by Tom Wilde
I walked through the main square, feeling with every step that I’d made a fatal mistake in choosing this place, until I saw over to my right a chance to salvage the situation. I hurried over toward the right side of the square until I was standing before a massive statue of Charlemagne, king of the Franks and emperor of Rome, astride his horse and flanked by two of his paladins. I figured the paladin to Charlemagne’s right, the one holding a horn, was supposed to be Roland, and it made me hope that this stunt I was about to try wouldn’t turn out to be my own personal Battle of Roncevaux. It was fortunate that Paris, the City of Lights, was also the City of Trees; I saw that on the side of the statue facing away from the square was a darkened area that offered a shadowy, tree-clustered refuge. It was a perfect spot for someone to try and sneak up on me. I gratefully sat down on the wet stone base of the monument, facing the night-shrouded foliage, glad that I had one of the greatest warrior kings of the world to guard my back.
As I sat there, I realized that for the first time in my professional life I was actually hiding in a spot where I hoped to be found. I decided to help out anyone looking for me and took out a cigarette from my flattened box and lit up a smoke, cupping the cigarette in my hands to keep it dry. I was tempted to hold on to the lighter as a last-ditch close-combat weapon, but reluctantly chose to put it away.
My cigarette was long gone and I was starting to think that I was hiding a little too well when I finally heard a quiet, melodious voice from behind me and to my left that said, “May I see your hands, please?” I slowly raised my hands to my shoulders as Mr. Ombra stepped out from behind the base of the statue. Even in the poorly reflected light I could see the damage on his face, and he seemed to have lost his glasses somewhere during the evening. He didn’t have a weapon I could see, though I was pleased to notice that he held his right arm stiffly, the result of the screwdriver I had plowed into his back earlier in the evening.
“Where’s Caitlin?”
“She is nearby.”
“Where?”
Ombra just shook his head, then came and sat next to me. He held out his hand and said, “The eagle, if you please.”
I reached into my coat and removed the plastic bag I carried. Ombra received it from my hand and gently hefted the bag a few times, causing the broken contents to clink together, then he slowly tipped the bag over and poured the bronze bits out and watched as they bounced on the concrete ground.
“I forgot to mention,” I said, “there was a little damage in transit.”
Ombra said nothing; he just sighed and held his hand out again. This time I gave him the tin cylinder. “So you have seen what was inside,” Ombra said, almost sadly. I was just about to answer when a spark of bright green light began to dance on the front of my coat.
My chest exploded.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The bullet hit my chest and slammed me back into the stone base, cracking my head before I tumbled to the hard, wet ground. I don’t know if I went completely unconscious or not; all I could see was a black pond filled with frantically swimming electric-bright minnows. I didn’t hear Ombra leave the area through the trip-hammer drumbeat of blood pounding in my ears. I stayed still, forcing myself to breathe in slow, openmouthed draughts while my heart beat against the walls of my chest until I thought I was going to pass out from the lack of oxygen. My efforts to imitate the dead were rewarded, first by the fact that no one shot me again, and secondly when I heard the sound of shoe heels as they came running toward me on the concrete.
Hands grabbed me and rolled me over, and I opened my eyes as I croaked out, “Hi, honey, miss me?” Only to see the beautiful, half-shadowed face of Rhea staring down at me. “Damn it!” I uttered. “Sorry, wrong damsel. Where’s Caitlin?”
Rhea let go of me, and I almost hit my head on the ground. “Caitlin? Your wife? They still have her.”
