undoubtedly covering a gun.

  “Griffin’s in trouble,” Sydney whispered into the phone, then disconnected.

  The longest two minutes of her life stretched into eternity, as she watched the byplay on the stairs. The expression on Griffin’s face confirmed Sydney’s suspicions when he looked down, saw her just inside the arch, and gave a slight tilt of his head, warning her off. As if she was going anywhere without him. She unsnapped her purse, dropped her phone inside, drew her gun, and held it to her thigh out of sight. At that same moment someone grabbed Sydney by the shoulder, and her heart skipped several beats.

  “It’s I, amica,” Giustino whispered, watching over her shoulder as the three continued down the stairs. “This will be difficile . . . Too many people milling about. We need a distraction.”

  She glanced at the fire extinguisher on the wall, partially hidden by the potted palm. “How about that?”

  “Brilliant,” he said, then casually stepped around her, lifting the extinguisher from the wall mount. He held the canister behind his back, then took Syd by the arm, and the two strolled through the arch into the foyer, as though they were merely a couple of guests on their way out.

  Becca was about halfway down the stairs, Griffin and the other man several steps behind her. “I don’t understand, Bertrand,” Sydney heard Becca saying as she looked back toward the man. “What on earth is wrong?”

  “Wrong?” Bertrand said. “I recognized him from Amsterdam. I think you were right, Luc. She sent the package. Not that guard you suspected.”

  “She had nothing to do with this,” Griffin said.

  “Indeed?” Luc said. “And who are you to say?”

  “The man who stole the data from your safe.” He held up the flash drive, looked right at Sydney and Giustino.

  Giustino hurled the fire extinguisher into the foyer. As it clattered across the marble tiles, drawing Bertrand’s attention, Griffin pivoted. He rammed Bertrand’s gun arm, the weapon flying from his grasp. Griffin jumped down several stairs, grabbing Becca’s hand, taking her with him.

  A gunshot shattered the air, echoed across the foyer. And Sydney couldn’t tell where it came from or who fired. Or whether it was Becca or Griffin who stumbled. Or who pulled who to the ground. But Griffin was on top of Becca, clearly protecting her.

  Sydney saw Luc with a gun. Guests screamed, ran out the door, blocking Sydney’s aim. Giustino swore, unable to get a clear shot. And suddenly Bertrand was back on his feet, his gun in hand. Two guards burst through the front doors, both with weapons drawn. “The man on the ground,” Luc cried. “Get the flash drive from him.”

  They were outgunned. And then she saw the fire extinguisher on the ground. She aimed. Fired. It went spinning, spewing forth a white cloud that instantly filled the room.

  Giustino darted in, dove through the vapor toward Becca and Griffin, dragging them back to the ballroom.

  And as Giustino helped Griffin and Becca to their feet, and to the hallway that led to the kitchen, Sydney kept her gun trained on the haze-filled room, hearing the screams, hearing Luc shouting, “Find them!”

  She turned, hiking up her dress as they raced through the kitchen. Donovan had parked the van right next to the kitchen door, the engine running. Giustino threw open the cargo door, helping Griffin and Becca in. Sydney covered them, her gun out, aiming it toward the front of the house, then to the kitchen as she backed to the van.

  And as she climbed into the passenger seat, she looked down, and saw a dark trail of blood.

  Chapter 72

  December 12

  Washington, D.C.

  Olivia Grogan lay sprawled on the floor, moaning as she pressed her hand against her right shoulder, blood seeping through her fingers. Marc kept his gun trained on her, ready to shoot her again if she reached for that vial that had fallen just a few inches away from her. His sole purpose had been to keep that vial from the crowd, and as much as she probably deserved to die, he wondered how they’d even render aid to her if she was contagious. From his peripheral vision, he saw Ennis and the other agents still moving the guests down the hallway. Marc switched his radio to the main channel, called for an ambulance and a hazmat team, then ordered Ennis to continue evacuating the guests.

  He would have given anything to avoid exposing Lisette. For all the years they’d worked together, he could never have asked for a better partner, and that included the heartache of their brief relationship and the breakup that followed. “You okay?” he asked her.

  “Yes. I just didn’t expect this. Not in a million years.” Her sigh was one of resignation, a bittersweet sound that nearly broke his heart, especially when she reached out, touched his arm, whispering, “No regrets, though.”

  “No regrets,” he said, wondering how long it would take for the first symptoms to appear if they were infected. Fedorov died within a week. A very long week, undoubtedly. Time seemed to be at a standstill and he looked around, saw that everyone had been cleared from the room. “Where the hell is that hazmat team?”

  Lisette didn’t answer, and he wished he hadn’t sounded so harsh. He glanced over, saw her studying the scene, probably determining how best to keep contamination down to a minimum. “Oh my God,” she said, dropping her hand, and taking a step forward.

  “Lisette?”

  “It’s still intact.”

  “What is?”

  “The vial.” She took another step forward. “The top’s still on.” Her gaze swung to Olivia, still lying in the same spot.
“You didn’t remove the stopper.”

  “I couldn’t,” Olivia said. A sob escaped her throat. “I told you . . . Everything . . . w-went wrong . . .”

  Chapter 73

  December 12

  Château d’Montel Winery

  Outside Paris

  Griffin, his arm around Becca, felt as if his limbs were made of lead, trying to balance upright in the back of the van as Donovan sped up the hill and away from the château.

  “Giustino?”

  “Amico?”

  “Take it,” he said, holding out the flash drive.

  Giustino was at the back of the van, giving them space. He leaned forward, took the flash drive. “How bad is it?”

  “I’m fine . . .” Becca said.

  But Griffin saw the blood pooling beneath her, and he pressed his palm against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. He didn’t want to say how bad, didn’t want Becca to know. He’d seen men go into shock with less serious injuries because they thought it was worse than it was. “We need to get her to the hospital.”

  “I’ll call Dumas. He can arrange for an ambulance.”

  Griffin pulled Becca closer, trying to get more pressure on her wound.

  Her mouth parted as she took a shuddering breath.

  “Am I hurting you?” he asked.

  “No.” But he knew she was lying. He knew that every bump they drove over as Donovan raced to the hospital had to be agony. “Zachary . . . ?” He waited, and she said, “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” he asked.

  “Not . . . telling . . . you.”

  Griffin leaned his head against the side of the van, and for some reason glanced over, saw Sydney watching him, her face filled with worry. He turned back to Becca, willing for her to hold on. He didn’t want her apologizing. He wanted her to be fighting, and he took a deep breath, wondering if a prayer at this late date in his life would have any hope of hitting home. “None of that matters now.”