Against the Wall

by Lyn Stone

  "Eric?" she said as he reached the doorway.

  He turned, eyebrows raised in question.

  "Good luck."

  His smile was wicked. "Uh-uh, that's not what you were thinking."

  "Not exactly," she admitted. "What are you? A mind reader?"

  "Me? If I were, I would know that you wanted to make pork chops out of Chari at the party that night, right?"

  Her mouth dropped open.

  He went on. "And I would know that right now you'd trade your retirement fund for an hour with Jack before he leaves. Oh, and he wouldn't care about that ugly hospital gown. He wouldn't mind a bit."

  She snapped her mouth shut, narrowed her eyes and glared at him. What could she say? Nothing half as scathing as what she was thinking at the moment.

  He shrugged. "Hey, chill, Doc. It's part of my charm. As ol' Popeye used to say, 'I yam what I yam.'"

  "You are nothing but...an adolescent eavesdropper!"

  "Don't forget voyeur. I see things, too."

  "Do not dare to tell him my thoughts!" she warned.

  "Popeye? I never talk to sailors."

  Before she could think of a retort, he was gone. How could she ever have thought he was charming? How could he have known? Was it possible he really had been able to—

  No, of course not, but if he could—and he had known about the pork chop thing and her worry about the gown just now—how horribly embarrassing was that? And perhaps convenient? Yes, it could be.

  She was still delirious, that was it. Or it was her meds. What the devil had they given her?

  Hopefully Eric would ignore her silly protest and tell Jacques how much she longed to see him. It did not take a psychic to guess that much was true. It was probably written all over her face.

  They were going after Belclair. Despite the man's unwieldy size and sedentary habits, Solange feared he could be dangerous in more ways than the one they knew about. Then there were those people who must have helped him to escape. They were sure to be heavily armed.

  What if she never had the chance to see Jacques again?

  She grabbed the buzzer and pushed it with her thumb until one of the sisters came rushing in.

  "The man who was just in here. Could you please call him back," she ordered.

  "I am sorry, Dr. Micheaux. He and his friends have already left. They were waiting for him beside the elevator."

  She started out, then stopped and turned around. "Perhaps I could telephone downstairs and have someone stop them. It might not be too late."

  "No," Solange told her. "That will not be necessary. What they have to do is very important. It would be wrong of me to delay them."

  Now she did not feel well. Not well at all.

  Chapter 15

  "Intel's heard that there's another lab." Holly tossed the report from French intelligence across the table to Jack. "Berard says they'll handle this one, but he's going to wait until dark to raid it. Told me we should back off now and go home."

  "That's gratitude for you," Jack said, thumbing through the three-page document.

  "He wants the glory. The lab's right here in Paris, smaller than the one at Chari's place, according to the source. They've had a fermentor, water tank, holding tank, two sets of gas cylinders and various other weird stuff delivered there in the past two days. The genquist's probably there, too, by now. I'd say they're almost set to go into production."

  "So that's why most of the genquist was gone before we found it."

  For three long days and nights after locating the genquist, the team had staked out the small plot of land near the chateau where the stuff had been growing. No one had shown up, probably because there was very little left to harvest. Finally, in frustration, they had destroyed what was left of the plants and come to Paris to compare notes with their French counterparts.

  Jack planned to go out to the hospital to see Solange as soon as everyone reported in. Though he had not talked with her personally, he had touched base with her doctors several times a day since he had been gone. Now that she was almost well and they had both had the time and distance to think about things, they needed to talk. However, given what Holly had brought in just now, the visit might have to wait a few more hours.

  Holly dragged out one of the chairs and collapsed in it, leaning back and rubbing her forehead as if it ached. "Belclair's the only one we know about who's working with the stuff. Best guess is that someone was harvesting the plant even before he escaped, probably on his orders. Unfortunately, the locals didn't monitor conversations with his visitors or the phone calls he supposedly made to set up legal counsel. He definitely had help with that and also with the escape. Three guesses who that would be."