I cursed, then cursed again when I tried to sit up and couldn’t. It felt like my chest was a bag of broken glass. I tore open my overcoat and let my makeshift armor slide off my overheated body and onto the ground. I owed my life to all the people and places in Paris who thoughtfully included themselves in the Parisian telephone directory that I’d taken from my hotel room and packed around my torso. I also owed a debt to the Chinese Tang Dynasty armor smiths who first purportedly used layers of paper as cheap protection for some of their troops. Back during my survival training I’d seen the effect of handgun rounds after they’d been fired into phone books. The exercise then was to show me how some bullets expand on impact, but I noticed how those old books managed to absorb shots fired from guns as big as a .44 Special. I’d gambled on the fact that the guns Ombra’s men had been using were silenced and probably loaded with slow, subsonic rounds that didn’t give themselves away with the telltale whip-crack sound as they traveled through the air. With the phone directory in my coat, I’d looked fairly pregnant on my walk over, but sitting down I was able to hunch forward and conceal the bulk under my overcoat. This was why I’d had to find some solid cover for my back and hope no one would try to take me down with a headshot.
I pulled myself mostly upright with the help of Charlemagne’s pedestal, looking up toward the glistening towers of Notre Dame and offering a silent thanks to any saints who may have helped me survive. Rhea was still on her knees. Her raven-black hair had come undone and lay across her shoulders, and her dark gray business suit was soaked through. She was holding the eagle, its head in one hand and winged body in the other. “What happened?” she asked quietly.
“Ombra happened, that’s what. Now you tell me—where’s Caitlin?”
Rhea didn’t speak for a moment, then she looked up and into my eyes with a stare that was both deep and implacable. “You know what was inside the eagle,” she stated.
I pushed off from the pedestal and forced myself to stand, feeling a spike of fire shoot through my right side. Of course, it would have to be the right side of my chest again, I thought. “Look, just tell me what you know about Ombra and his men, and then you’re free to go. All I ask is that you don’t call for the police, at least not for a little while.”
“Police?” she said disdainfully as she rose. “I have no intention of calling the police. You know what was inside the eagle. I’m going with you.”
“Like hell, lady.”
“Then perhaps I should start screaming now?”
Her smile was haughty and disdainful; she knew she’d won. “Look,” I said, “I’m going after Ombra and his crew. At least I think I know where they’re headed. It’s going to be too dangerous to take you with me.”
“You’re going after Ombra? Look at yourself. You can hardly stand. You look like you belong up there in the bell tower. You’re wasting time. I’m coming with you.”
A flash of memory replayed the quick and deadly way that this woman had grabbed DeWinter’s own gun out of thin air and shot him to pieces with it. I knew I wasn’t going to win this standoff. “All right,” I conceded. “Let’s go. But don’t come crying to me if you get yourself killed over this.”
I almost thought I saw a twinge of a smile on her glistening features. From force of habit, I looked around the area for incriminating evidence. I couldn’t quite stifle the moan I made as I bent down and retrieved the phone directory. There was a small, ragged hole in the front and a thumb-sized protrusion in the back, and I peeled open the pages, dislodging specks of paper confetti until I found the bullet, lodged almost all the way through the book. I pried out the round and saw how it looked like some deadly, copper-plated insect that got smashed against an impervious windscreen. Rhea had picked up the plastic garment bag and was placing the pieces of the broken eagle inside. I took the bag from her, added the phone directory, placed the bullet in my overcoat pocket, and nodded my head in the direction of the nearest bridge.
Rhea surprised me by coming to my side, placing my arm around her shoulders, and circling my waist with her free hand, assisting me to walk and giving anyone who might see us the impres
sion that we were lovers, out for a rainy Parisian stroll. I could feel the smooth, hard muscles of her body as we moved together. “So where are we going?” she asked.
“You first,” I countered. “What happened at Troyon’s apartment?”
“You were there. You saw how they killed … my companion.”
“Yeah. I also saw you avenge him.”
Rhea ignored my statement as if it meant nothing and continued, “I tried to get the eagle out of the apartment, but that wife of yours grabbed me. Why did she do that?”
“She’s always been impulsive,” I responded. “What came next?”
“I almost killed her,” Rhea said, as if we were discussing the weather, “but we both wound up falling down the stairs and into those men. They had guns.”
“How many men does Ombra have?”
