Sahara Crosswind (16 page)

The policemen handed back their papers, slammed the rear doors, and with a belch of smoke the ancient van trundled on toward Paris.

When the city finally came into view, Pierre wrenched his gaze from Jasmyn's face to watch the skyline through the smudged back windows. “It seems as though my Paris has returned to an earlier age.”

“Your Paris?” Jake looked at him. “I thought your family was from Marseille.”

Pierre cast him a haughty glance. “All Frenchmen may claim Paris as their own. It is part of our birthright.”

The city did appear to have slipped back into a bygone era. Many of the buses and transports were horse-drawn affairs, rattling along on rickety wooden spindle-wheels and being chased by high-backed jalopies that passed with bleats from side-mounted brass horns and winks from the polished
lanterns serving as headlights. There were so many of these dilapidated vehicles that the occasional modern car seemed out of place.

“Paris belongs not just to the Parisians,” Pierre went on. “Paris belongs to all France. Paris is the crown worn by all Frenchmen. One comes to Paris to escape from the provincial life. One returns to the provinces to escape from Paris.”

“You realize,” Jake said, exhilarated by the feeling that it was all drawing down to the wire, “you're making absolutely no sense whatsoever.”

“That's because you're not French,” Pierre said smugly. “There are some things that can be understood only by one of our—”

“Persuasion?” Jake offered.

“Sensibilities,” Pierre corrected.

“You're saying I don't belong?”

“Oh no,” Pierre replied, only half mocking. “The fact that you are in love, my friend, makes you welcome here. For all those who love, Paris is their second home. Even when they are not here, Paris remains their second home.”

Jake turned his gaze back to the window. The River Seine sparkled and beckoned in the early-morning sunlight. Elms and chestnuts lining the riverbanks spread banners of leafy welcome over their passage. In the distance, the Eiffel Tower rose straight and proud into the glorious blue sky.

“Paris is an enormous experience,” Pierre said to the window. Jasmyn watched him with a fond smile of approval brightening her tired features. “It is a city to be seen and touched and tasted and breathed. It is a city made for sunlight, for walking, for laughing, for love.”

“I'm all for that.” Jake looked down at Sally and felt his heart grow wings at the joy of it all. “You doing okay?”

“You don't need to keep asking me that every five minutes,” she replied, but she graced him with a from-the-heart look.

“Heads up, everybody,” warned Akers from his seat at the front. “We're beginning the final approach.”

They joined the hodgepodge of bicycles and trucks and horse-drawn wagons and buses and cars jamming into a great circular plaza adorned by a lofty Egyptian monolith. “Place de la Concorde,” Pierre said. “The new American Embassy is just ahead of us, beside the Hotel du Crillon.”

A hiss from the front seat silenced them as the van rumbled around the square and pulled up in front of great iron gates. A cordon of blue-caped policemen flanked a pair of striped barriers. Together with the others, Jake climbed from the van and handed his papers over for a second inspection. He watched the policeman examine the forged documents with his head down and his heart in his throat. But the policeman was tired and bored and had no interest in harassing the morning cleaning crew, especially when their papers bore the official embassy stamp. He shoved the papers back into Jake's hands and waved for the barrier to be raised. Jake walked forward, resisting the urge to offer Sally a helping hand. She walked on beside him with a barely discernible limp, her face set in grimly determined lines.

Once through the first barrier, they came face-to-face with a phalanx of Marines, backed up by a master sergeant with the jaw of an ox and eyes of agate. He cast one lightning glance at Akers and gave the soft order, “Pass 'em all. Now.”

They were in.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The embassy still bore remnants of elegance from its former existence as a ducal residence. They walked up the cobblestone path, through the great double doors, and were immediately surrounded by shouting, scurrying activity.

“Colonel Burnes. Here, sir, over this way. You too, Major Servais.”

Jake struggled against the arms pulling him forward. “But Sally—”

The young staffer wore a severe dark suit and a white shirt so starched it looked almost blue. “Sir, there's no time. The minister is due here in less than twenty minutes.”