  "The client's involved," Jack declared. "According to Chari, the EIJ has a sizable investment to protect." He tapped his pen on the folder. "Egyptian Jihad, Al-Qaeda's little brother," Jack said. "We have all we need. Time to kick ass and take names. Where's the lab located, exactly?"

  "Truck driver's home, out in one of the suburbs," Holly told him. "The lab's in a trailer, a mobile unit like the ones found in Iraq. The set-up inside these is usually primitive at best, but easily relocated and difficult to trace. We simply lucked out. A neighbor got suspicious and kept up surveillance until he was sure what it was. He's retired army, a career guy."

  "We'll move as soon as everyone gets here. So the locals aren't moving on this until tonight?"

  Holly shook her head. "Intel's still coordinating,'" she said with a smirk. "The stuff will be packaged and shipped to its destination before they get their act together."

  Jack and Holly were meeting in one of the larger rooms at a three-star hotel off Rue Jardin. It was a comfortable, out-of-the-way family-run establishment and totally secure. Will had seen to that. He and Eric were now at the embassy, coordinating with their contact there. Joe and Martine were closing out business in Tournade and bringing the equipment to Paris.

  Jack answered the knock on the door, knowing who it was before he opened it. Eric pushed past him into the room, obviously upset. Will followed, more calmly, but his expression was no less grim. "What now?" Jack asked.

  "Belclair's dead. His body was discovered dumped in an alley over on the Left Bank. They found him early this morning," Will said.

  Jack had his phone out and was already punching the number of the hospital. He would need to station extra guards on Solange. She had worked with the chemist. If the EIJ knew she had been assisting Belclair, they would—

  "Too late, Jack," Will told him. "They've already got her."

  Damn! Jack clenched his eyes shut and warned himself not to panic. She would be okay. Solange was their ticket to recreating the toxin, or so they would be thinking.

  "Let me guess," he said. "Belclair's death was not due to natural causes."

  "It was the toxin," Eric confirmed. "Maybe one of the containers was damaged and he came in contact with it when he was locked in that storage room in the tower. They estimate he's been dead for two days."

  And now the terrorists, probably the real hardcore fanatics, had kidnapped Solange.

  An unexpected calm settled over Jack. He had felt it before. His brain sometimes shifted gears of its own accord when worse came to worst and he found himself against a wall. Instead of panic, there rose a deadly reserve of energy, coiled and ready to strike with full force. He turned to each of his team present. "Check your weapons."

  He could feel their readiness, tune in on their every move and see it before they made it. When they reached the site, that empathy would extend to the enemy, he knew. This was his gift, as elusive and unpredictable as Eric's telepathy and Joe's precognition. It had evaded him at Chari's during that confrontation. Perhaps he had not needed it then as much as he did now.

  The ride through the streets of Paris was silent and swift. Will drove with his usual flair, matching the speed of the local drivers without employing suicidal tactics, and neatly avoiding theirs.

  When they reached the area, he or
dered Will to park two blocks away. "Want me to call for backup?" Will asked.

  "No."

  They approached the house from the rear. Jack could see the top of the trailer. "Get a fix on Solange if you can, Eric."

  "Inside the van or truck or whatever it is. The girl must believe in me! She's broadcasting like Radio Free Europe. But she's not alone. One guy inside."

  "Thanks. Holly, you and Will take the front of the house. Eric, cover the back. Don't approach. Find cover and stay well away. They'll have automatics and maybe worse." Jack shucked off his suit coat and removed his tie. "If anyone shows after I make my move, take them down any way you can. No rules."

  He watched until they were in place. Then he walked up to the back of the trailer and knocked. "Another delivery. Open up," he called in colloquial Arabic. He wasn't fluent, but he had the basics down pat with a good accent.

  No one answered. He repeated the words, injecting weary impatience and adding a curse.

  He heard the creak of a latch and the double doors began to open. The crack opened about a foot. Jack stood where only his arm could be seen from inside and held up a small box he had picked out of a trash bin on their way down the alley. A dark brown hand reached out to take it. Jack grabbed the wrist and yanked for all he was worth.

