Tommy knew something was wrong the second Sean's expression changed.
"Nothing to worry about," Sean said, standing up fully and straightening his shirt.
There was no confusion, not to Tommy.
Sean's eyes flicked to the right.
Tommy wasn't stupid enough to look blatantly in the direction Sean had suggested. His friend's subtle motion was enough. There was trouble over there, and Sean had spotted it.
"You okay?" Tommy asked, taking a step toward his friend. "Get that shoelace tightened?"
"Yep, all good." Then in a hushed tone, Sean added, "Two of them. Watching us. Park bench near the fountain."
Tommy nodded and smiled, slapping his friend on the back. "You need to be more careful. I thought you knew how to tie good knots." As Tommy ushered his friend forward, he twisted and caught a glimpse of the two people Sean believed were following them, or at the very least, watching them.
"Man and a woman," Tommy said through clenched teeth. "And on bikes."
Sean had seen the motorcycles first, momentarily admiring them from a distance. They were twin Ducati Monsters, the newer 821 Stealth models with matte-black paint highlighted by red-and-silver trim. Then he'd seen the couple sitting near them. Tommy's assumption of the bikes belonging to the man and woman could have been a big one to leap to, except that the man had made the mistake of keeping his helmet on the ground at his side, whereas the woman's helmet hung from the right handlebar grip.
If Sean had looked their direction in another moment, he might have seen the two staring at birds or watching the clouds float by above. He had looked in that moment, however, and it was in that second he saw them watching. Even through their dark sunglasses, there was no mistaking what the two were doing. They were following Sean and his companions.
He'd instantly forgotten his admiration of the two motorcycles—the objects of his desire—and taken to retying his shoelace while having a quick scan of the area.
"You know," Sean said, "my ankle is acting up again." He winced in dramatic pain and reached down to the lower part of his leg, gripping it with fingers from both hands as if that would alleviate his ailment. "Old basketball injury. Would you guys mind if we take a cab? I know it's not far, but I just need to rest it for a few minutes and I'll be fine."
Bodmer was the only one in the group who didn't get the hint. "Ankle injury? Are you certain you can't make it? The château isn't far." He pointed in the general direction they were heading. The truth was, the palatial former residence of Napoléon was nearby, but they weren't within view of it yet.
"Sorry, man," Sean said, leaning on Tommy for support. "I'll pay the cab fare. Of course, you can go on ahead on foot if you like, but I thought it best we stick together."
Bodmer shrugged, seemingly unwilling to pick this battle. It wasn't a big deal, except that waiting for a cab might slow them down. That concern was immediately alleviated when a taxi whipped around the corner and pulled up in front of a shop not thirty feet from where they were standing.
"There's one," Adriana said. "I'll ask them to wait." She didn't pause for confirmation or permission. She simply jogged over to the cab and leaned toward the window, resting her elbows on the roof of the vehicle as she spoke to the driver. She nodded and then motioned the others over.
The cab was a minivan with black wheels and a navy-blue paint job. The driver looked like he was of Turkish descent, a common occurrence in this part of Europe. Turkish immigrants had been flowing over the borders of European nations for decades, and it seemed more were coming all the time. Shawarma carts were appearing on more and more street corners every month, as were hookah lounges; cafés featuring Turkish fare. These were some of the more notable changes to the culture that Sean also witnessed the last time he was in Germany.
Turkish people, in his experience, were friendly and accommodating toward Westerners. Turkey was one of his favorite places to visit, and he had been happy to see an attempted military coup thwarted a few years prior since it seemed the people favored keeping the leader in power. Sean found himself wondering how this cab driver might have arrived in Paris, if indeed his origin was the nation of Turkey.
The group piled into the minivan and the driver took off, flipping his rate flag down to begin the fare.
"You hurt your leg?" the driver asked Sean as he wheeled the vehicle to the left and stopped at a light.
"Yes, something like that," Sean said. "Although it's feeling better already."
"Oh, that's good. Doesn't make for good sightseeing if you can't move without pain."
Sean disregarded the man's less-than-astute observation and nodded, noting more about his Turkish accent than anything else. "Where are you from?" Sean asked, already knowing the answer. He only asked to divert the conversation away from himself. The less attention he conjured, the better.
"Paris," the cabbie said.
"That accent isn't Parisian," Sean countered.
"Ah, yes. I am originally from Turkey. Came here seventeen years ago with my family. We lived in Istanbul."
Sean nodded. "Wonderful city, Istanbul. Wouldn't you agree, honey?" He looked at Adriana.
"Definitely."
"Well, that is nice of you to say. I appreciate that. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to go back as much as I'd like. Money, you see."
"It can be elusive," Sean said.
The driver steered the minivan through traffic. A row of trees lined the streets on both sides, and a gray palace appeared up ahead. At least, Sean thought it was gray. As they neared the grand château, a few clouds overhead dispersed and the full power of the sun struck the enormous manor. The exterior walls seemed to change color from gray to a bright beige.
Tommy was busy on his phone, ignoring the others as he locked his gaze on the screen. He was looking at images of something, but being in the front with the cab driver made it impossible for the others to see what he was doing.