Jake wrenched his arm free and halted traffic by simply refusing to budge. “You just hold your horses, mister.”

“But sir—”

“Quiet,” Jake snapped. He turned back to the denim-clad group standing in the foyer. He searched out the old man who spoke English and told him, “We could not have done this without you.”

“Is it true what Mademoiselle Coltrane says?” the elder demanded. “Your evidence will be enough to end this traitor's quest for power?”

Pierre stepped forward and promised solemnly, “We are going to bury him. Just as he has tried to do to me, my friends, my fiancee, and my brother. His name will be wiped from the pages of history.”

“Then it was our duty to help.” The elder straightened as much as his years would allow. He raised his work-hardened hand into a salute. Jake and Pierre came to attention and snapped off a reply. “Go with God, messieurs.”

Jake turned back to the gaping official and stated flatly, “Miss Anders and Miss Coltrane are to accompany us wherever we are going.”

The young man sputtered, “But the ambassador explicitly said—”

“That is an order, mister,” Jake snapped.

The young man wilted. “Yessir. This way, gentlemen, ladies.”

They were led down a series of halls, up stairs, down another hall, past doorways and empty offices. Jake supported Sally with one arm around her waist and kept his pace to a comfortable speed.

Pierre asked, “Is it not a bit early in the day for you to be having official visitors from the president's cabinet?”

“It was the only time he had available.” The staffer was gradually recovering his poise. “The ambassador had to personally request this meeting to get him to come at all. We, ah, that is, the ambassador—”

“I told Clairmont I had news of the greatest importance in regards to two renegade officers,” finished a craggy man of strength and height and distinguished features. He walked forward with arm outstretched. “John Halley, United States Ambassador to France.”

“Jake Burnes,” he said, releasing Sally in order to accept the firm handshake.

“A pleasure, Colonel, and I mean that sincerely.” He turned to Sally and said, “Have you hurt yourself, Miss Anders?”

“It's nothing,” Sally replied.

“Ankle,” Lieutenant Akers said from behind them. “Twisted it on landing, sir.”

“Well, don't say I didn't warn you. Shall I help you to a chair?”

“I can manage, Mister Ambassador. But thank you.”

“Not at all. Welcome back.” He turned on a courtly smile and finished, “And good work.”

He turned to Pierre and extended his hand once more. “And you must be Major Servais.”

“Yes, Mister Ambassador. May I present—”

“Miss Coltrane needs no introduction.” The dark-suited
gentleman possessed a lofty charm. He gave a stiff little bow and said, “It is seldom that my day is graced by two such beautiful and courageous women. Your country owes you a great deal, Miss Coltrane.”

“Thank you, Mister Ambassador,” Jasmyn said quietly, her regal air only slightly diminished by the denim work suit she was wearing. “But it is these two officers who are the real heroes.”

A second gray-haired gentleman appeared in the doorway and stated in a clipped British accent, “Yes, well, now that the niceties have been observed, perhaps we can get down to business.”

“Of course.” Ambassador Halley motioned toward the second gentleman and said, “May I introduce Sir Charles Rollins, His Majesty's envoy to Paris?”

“Charmed, I am sure.” His inspection of their scruffy forms dripped disapproval. With an impatient gesture he plucked an engraved watch from his vest pocket and sighed. “Well, I suppose we don't have the time now to send them off someplace to wash and change into something more appropriate.”

“I seriously doubt that the minister will give much thought to their appearance,” the ambassador replied gravely. “Especially after he hears what I have to say.”

“No, perhaps not.” The British envoy snapped his watch closed and peered at Pierre from beneath bushy brows. “Major Servais, do I understand that you carry with you a written testimony of your brother's findings?”

“I do,” Pierre replied. “In detail.”

“May I see it, please?”

“Of course.” Pierre extracted a rumpled and folded sheaf of papers. “They are in French, I am afraid.”

“No matter,” the envoy said, drawing out a pair of reading spectacles. The gathering was silent for a long moment until the envoy finally lifted his eyes and nodded once. “These will do rather nicely.”