  The man's head cracked against the edge of the metal door as he fell. The Uzi he held in his free hand spat a few wild rounds before he hit the dirt. Jack pressed him to the ground, a knee in the back as he disarmed him. A blow to the head with a closed fist took care of any resistance.

  "Solange?" he called. "You alone in there now?"

  "Jacques!" She flung the door wide and fell into his arms.

  "Thank God you're all right. You are all right?" He slid his hand through her hair and cupped her head, holding it against his chest. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"

  "No, I'm fine. I knew you would come for me." She sounded breathless, excited.

  Gunfire erupted from inside the house. "Get back in the trailer," he ordered, "behind some barrier if there is one." Jack lifted her quickly and pushed her back in. Then he scooped up the Uzi and sprayed the back door of the house.

  Eric put a few rounds through the only window facing the backyard.

  When Jack reached the back door, he kicked it open, wheeling to one side as it slammed inward. It was a small dwelling. He heard the scuffle of feet and loud shouts in Arabic.

  Eric joined him and they went in. The nest had emptied. Whoever had been in the house, several by the sound of it, had just escaped out the front door. They heard shots.

  He and Eric backed out, not wanting to risk getting hit by friendly fire.

  "I'll work around to the front," Eric shouted. "Go ahead and see about Solange and the lab."

  Jack was already on his way back to the trailer. The man he had pulled out of it was still on the ground, unconscious. He stepped over him and climbed in. Solange had wedged herself in between two heavy metal tanks. "Smart girl," he said. "You still okay?"

  She smiled up at him and held out a hand for him to help her to her feet. "Better than okay now that you are here."

  "Anything in here need immediate destruction?" he asked.

  "No. They had no idea what to do with all of this. I have been delaying them by requesting unnecessary ingredients."

  "You're a genius." He laughed and pulled her up and into his arms. His hands were too full, the Uzi in one, his pistol in the other. She didn't seem to mind. "You'd better wait in here a little longer while I see about... things outside."

  "You'd better go. But have a care!" She gave him a little shove of encouragement and then resumed her position between the tanks.

  Jack hurried back out for the cleanup. Holly had two at gunpoint, marching them back to where Jack stood waiting. Will and Eric were dragging another from the side of the house. "He aimed at Holly," Will explained. "I had to shoot him, but he'll live to talk."

  "I said no rules."

  "We missed one," Holly told Jack. "He leaped over the fence while I was busy with this guy. He's long gone by now."

  "I think not," Will said with a short laugh. "Would you look at that."

  They all turned in unison to see a white-haired fellow, stooped with age, cradling an M-16 rifle. It was pointed at a much younger man who staggered in front of him, hands clasped on top of his dark, close-cropped head. His mouth was bleeding.

  "What do you make of the old guy? The neighbor who did the reporting?" Eric asked.

  "Undoubtedly." Jack went forward to meet him while Eric took over guarding the prisoner he had brought them. "Good day, sir. We came to give you a hand."

  "It took you long enough," the old man grumbled. "We will need this." He pulled a large roll of duct tape from his jacket pocket.

  He did not identify himself. Nor did he ask who they were. He simply laid down the rifle very carefully and began to bind the prisoner he had furnished. Jack and the others followed suit.

  Solange peeked out the back of the truck. Jack motioned her to join them.

  When all the terrorists were securely bound hand and foot, Jack spoke to the neighbor. "The police should be here shortly. When they come..."

  "I know. You were never here," the old guy said, shaking his head. "Cloak-and-dagger, just like in my war." He shooed them with a flap of one gnarled hand. "You can leave now."

  "You don't understand. It's all right if—"

  Again he motioned them away. "I said I will manage. Go on with you. Disappear."

  Jack glanced at the others who were barely restraining their laughter. "Should we?"

  "The perps will squeal," Holly said.

  The old man's wrinkles folded up to form a wily grin. "No one will believe them over a decorated veteran." He pulled back his vest to reveal an impressive row of medals.

  Will clicked on the safety and handed over his Beretta. "You might need this to match the bullet in that guy if anyone questions who shot him."

