Covert One 3 - The Paris Option (46 page)

He waited until the other two were in line with the rocks, one on either side. By then, the lead man was less than twenty feet away. It was time. On edge, Jon raised up, squeezed off a quick cluster of threetwo into the first terrorist and, swiftly moving the rifle, one into the man on the east. He shifted the rifle again and squeezed two more at the man on the west. Then he ran.

He had hit the first one dead center. He would not get up. The other two had gone down, too, but he was unsure how badly he had wounded them. As he ran, he listened anxiously for clues. He heard a distant yellhellip;and nothing more. No running feet, no crashing through the bushes, no creaking of low tree branches. None of the noises of close pursuit.

Wary, seeking cover wherever he could, he raced on, angling downhill, until he heard the helicopter again. And dropped to a crouch beside a large pine. He watched up through small tunnels among the light-shimmering needles. Soon the chopper swept overhead, and Jon glimpsed a black face leaning out to scan below. Abu Auda.

The Sikorsky continued on. Jon could not remain here, because Abu Auda would not rely on aerial pursuit alone. Some of his men would still be on the ground, and Jon had to make a decision. But so did Abu Auda. He would have to guess which direction Jon ran.

As Jon listened intently for the sound of descent and landing, he tried to put himself in the killer's mind. Finally he decided that Abu Auda would expect him to head straight from his pursuers, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. Which meant, if he were right, that the chopper would land directly south. Jon turned and raced off to the right. Then he slowed and headed west down through the forest, trying to make as little noise as possible.

After less than an hour, the pine forest began to thin. Sweating, his wounds itching, Jon continued on across an open meadow and stopped in a fringe of trees, excited. A car was cruising past on an asphalt road below. He had heard no pursuit since turning west, and the occasional sound of the helicopter still searching the forest had been far off to his left, the south. He remained among the trees, hurrying north along the edge, hoping the road and the forest would meet or at least come much closer.

When he found a stream, he stopped and hunched beside it. Panting, he untied the white sleeve that Theacute;regrave;se had used to bandage his arm after the missile strike at the villa. The wound was long but shallow. He washed it and his side, where a bullet had creased the skin; his forehead, where debris from the missile strike had scratched it; and his wrists. Some of the wounds were tinged with red, indicating small infections. Still, none was serious.

He splashed more of the cool spring water onto his hot, sweaty face, and, sighing, moved off again. The forest's sounds were normal here, the hushed quiet one would expect from a single person's moving through, not the utter stillness that told him many were intruding.

And then he paused. Hope filled him. Through the trees he could see a crossroads and a road sign. He looked all around and slipped cautiously from cover onto the asphalt. He tore across the road to the sign. At last he knew where he was: grenoble 12KM. Not impossibly far, and he had been there before. But if he stayed on the road, he would be conspicuous. If the helicopter searched this far, he would be seen easily.

Making plans, he ran back into the forest and waited. When he heard the noise of a vehicle's engine, he smiled with relief. It was going in the right direction. He watched eagerly as it came around the benda farm truck this time. He abandoned his M16 with all its ammunition in the pines and kicked duff over them. Then he stuck the Afghan's curved knife into one jacket pocket and the flare gun into the other, and waved both arms.

The farmer stopped, and Jon climbed into the cab, greeting the fellow in French. He explained that he was a stranger in the area, visiting a friend who had gone into Grenoble earlier. They were to meet for dinner, but his car refused to start so he had decided to walk and hope for a Good Samaritan. He had taken a tumble in the woods, and that was why he was so disheveled.

The farmer clucked with sympathy and chatted away about the advantages of the region, pleased for Jon's company in this remote land of soaring peaks, wide open spaces, and few inhabitants. They drove on, but Jon did not relax. His careful gaze kept watch.

Grenoble, France

Nestled in the French Alps, Grenoble was a stunning cityold and historic, known for its fine winter sports, particularly in downhill skiing, and its medieval landmarks. The farmer dropped Jon on the left bank of the Isegrave;re River at the place Grenette, a bustling square lined with sidewalk cafeacute;s. Nearby was the place St-Andre, the heart of Grenoble. The warm sunshine had brought people out, and they sat at small, outdoor tables in their crisp shirtsleeves, sipping espresso.