“I did not doubt it for an instant,” Ambassador Halley replied.

“No, of course not. Still, it is best to be certain before confronting a member of the president's cabinet with an accusation of high treason.” Sir Charles permitted himself a frosty smile. “All of you are to be congratulated. Minister Clairmont has proven himself to be a dedicated foe to our efforts to create a unified and strengthened Europe.” He turned his gaze toward the American ambassador. “I don't suppose there is any reason not to share the news with them, is there?”

“If anyone deserves to hear it, they do,” Ambassador Halley replied, and gestured through the doorway. “Why don't we all go in and sit down. Bill, see if you can rustle up some coffee and sandwiches.”

“Right away, sir,” the young official said.

The ambassador turned to where Akers and Slade stood in silent patience. “You gentlemen are a credit to your service. I imagine you will want to report in to Mr. Walters. I will be speaking with you later.”

“Thank you, sir.” With a friendly nod toward Jake and another at Sally, they turned and walked down the hall.

“Come in, all of you.” They entered a grand salon redesigned as a small conference room. Beyond the oval table was a setting of brocade sofas and chairs gathered about a low coffee table. Once everyone was seated, Ambassador Halley said, “Why don't you carry on, Sir Charles.”

“Delighted.” The portly gentleman leaned forward and said, “As we speak, our governments are actively engaged in establishing a new and unified military force intended to combat future threats to our freedom and our peace. We hope that this force will be sufficiently strong to stop such disastrous armed conflicts from ever happening again. Nip such troubles in the bud, as it were.”

“We intend to call it NATO,” Ambassador Halley explained. “The North Atlantic Treaty Organization.”

“Yes, and our efforts are being stymied at every turn by a
certain Minister Clairmont,” Sir Charles huffed, “who has rallied about him every isolationist, Communist, and troublemaker in France.”

“He is a power-mad menace,” Ambassador Halley agreed. “But this very same power has made him virtually impossible to dislodge. That's why your information has become so vital.”

“Exactly,” Sir Charles agreed. “Bring Clairmont down, and we behead the behemoth. Then NATO shall emerge from the drawing boards into reality, and Europe shall be taken one step closer to lasting peace.”

“So you see, gentlemen,” Ambassador Halley concluded, “the information in your charge had much more weight than the discrediting of just one man for wartime treason.”

“Indeed, yes,” Sir Charles agreed adamantly. “And this also explains why he was able to draw such widespread support when it appeared you had managed to escape the grasp of his minions in Morocco. Clairmont and his supporters saw their entire house of cards begin to tremble in the sudden winds of change.”

The young official appeared in the doorway. “Excuse me, Mister Ambassador, Sir Charles. Minister Clairmont is here.”

Instantly the two gentlemen were on their feet, raising the others with a single warning glance. “Show the gentleman in, please.”

The first thing Jake noticed were the lips. They were pale and fleshy and formless, as was all of the man. He moved with the boneless grace of a jellyfish. His broad girth was encased in hand-tailored finery, yet nothing could disguise the loose-fleshed flaccidity of a dedicated glutton. With every mincing step on his overpolished shoes, his entire body quivered.

“I do hope there truly is an emergency, Ambassador,” he said petulantly. His voice was not high, but rather lacked any tone whatsoever. “It was most inconvenient to make time for this, especially with your insisting that we meet here and not in my own offices.”

“I assure you, Minister, that these circumstances fit the word emergency perfectly.”

He sniffed his disdain and turned to the British envoy. “I do not recall being informed that you would be joining us today, Sir Charles.”

“I took it upon myself to come, Minister, I do hope you will excuse the intrusion. Given the gravity of this situation, I thought both our governments should be represented.”

The minister raised a contemptuous eyebrow at the denim-suited four and sniffed a second time. “Don't tell me you have discovered a ring of thieves among your cleaning staff.”

The look on Pierre's face turned so murderous that the minister took an involuntary step back. Jake reached one hand over and touched Pierre lightly on the back. He watched his friend force himself back to the relaxed calm of a hungry tiger.