  The fellow nodded, reverently palming the sleek 9mm.

  Jack lifted Solange in his arms, and they all walked the two blocks to where they had left the sedan parked. As soon as they were inside, Eric whooped and that set them all off. Even Solange laughed.

  Jack kissed her, still too overcome with relief to discuss her abduction in detail. She clasped his arm, but seemed more glad to see him than upset by her ordeal. At the moment she looked pink-cheeked and happy. Healthy. Alive. He laughed again.

  Will gunned the motor and expertly shot them through the maze of Paris streets, deftly dodging the other speed demons.

  Finally the others quieted enough for Jack to make a phone call. He dialed the number for the agent Holly had spoken with earlier and who had furnished the report about the trailer lab.

  "M'sieu Bérard? Are you planning to do anything about that laboratory today?" Jack asked conversationally. "If so, we are ready to assist."

  "That will not be necessary." The voice was haughty as hell. "You and your people have done all that is required. We will take care of this ourselves. I am notifying your director that your mission is complete."

  "Fine. So it is. Well, good luck," Jack said and rang off. He smiled at the others. "The newspapers, then the police, or vice versa?"

  "Call CNN," Will said with a grin. "They'll beat everybody there."

  Eric rubbed his palms together. "Old dude's gonna be famous. I can't wait for the evening news."

  Jack handed him the phone. "Be my guest. Tell the world."

  Solange emerged from her bath and toweled off. Refreshed, feeling like a brand-new person, she looked around the room where she had slept away a good portion of her life, the refuge she had returned to after her internship. The ice-blue and ecru, tastefully incorporated by a decorator, now looked incredibly bland and uninteresting. A cocoon from which she had emerged.

  In the past two weeks the nightmare had become her reality. This safe place she had known all her life seemed more like the dream.

  How strange it felt t
o be home again among her own things. How disappointing, knowing Jacques was no longer under the same roof with her. Of course, she understood that he had reports to make, that he had business to finish. Though he had promised to come later for the celebration her father insisted upon, Solange expected that he intended tonight to be their farewell.

  She walked naked to the dressing room and thumbed through the hangers that held her wardrobe. It wasn't extensive, by any means, but for one who had existed with one ensemble and a few borrowed items for so long, it seemed excessive. Yet nothing in here appealed. Her looks had always proved a disadvantage to her in her chosen profession, so she had made it a point to dress ultraconservatively. Now her carefully selected clothes did not seem to suit her any longer.

  Perhaps she was bolder than she had been. Certainly she had changed. Tonight called for something daring. With a sigh, she pulled out the most provocative thing she owned. No. Jacques should not remember her always in this basic black cocktail dress with its sensible matching pumps. Basic would not do. Perhaps Given-chy would deliver.

  If there was one thing Jacques Mercier had taught her since forcing his way into her life, it was to use every ounce of her potential. She smiled to herself. He had given her a broader vision of the world, pulled the butterfly free, kicking and screaming, and there was no way she could fold up those wings.

  The party commenced at six o'clock that evening. Jack noted that the elder Dr. Micheaux and his housekeeper, the lovely Marie, had pulled out all the stops.

  Jack had spent the last few hours arranging for shipping home the equipment the team had brought with them and making his report for the director. Now he had arrived just in time to catch the tail end of the television newscast everyone was watching in the salon.

  Everyone but Solange. She was nowhere in sight.

  Holly, Will and Eric were already here. Joe and Mar-tine had declined. They were flying to Italy tonight for their belated honeymoon, postponed because of the urgency of the mission. René Chari, wearing a rumpled tuxedo, sat cross-legged on the floor nearest the television.

  Onscreen Jack recognized the gentleman introduced by the newscaster as Sergent-Chef Eugene Cholet. The old fellow, decked out in a uniform two sizes too large for him and drooping with medals, was being lauded for alerting the authorities to a "possible terrorist cell." When the anchor praised him for capturing five armed individuals before the police arrived, he merely shrugged and growled that anyone might have done it. That the lab meant to produce bioweapons was not mentioned.