“I think there are five, altogether. We were dragged out and thrown into a large, white Mercedes van, then tied and blindfolded. They spoke French, and must have thought that your wife and I did not, or they just didn’t care. When Ombra came down to the van, we left in a hurry. He seemed quite annoyed. I suppose that’s when you got away with the eagle?”
I just nodded, and Rhea continued. “Ombra and his men kept the van moving, and it felt like they were driving in a big circle. I heard him place a call and leave a message for you. It seemed like a long time before you called Ombra back.”
“I was busy. Then what?”
“Ombra told his men to go to the cathedral, but then he had trouble finding you. I heard him send his men out on foot. They have radios, and I heard one call in that he had you spotted, over by the statue of Charlemagne. I heard Ombra tell your wife that she would see you soon, and he got out of the van. He wasn’t gone long when he came back. The next thing I know, his men are cutting my ropes and pulling me outside the van. I was told to go and warn my people to stay out of this business, and that was the only reason they let me live. The last thing I heard was Ombra telling your wife that there had been a change of plans, but that she would still be with you soon. They drove off and left me, so I went looking for you.”
I really didn’t like the sound of Ombra’s last words. “Why’d they let you go and keep Caitlin?”
“I don’t know,” Rhea replied. “Perhaps, since Ombra thought he had killed you, he didn’t want your wife to find out so soon?”
“Those ruthless bastards? Not likely.”
“Regardless, that was very clever of you, letting them think you are dead,” Rhea said with a tinge of admiration in her voice. “And far too clever for someone who is supposed to be a simple expert in antiquities. Who are you, really?”
“Just a guy who’s going to get his wife back,” I said through gritted teeth. We’d arrived at the bridge, the Pont au Double, and when we stared across I saw a sparkling pillar of light off to my right over the top of the city skyline as the sound of a bell tolled. The Eiffel Tower had lit up and signaled that it was midnight in Paris. At the halfway point of the stone bridge, in between the pools of light cast by the streetlamps, I looked around to see that Rhea and I were unobserved, then held up the bag containing the broken bronze eagle and the phone book. I could think of no useful purpose for the ruined icon. “Do you want the consolation prize?”
She shook her head, and with a sigh I tossed two hundred years of history down into the River Seine. All throughout my career working for Nicholas Riley, I’d done my best to save and salvage such treasure. Now I felt the ghosts of all the men who died following that gilded icon into battle weighing on whatever was left of my soul as I dropped the wreckage into the water, adding the smashed-up bullet as an afterthought. As I leaned over the bridge and stared down into the black water bordered by reflected columns of shimmering light, I heard Rhea beside me ask, “What are you thinking?” For a brief moment, her question took me back to my time with Caitlin, when she asked me the same question, an eon or two ago. Without taking my eyes off the river, I said, “I was just wondering if you could swim.”
Rhea laughed, like she’d heard the best joke in the world. “Like a seal,” she replied, almost happily. “And even if you could toss me in, Mr. Blake, I’m betting I could make it to the other side of the water before you could cross this old bridge. Now, where are we going?”
I didn’t answer, and asked instead as we resumed walking, “So how did you know there was something inside that old bronze bird?”
“My patron would not want me to answer that question. What is your interest in all of this?”
“I’m just going to get my wife back.”
Rhea stopped and turned to face me. Her night-black eyes stared steadily into mine as she said, “If you help me find what I need tonight, I will see to it that you are rewarded. Very well rewarded.”
I opened my mouth, and then remembered the part I was supposed to be playing. “Deal,” I said. “Now what is it you’re looking for?”
“You don’t know?”
“No. I know where Ombra is headed, but I don’t know why,” I lied.
“I see,” she breathed. “Well, then. Lead the way, and then we both shall see.”
I nodded acquiescence to her command, and we resumed our trek. Despite my concern for Caitlin, I felt that old, burning desire I got whenever I was on the hunt for treasure. Rhea was still playing cagey, as was I, and I silently promised her a good old-fashioned double cross. Just as soon as I got Caitlin back.