He'd been silent since entering the taxi. Sean realized his friend was doing something he deemed important. But what?
"You okay up there?" Sean asked.
Tommy nodded absently. "Yeah, I just…I think I figured it out."
"Figured what out?" Bodmer wondered.
"The solution to our problem."
15
PARIS
The group exited the cab and waited until the vehicle was out of sight before they hurried to the entrance of the Château de Malmaison. The scent of thousands of roses filled the air and washed over them in the gentle summer breeze.
"Smart move," Tommy said to his friend when the cab was gone. "I was wondering how we were going to get out of there."
"Those two on the bikes won't be far behind. Let's duck over there and wait for a minute." Sean pointed at a row of large, finely manicured shrubs to the right and started for them.
"What is going on?" Bodmer asked.
Sean didn't stop, instead looking over his shoulder as Tommy and Adriana followed. "We're being followed, Commander. I suggest you come with us to stay out of sight. As my friend suggested, they'll be here within seconds."
Bodmer reacted even though he still wasn't sure what they were talking about. He followed the other three into the shadows. They each crouched down, which wasn't entirely necessary, but it didn't hurt to be overly cautious.
It was less than ten seconds after they had secured their hiding spot that the sound of two motorcycles roared close by. Sean peeked through some of the thinner branches of the bush he'd chosen and noted the twin Ducatis rolling by slowly as their riders turned their heads in every direction in an attempt to locate their quarry. Their helmets' visors were darkly tinted, making it impossible to see the riders' faces. Sean had already seen them, though, and would easily make them out in a crowd, whether they were wearing their helmets, their sunglasses, or nothing over their faces.
The bikes slowed as they neared the entrance to the château and its grounds. For a moment, Sean and the others wondered if the two riders were goin
g to stop and get out to search on foot.
That's not what Sean would have done. He guessed that these two would act in a similar manner, which would be to follow the cab at a safe distance. If they assumed the group had kept going, the bikes would take off in pursuit of the taxi. If they believed the visitors had gotten out of the cab to search this place, they would park their bikes. And then there would be trouble.
Sean felt the weight of his weapon tucked inside his pants. It was an interior-style holster, padded against his leg for comfort; though wearing it was hardly comfortable. It also only provided enough wiggle room for a single-stack magazine instead of the usual double-stack mags he preferred. He also didn't like the thin profile of the weapon when it was in his hands. It felt unnatural to be able to wrap his fingers so far around the grip and trigger, but the demands of necessity and practicality outweighed comfort. Paris was no city to be walking around with a gun fully visible to the public, even if he had the proper paperwork, and at this moment in time, he did not.
In the winter, this would be less of an issue since he could wear thicker clothes and outerwear that would conceal almost any sort of sidearm. The good weather of summer, it seemed, came with a price he hadn't considered—other than when he began preparations for this trip.
His right hand unconsciously reached for the pistol, and he felt the grip's corrugated surface against his thumb. If he needed to draw the weapon, he would do so with blinding and deadly speed. He had no cover, not from bullets anyway, and he knew that if it came down to a firefight, first blood would be paramount. Taking down one of the enemies would immediately make things harder for the remaining attacker and would force them to consider running. Sean had already chosen his first target if a fight ensued. At this distance, he could expect reasonable accuracy, but not impeccable.
He noted the weapons that were poorly concealed on the riders. The guns were strapped to their calves, sticking out of boot tops near the motors. Sean also didn't think those to be advantageous places to carry a firearm.
A wave of relief crashed into the four hiding behind the bushes when the riders apparently decided there was nothing for them to find there. The bikes revved hard and the throaty sounds of the motors faded as the two pursuers disappeared from view down the street.
"That was lucky," Tommy said as he emerged from the shrubs.
The others joined him on the street, all staring after the bikes despite the fact that they were already gone.
"What was all that about?" Bodmer demanded. It was the first time in a while the man had sounded like the commanding leader of the Swiss Guard.
"We have a couple of tails," Sean answered plainly. "Tommy and I noticed them as we were leaving the cathedral."
Bodmer turned his head back in the direction they'd come. The church was no longer within sight, but that didn't stop the man from staring that way. His head snapped back to Sean, then toward the church of Saint Peter-Saint Paul, and one last time to Sean, finally settling on the man. "You noticed them back there?"
"Yes. Sorry, I lied about my ankle, though only partially. I do have ankle issues from time to time, from my basketball days. Dad always pushed me to be a better rebounder, even though I was a shooting guard. Lots of ways to sprain an ankle in the low post. Know what I mean?"
Bodmer's confusion had shifted from the issue of the two people following them to Sean's recounting of his athletic days. The commander didn't follow basketball, and that fact was evidenced by the bewildered look on his face.
"Never mind," Sean said with a chuckle. "Look, just know that we spotted them in time, and now it seems we've lost them." He turned his focus to Tommy. "Now, what was it you found on your phone during the cab ride?"
Bodmer didn't appear fully satisfied with the results of his query, but it seemed—for the moment—there was no going back. In fact, the other three were already strolling toward the entrance to the château.