As he studied them, Jon realized again how lousy his own clothes looked. They were dirty and smoke-streaked, and he had no idea whether he had managed to clean his face in the stream. He was already attracting the wrong kind of attention, something he definitely did not want. He still had his wallet, and as soon as he called Fred Klein, he would buy new clothes.

He turned, orienting himself, and walked toward the place St-Andre. That was where he found what he needed firsta public phone booth and dialed Fred Klein.

Klein's voice was surprised. “So you are alive?”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Don't get sentimental, Colonel,” Klein said dryly. “We'll hug later. There are a few things going on that you should know at once.” He described the latest electronic disasterthe blinded satellites. “I'd hoped the molecular computer was destroyed, and all we had was a nasty malfunction.”

“You didn't believe that for a second. The damage is too widespread.”

“Call it a naive hope.”

“Did Randi Russell get away before the missile hit?”

“We wouldn't have known what really happened in Algeria if she hadn't. She's back in Paris. Where are you? Bring me up to date.”

So Randi had made it. Jon slowly let his breath out. He reported the events since the missile strike and what he had learned.

Klein swore. “So you think the Crescent Shield's a front, too?”

“It makes sense. I can't see Darius Bonnard as an Islamic terrorist, no matter his Algerian connection. But he was in the right place at the right time to have made that surreptitious phone call from NATO. He or Chambord must've killed the Crescent Shield pilot at the chalet before we got there, and then they took off with Theacute;regrave;se. Abu Auda was stunned. Outraged. Worried whether Mauritania was still alive. The way I read it, this was no sudden mutiny of the weak. This was the strong taking over as planned.”

“You think Emile Chambord is behind everything?”

“Maybe, or maybe not. It could be Captain Bonnard, and he's holding Chambord and using the daughter as a lever,” Jon said, worrying about Theacute;regrave;se. He stared out at the street, watching for Abu Auda and his men. “Have you heard anything about Peter Howell and Marty?”

“According to my friends at Langley, they're all in Paris. Marty's awake.”

Jon smiled. What a relief to know Marty was back. “Did he say anything useful about Emile Chambord?”

“Unfortunately, nothing we didn't already know. I'll have Randi sent to pick you up.”

“Tell her I'll be waiting at the Fort de la Bastille at the top of the cable car lift.”

Klein was silent again. “You know, Colonel, there could be someone we don't know about yet behind Chambord and Bonnard. It could even be the daughter.”

Jon considered the idea. Not Theacute;regrave;se, no. He did not believe that, but the rest of what Klein had said struck a chord. An idea began to form in his mind. An idea he had to chase down fast.

“Get me out of here, Fred.”

Paris, France

In naval headquarters on the place de la Concorde, Senior Captain Liberal Tassini toyed with the fine Mont Blanc pen on his desk as his steady gaze took in Peter Howell. “Odd you should be here asking that, Peter. May I inquire exactly what caused your interest?”

“Let's just say MI6 requested I look into the matter. I believe it may have something to do with a small problem involving one of our junior officers.”

“And what would that small problem be?”

“Between you and me, Libby, I told them to just go through regular channels, but it appears it involves the son of someone important.” Peter ducked his head, pretending embarrassment. “I'm only a messenger boy. One of the reasons I did a bunk from the service, eh? Temperament and all that. Just do me the favor of a simple answer, and I'll be off the hook and out of your sight.”

“Can't be done, bon ami. Your question touches on a somewhat delicate and complicated situation of our own.”

“You don't say. Well, puts my little query in its place, doesn't it. Sorry, Ihellip;”

Captain Tassini twirled the pen again on his desk. "On the contrary.

I would actually like to know exactly how this, ah, junior officer came to be concerned with whether a recent meeting on the De Gaulle was authorized or unauthorized."

“Wellhellip;” Peter chuckled conspiratorially. “All right, Libby. Seems the lad has put in a chit for expenses incurred for having attended such a meeting as a replacement pilot for one of our generals. His paymaster simply wants to know if the claim's legitimate.”

Captain Tassini laughed aloud. “Does he, by heaven? What does the general say?”

