There was an exchange of gunfire and his Echo team gunned down them down.
The two teams came together in a passageway and Nicolas saw three guards as they sneaked into a room, locking a heavy metal door behind them.
He pressed a wad of plastic explosive against the door and motioned to his men to get back.
“Going explosive,” he called out.
The door burst open, O’Malley threw a tear gas canister inside and the guards choking and gasping for air. They came out of the room and were quickly subdued.
When the tear gas dissipated, O’Malley and Nicolas entered.
“Lynch’s security control room,” O’Malley said, looking at the surveillance equipment covering the walls. They stepped back into the passage and O’Malley spoke to the men.
“Okay, let’s split up.”
The teams cleared rooms throughout the chateau, checking for more guards and securing the servants’ wing and rounding up the staff.
Nicolas and another man went up the staircase to the chateau’s upper level and Lynch’s bedroom.
In the dungeon below, James felt vibrations as the chateau was jolted by the explosions. The guard got to his feet but he was startled by the blast of a strand of plastic explosive that sheared through the bolt on a cell door.
In anticipation of this moment, James had removed the charge from the lining of his shoe. He pressed the puttylike clump against the latch bolt on his cell door.
And waited.
His movements quick and precise, James closed the distance between himself and the guard before he could draw his weapon.
He then twisted the gun away from the guard and subdued him. Grabbing his gun and the keys from his belt ring, he freed the two Senators and Alfred from their cells.
Moving up the stairs with the others behind him, he got to the basement level and two of Lynch’s guards suddenly appeared in the corridor.
They leveled their submachine guns, but James was quicker. He fired the Glock pistol twice and the men collapsed on the floor.
Then James heard footsteps coming from the stairway to the main level. He dragged one of the guards inside, Charlie Watson pulling in the other as he closed the door.
O’Malley had gestured to his second in command before they went down the basement stairway and moved cautiously into the lower level corridor. O’Malley glanced at a diagram taped to the underside of his arm. According to the sketch the door to the hidden chamber was twenty paces ahead.
They found the door unlocked.
O’Malley was puzzled.
They inched along the circular stairs and entered the dungeon.
The chamber was empty except for the guard’s body lying against a wall.
“Where the hell is he?” O’Malley said.
“Beats me,” his comrade shrugged.
“Webb was supposed to be down here and hopefully the Senators,” O’Malley said. “There’s nobody here. I don’t get it.”
He headed back for the circular stairs.
“Let’s check out the floor above.”
They came to the basement and as they were edging along the corridor, a door opened behind them. O’Malley swung around, ready to fire.
“What the hell took you so long?” James asked.
O’Malley exhaled.
“I could have shot you!”
“But not before I shot you,” James replied.
O’Malley noticed shadows moving around in the mechanical room. “Who’s in there?”
“A couple of senators and an old man.”
“Do you two know each other?” asked Senator Lopez.
The Major answered with a sense of pride.
“Yes, we do.”
Charlie Watson chimed in.
“Does this mean we’re not going to die?”
James grinned and asked O’Malley, “Where’s Lynch?”
“Don’t know yet.”
He spoke into his headset.
“Foxtrot to Echo. Do you have Lynch?”
“Negative,” replied Nicolas. “No sign of him.”
No sign?
“Keep looking.”
“Copy.”
The teams completed an exhaustive search, clearing rooms as they went. And despite turning the chateau inside out, they hadn’t found Thomas Lynch.
Somehow he had given his pursuers the slip.
CHAPTER 60
Earlier, as the assault teams moved through the main level of the chateau, Lynch had been startled in his bedroom by the commotion. He ran to the top of the main staircase in the entrance hall and saw the killing of his guards as they tried to hold their positions in the face of intense gunfire.
He spun on his heels and returned to his bedroom.
Quickly getting dressed he stepped over to a row of built-in bookcases and placed his hand atop a rosette. As he turned it, a section of bookcases slid back into the wall, revealing a secret passage.
Entering the cramped space, Lynch pulled a lever and the bookcase moved back to its original position. He turned on a flashlight and began moving along a narrow, circular staircase.
He bypassed the basement level and entered the cellar where he started down a long passageway, the ceiling and walls of the secret tunnel constructed of stone from a nearby quarry during the seventeenth century.
He moved quickly along the passage beneath the rear lawn, covering a hundred yards in the tomblike shaft.
Then he came to what appeared to be a blank wall.
He pulled on another lever and a door sprung open.
The camouflaged portal blended in with the surrounding vegetation. Outside the door a landing sat atop a narrow set of steps down to the adjacent forest and a footpath along the river’s edge.
When Lynch came out of the murky passage, he paused as his pupils adjusted.
His eyes focused and he was startled.
It was Kate Webb.
She was holding a gun.
He struggled for words.
Then she said, “You rotten bastard.”