I’d been keeping a lookout for a taxi the whole time we’d been walking, and finally spotted a small white one on the other side of the bridge. Rhea and I hurried over and almost raced to see who could get into the backseat first. I pulled out a pair of hundred-euro notes and waved them at the driver, a tall, attenuated elder who looked like an adult crammed into a child’s toy car. With a rueful glance at Rhea, I told the driver the destination: “Val de Grâce.”
Our driver first held up the money to the overhead light, then grunted and nodded and shot the car out into the boulevard to the accompanying sounds of blaring horns on all sides of us. I couldn’t really see what was happening outside the cab; the fact that Rhea and I were completely soaked soon had the windows of the small car fogged over, and the world outside seemed to melt into shifting blobs of color. Our driver cranked up the defroster until he had a narrow view of the street ahead through the rapid beats of the windshield wipers, beating counter-time to some French female crooner wailing a song of desperation from the tinny car radio.
I leaned back into the seat of the car and then Rhea grabbed me by the coat and smothered me in a deep, cold-lipped, hot-mouthed kiss that I instinctively responded to. When she pulled away, she planted a smaller kiss on my lips and whispered, “I wanted to say thank you, in case there isn’t time later.”
“Okay,” was all I could manage to say as she settled back in her seat, looking like a satisfied cat. I was coming to the conclusion that I was sitting next to a dangerous woman of unknown capability and questionable sanity, and that I was probably going to regret not throwing her into the river when I had the chance.
I took the time to make a mental inventory. My bandanna and pocket monocular were gone, but I still had a button-sized flashlight and a small but accurate compass that was about the same size. I’d kept my pocket tool with the short blade and screwdriver attachments and a waterproof aluminum tube with a few strike-anywhere matches, along with a couple of safety pins and a paper clip that could be pressed into service as improvised lock picks. I still had a good wad of cash and my lighter, and a couple other items that I could employ to deadly effect. On the downside, I was hurting, but it was only pain, and I’ve learned to deal with that over the years.
I’d noticed the lights outside my fogged-up window had been growing dimmer and farther apart, and then the driver stopped the car and announced, “Val de Grâce, monsieur.” I mentally kicked myself and told the driver to head up one more block. No sense in delivering yourself to your enemy’s doorstep, idiot, I chastised myself. The driver took us a sho
rt distance and pulled over as I rolled down the window to get a look at the terrain.
I was sorry to see that the rain had let up and the clouds were breaking apart, letting moonlight shine through. Not that it mattered; the streets were woefully bright around the neighborhood, made up of tall, pale-colored structures crowded together. I paid off the driver and sent him on his way.
I scanned the area, noting the multitude of vehicles lining the street, but didn’t spot any large white vans. My eyes were drawn to the domed basilica-like structure of the church. “Let’s take a stroll,” I said to Rhea.
I led my army of one around the block to a street named rue Pierre-Nicole and down the avenue, walking slowly to take it easy on my leg and letting my senses roam. The traffic was light and the neighborhood relatively quiet with no signs of danger. Until we reached the rue du Val de Grâce. When we rounded the corner, the sight of the church’s façade was revealed, as if framed between the cream-colored rectangular buildings of the street. The baroque-domed edifice looked like a fairy-tale fusion of a Greco-Roman temple melded with a Saracen mosque. Then I spotted the back end of a white van, parked at the end of the street on the left.
I pulled Rhea back around the corner with me. “See it?” I whispered.
She nodded. “Now what?”
Good question, I almost said aloud. I was hoping that Caitlin would still be alive inside the van, and if she was, there’d doubtless be at least one armed guard. “From here on out it’s risky. Here’s your last chance to walk away,” I said.
“Forget it. How do you want to proceed?”
I looked back at Rhea, her face set into a mask of fierce determination, and for a moment, I could have been looking at an incarnation of an ‘onna bugeisha’, a female Samurai. “All right,” I said. “Give me five minutes to get around the block to the nearest corner of the van. Then, come down the street and get yourself noticed by whoever may be inside. But whatever you do, you’ve got to get their attention away from where I’ll be. Got it?”