“Touchy, that. Seems he died. Only a few days ago.”

Tassini's eyes narrowed. “Really?”

“Afraid so. Not unusual with generals. Old, you know.”

“Quite,” Tassini said in English. “All right. At the moment, all I can tell you is that no such meeting was authorized on the De Gaulle, although one may actually have taken place. We're looking into it, too.”

“Hmmm.” Peter stood up. “Very well, I'll simply give the buggers the old 'can neither confirm nor deny' answer. The paymaster can reimburse the boy, or not. Up to him. But he'll get no official response.”

“Hard on the boy,” Tassini sympathized.

Peter headed for the door. “What was the De Gaulle doing out there anyway? What does her captain say about the meeting?”

Tassini leaned back and studied Peter again. At last he said, “He claims there was no meeting. Says he was out there to practice single-ship tactics in hostile waters at night, and that the order came from NATO. Rather a large problem for us, since no one at NATO appears to have issued it.”

“Ouch. Well, glad it's not my kettle of fish, old man.” Peter could feel Tassini's questioning gaze on his back as he left. He doubted that he had fooled his friend, but both of them had preserved face and, even more important, deniability.

Berlin, Germany

The Kurfurstendammthe Ku'damm, as locals called itwas a bustling boulevard at the heart of new Berlin. Lined with crowded stores and high-rent offices, it was famous around the world. People in the know swore that the Ku'damm never slept. In one of its elegant restaurants, Pieke Exner wound her way among the white tablecloths and polished silverware toward her lunch date. It was their second in twelve hours, and she knew the young lieutenant was more than ready, he was eager.

That was obvious in the leap to his feet and the Prussian click of his heels that would have gotten him a dry reprimand from his boss, General Otto Bittrich. It was also obvious in his loosened tunic, showing the relaxed familiarity she had worked to produce in him all last evening before going home and leaving him if not panting, then breathing hard. These were the signs she had wanted to see. Still, she had more work to do. It was not his tunic she wanted loosened; it was his tongue.

She smiled and settled down into her chair. With a flourish, he helped her slide to the table. As he sat next to her, she notched her smile up to one of genuine warmth, as if she had been thinking about him ever since they had parted at her door. After he had gallantly ordered an expensive bottle of the best wine from the Rheingau, she resumed her chatter where they had left off, about her dreams of travel and love of all good things foreign.

As it turned out, she quickly saw that she had done her job too well, and the lieutenant was too busy thinking about her to take the bait. Lunch proceeded in that fashion through a schnitzel, a second bottle of the Rheingau, and an excellent strudel to the coffee and brandy. But as much as she plied him with smiles and warm hand holding, he never spoke about his work.

Running out of patience, she looked long and deeply into his eyes, managing to convey an intriguing range of emotionsshy, nervous, slightly frightened, adoring, brazenly eager, and in sexual heat, all at the same time. It was a gift, and older and wiser men than Lieutenant Joachim Bierhof had fallen for it.

He responded by quickly paying for the check, and they left. By the time they reached her apartment beyond the Brandenburg Gate and across the Spree River in the bohemian Prenzlauer Berg section of the former East Berlin, he was in no condition to think of anything but her, her glorious apartment, and her bed.

Once inside, he quickly pulled the shades against the afternoon sun and was soon naked and nuzzling Pieke's breasts, when she sighed and complained of how cold it was. A very cold May in Germany. How she would love to be with him in sunny Italy or Spain, or better yethellip;the glorious South of France.

Too busy with her breasts and pulling off her green thong bikini panties, Joachim muttered, “I was just there, the South of France. God, how I wish you'd been with me.”

She laughed playfully. “But you had your general.”

“He was out on that French carrier most of the night. Just him and our pilot. I walked on the quays alone. By myself. Had to eat alone. What a great bottle of wine I found. You would have liked it. God, how I wishhellip;but we're here now, andhellip;”

It was at this point that Pieke Exner fell off the bed, badly twisting her knee and back. She was unable to stand up without the lieutenant's reluctant and rather testy help. As he put her back into bed, she asked prettily to be covered to keep away the chills. She shivered. He turned up the heat and put another blanket over her. She held out her hand sadly.