“But, how did you …”
He looked back at the passage and wondered how Kate knew about it.
Then the answer came.
“Olga!”
Lynch went silent.
Kate pointed the gun at him.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you.”
He smirked at her.
“I’ll bet it came as a shock when you saw me at the Musée d'Orsay.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Don’t say that, Kate.”
He inched closer, staring at the gun.
“I don’t suppose you’d grant me a reprieve?”
Her eyes narrowed.
“How about a one-way ticket to Hell?”
“Please don’t say that. Put the gun down.”
She shook her head. No.
“You don’t really want to shoot me.”
Yes, I do.
He inched closer still.
“Stay back!”
Consumed by rage, she squeezed the trigger.
Lynch spun around as the bullet tore flesh near his ribcage.
“You bastard!”
Bleeding from the flesh wound, Lynch suddenly raised his hand and a razor-sharp spur flew past her head. She ducked and pitched to the side.
The spur missed its mark, but in the evasive maneuver she slipped and lost her balance.
She tumbled backward, the gun slipped from her hand and went over the cliff.
Frantically, she grabbed with both hands at a row of stones at the top of the rock face.
She dangled forty feet above the craggy rocks along the river.
Lynch loomed over her and she looked up.
A sadistic grin crossed his face.
He stepped on her hand, increasing the force as her free hand gripped tenuously to the ledge.
Then it slipped.
Her mind raced with hysteria and she saw his eyes glazing over in a madly perverse indulgence.<
br />
She could feel her strength draining away.
Then out of nowhere a falcon swooped in behind Lynch.
Kate turned away in horror as the predator sank its razor sharp talons into Thomas Lynch.
The falcon released its hold and Lynch staggered and collapsed to the ground.
He lay on his back, screaming in agonizing pain.
Kate grasped the ledge with both hands and pulled herself up.
Just as she got on firm ground, a pair of hands clamped at her neck.
Lynch gripped her throat like a vice.
She struggled for air.
He rolled on top of her and blood flowed from his head wounds, covering her face and shirt.
Desperate and fighting to avoid passing out, Kate jammed her thumbs into the puncture holes in Lynch’s head, pressing down hard with all her strength and rolling his head to the side.
His body followed as he reeled in pain.
She made a sharp thrust with her leg and broke free.
Choking and gasping she scrambled up to the rear lawn.
In the chateau, James asked where Kate was and when Nicolas told him, he was livid.
“You let her go alone?”
“You know Kate.”
Yes, I do.
James clenched his fists.
“Shit!”
He bolted through a pair of French doors and sprinted across the lawn.
When he saw Kate he was horrified.
Her face and hands were soaked in blood.
She collapsed in his arms and grasped at her throat.
He lifted her shirt and searched for wounds.
“Kate! Are you hurt?”
“He tried to kill me,” she gasped.
“Are you injured? Please tell me.”
“It’s his blood,” she finally said.
James saw no injuries except for the bruising on her neck.
“Thank God you’re alright.”
Suddenly Nicolas and O’Malley came running up.
They heard Lynch’s cries and looked over to see him in the throes of an agonizing death.
Kate put her hands over her ears, trying to block out the tortuous screams.
They could only watch as Lynch continued to suffer.
He stared into Kate’s eyes, a crazy stare that shook her badly.
She turned away, burying her head in James’ chest.
“Come on,” he finally said, walking her up to the chateau and away from Lynch’s screams.
A few minutes later O’Malley came inside.
James and Kate looked at him.
“He’s dead,” O’Malley said.
Desperately needing a shower and a change of clothes, Kate and James went into the servants’ wing.
As they got cleaned up, James embraced her.
“I was so afraid you were hurt. I love you so much, Kate.”
She held him tightly.
“I can’t believe it. I was thinking the worst. I love you too.”
They found some clothes and got dressed.
Then James said, “This place gives me the creeps. I want to finish this now.”
With the help of the others, he began rounding up the bodies and loading them into a van.
Charlie Watson and Natalie Lopez were taken to a hotel, no doubt grateful to be sleeping in a regular bed and relieved that the nightmare was over.
The household staff, except for Alfred, were put into a bus and taken to a CIA safe house on the outskirts of the city. Once there, they would sign confidentiality agreements prohibiting them from discussing Falcon Lair and its former owner.
As for the remaining mercenaries, they were flown back to Ukraine and dealt with accordingly.
Then James and Nicolas set out to investigate the secret passageway. After crossing the rear lawn they entered the portal and began along the dark, narrow tunnel.
Soon they began to make out a circular staircase in the distance, but before reaching it they came to a heavy steel door.
“Where do you suppose this goes?” James asked.
“There’s one way to find out,” replied Nicolas as he looked at the door. “It’s some kind of biometric lock.”
“To hell with it. Give me some C-4.”
Nicolas reached inside a pocket.