"Wait!" Bodmer exclaimed. "Where are you going?"
"The château, of course," Sean said, glancing back at the man as he caught up. "That's why we're here. And I don't think standing on the street is the best idea right now. If those two come back, it would be a good plan to either be gone or at least not be visible. If you want, you can go hide in those bushes again."
The commander bit his lip and fell in line behind the others. He knew Sean was right. Being in the open on a street corner was not a good position to be in, especially if the two bikers bore ill intent.
Tommy paid the small entry fee for the four adults to enter the palace grounds, and they immediately made their way to the nearest employee, who happened to be standing in the center of the path leading into the main building. The man was in the same uniform the ticket person wore. His hair retreated back toward the rear of his skull and left a shiny, pale bald spot over most of his head. The remnants of his brown strands clung around his ears. He wore a bright, welcoming smile, though Sean wondered how long that lasted as the man answered tourists' questions all day long.
"We need to find out where this is," Tommy said, showing his phone to his friend as he'd intended when they were entering the property.
The image on the screen was of a room. It looked antiquated, like a museum that was made out of someone's home. It was the same look Sean had seen in other places, like the White House, Monticello, or Mount Vernon. Those old homes featured rooms that had been preserved to look the same as they had in the days of old.
The two stopped short before they were too close to the attendant. Sean stared at the image. There were wooden chairs, bookshelves, a drab green ceiling, a desk, and other furnishings and everyday items that would have been used over two hundred years ago by someone of means.
"What's that?" Sean asked.
"That's Napoléon's library. And it's here, somewhere. We need to find it."
"Why?" Sean wondered. "What's the—" He didn't finish his sentence as Tommy expanded the image to zoom in on the ceiling.
"That's the point," Tommy answered his friend's unfinished question. "Minerva and Apollo. They're right there in the general's study."
Bodmer and Adriana each took a shoulder to look over as all four stared at the image.
"How did you find that?" Sean asked.
"Well, um…I Googled it." He sounded ashamed at the admission. In their line of work, performing ordinary internet searches was something amateurs did, and they almost always settled on the first result, which was often loaded with incorrect information.
Sean bellowed a laugh, then realized how loud he'd been and clamped his mouth shut. "Sorry. I mean, there's nothing wrong with that. I do it all the time."
"I know. I do, too. It's just, we're historians, archaeologists. You know?"
"Since when are you worried about image?" Adriana asked jovially.
"Yeah," Sean agreed. "And technically, you're the only real archaeologist here."
"You guys know what I mean."
"Is there anything I can do to help you?" A voice cut through their conversation like a saber. Sean and the others looked up and saw the attendant standing awkwardly close—too close for a private discussion, anyway.
"Oh, sorry. Hi," Sean said. "We were just…talking about how to get to Napoléon's library. Is it true that it hasn't been renovated since his death?"
"Oui, that is true," the man answered in mixed French and English. "Most of the grounds here have remained in the condition the emperor left them."
The way the guy said “the emperor” caused Sean to wonder if he actually wished Napoléon was still in charge of things.
Sean twisted his head and looked for Tommy's reaction.
His friend gave a casual nod, though Sean could tell Tommy was doing his best to suppress his excitement. It was rare to find places that were untainted by human hands. While the efforts to maintain historical sites and preserve them for generations to come was something to be lauded and appreciated, it was extremely rare to find anything authentic anymore, at least a place as importa
nt as this was. It was a gem, hidden in plain sight.
"Thank you," Sean said, cutting back in before Tommy started geeking out. "Would you mind showing us the way there?"
The man directed them with a few short directions that were emphasized by finger pointing and waving.
The group thanked the man, saying “merci” as they departed.
A massive terrace was in the back of the château, and wide steps led down into the gardens, passing tiers of roses and a variety of shrubs along each landing. At the bottom of the steps, rows of hedges were arranged neatly, wrapping around the feature attractions of the property: more roses.
Sean led the way around the palace until they came to the entrance the attendant had suggested. They walked into the palatial residence and then down a short corridor lined with golden sconces, paintings that depicted scenes from early nineteenth-century life, and a few choice furnishings such as upholstered chairs and cherry wood side tables.
A couple of tourists with cameras dangling from their necks passed them. Sean noted a German flag patched to one of their daypacks. He gave them an extra look to make sure they weren't also following him and the others. They were a little old for assets or hitters, but Sean had got sloppy before. He wasn't going to make the same mistake again.
Satisfied the German couple were no threat, he kept walking until they reached the entrance to the library. There, he slowed his pace and stepped across the threshold.
That old familiar museum smell filled the room, and Sean consciously slid one foot to the side to let his friend pass. He knew Tommy was in heaven and could sense his friend mere inches behind him despite Tommy not having made a sound.
Adriana peeled to the left, also detecting the same thing as her husband.
Tommy walked forward as though he were entering the most hallowed temple in all the world. How had he never been to this place? How had he not known that Napoléon's library was pretty much still in its original condition? He walked over to the chairs and dared himself to brush his fingers across the upholstered cushions or the wooden backs, though he stopped himself short.
The Napoleon Affair Page 13