James pressed the wad of plastic explosive against the lock and they moved back as the charge detonated.
The door blasted inward.
As they entered James turned on the lights.
What they discovered shocked them.
A climate controlled, ultra clean workspace—essentially a modern-day war room. The space contained an elaborate workstation brimming with an array of sophisticated electronics equipment. A conduit extended into the ceiling and up through the chateau’s interior walls, carrying communication and data signals back and forth from the rooftop. A massive tabletop sat in the center of the room, and across its surface lay an astonishing cache of documents, notes, photographs and assorted papers.
“Take a look at this,” Nicolas said, plucking a photo from the table.
Snapped from a distance with a telephoto lens, the image obviously was connected to a surveillance operation.
The person in the photo was Senator Natalie Lopez.
“Unbelievable,” James replied, looking at one item after another, each reflecting an individual piece of the puzzle in the conspiracy.
At the workstation, James tapped his fingers on a laptop.
“I’ll bet there’s a mother lode of incriminating evidence on this hard drive.”
He was right.
The data stored on the laptop’s hard disk and the collection of documents amounted to a treasure trove for law enforcement.
“This will make some people jump for joy,” Nicolas said.
“And others to sing the blues,” replied James, referring to the delicate task that lay ahead for bureaucrats in D.C.
Nicolas felt a chill along his spine. He headed for the door. “I’ve seen all I need to.”
“You’re right, let’s move on.”
They climbed the circular staircase to the library and then came to the passageway into Lynch’s bedroom.
“This is some setup,” Nicolas said. “I’ve seen my share of hideouts and escape routes, but this is definitely at the top of the list.”
James turned and started for the door.
“It’s time we spoke to our butler friend.”
The hour was nearing five o’clock and the operatives had finished tying up loose ends.
Except one.
When James entered the kitchen he found Alfred standing in his customarily erect posture.
“So, you’re the house boy,” he said, making no effort to disguise the contempt in his voice.
“I prefer manservant.”
“Not any more. You work for us now.”
“Pardon me?”
“Thomas Lynch is dead.”
Alfred struggled to process the words.
Dead?
“Who will I answer to?”
“The United States government.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you’ll be cleaning toilets for the rest of your life.”
Alfred recoiled, regarding himself as someone above such things. He could think of no crueler punishment.
“If I comply?”
“There’s a chance you’ll avoid the slammer if you play along with us.”
James stepped forward, their faces now inches apart.
“It’s important that you understand something. If you cross us, there is no place for you to hide where we can’t find you. Am I making myself clear?”
“Crystal.”
CHAPTER 61
Captain Benoit Roche drew closer to the gatehouse at Falcon Lair as the small town of Louveciennes was asleep. Just after the break of dawn local police officers had responded to a distress call at the Versailles station.
It had come from Falcon Lair.
Following
the Captain’s instructions the officers waited for him to arrive, having been told not to take action themselves.
Aware of something in the air and given the chain of events in recent days, Roche wasn’t surprised. He and his team raced from Paris along the motorway and arrived at the chateau.
“Why is the gate open?” he demanded, speaking to the officer in charge.
“It was in this position when we arrived, sir.”
“And the gatehouse?”
“Empty.”
The Captain told the officer and his men to guard the entrance as his SWAT team began advancing on the chateau in an armored vehicle.
“No one is to pass this point without my consent. Understood?”
“Yes sir.”
As he drove behind the SWAT truck, Roche was unable to shake a feeling that it was eerily quiet.
Moments later in the forecourt men emerged from the armored vehicle. In a flanking formation they split into separate units and circled the chateau’s perimeter.
Meanwhile Roche sat in his car and waited.
Sometime later the SWAT leader conveyed an all-clear signal.
When Roche approached him he seemed puzzled.
“There’s nobody here, sir.”
A silence.
Roche had been to parties at Falcon Lair before and the presence of security personnel had always been on conspicuous display.
He was skeptical to say the least.
A robbery allegedly occurred here but there isn’t a guard anywhere?
“Show me,” he demanded, gesturing toward the front doors.
Roche was walking up the limestone steps when his cell phone rang.
“Yes.”
“Sir,” the officer at the gatehouse said, “There’s a man here. Special Agent Carter with the FBI.”
“And?”
“He wants to enter. He’s insistent.”
Roche decided to cooperate. In light of the circumstances, he could hardly refuse.
“Let him pass,” he said, and turned back to the forecourt.
Roche hadn’t been the only person to see the handwriting on the wall. Carter had sensed something brewing. He had directed the FBI’s Paris office to closely monitor the situation. When the distress call came in to the Versailles station from Falcon Lair the bureau caught wind of it through its communications network.
The police officer allowed Carter to pass and he drove through the grounds before arriving in the motor court. When he got out of his car Roche approached him.
The Tangled Webb Page 20
