The Paris Option Part 2

Heading northwest toward Paris, the helicopter left Gren.o.ble behind. There was an appreciative silence inside as each privately acknowledged how close they had come to death. Alone in the back, Jon was emerging from his exhausted trance. He let out a deep sigh, releasing his mind and body of the stress and near-misses of the last few days. He unsnapped his belt and leaned forward between Peter and Randi, who sat in the twin pilots' seats.Randi grinned and patted the top of his head. "Nice doggy."Jon chuckled. She had an amusing way about her, and right now she seemed the most charming person in the world. There was nothing like friends, and two of his best were right here next to him. She had put earphones on over her watch cap, and her sungla.s.ses moved from side to side as she gazed all around, looking for aircraft that might be following.Peter wore earphones, too, and was watching his fuel gauge and the directional dials through his dark gla.s.ses. The lowering sun was off to their left, a fireball whose slanting rays illuminated the treetops and snowy fields below and ahead. Far ahead they could see the first sweep of the magnificent Rhne Valley, marked with its characteristic patchwork of vineyards.The old OH-6's cabin was cramped, so with Jon leaning forward, the three of them were a cozy knot. lie raised his voice above the noise of the rotors and announced, "I'm ready to be filled in. How's Marty doing?""The lad's not only out of his coma, he's chomping at the bit," Peter reported cheerfully. He described their escape to the plastic surgery clinic where he had hidden Marty since. "He's in good spirits now, once we told him you were, in fact, alive."Jon smiled. "Too bad he wasn't more helpful about the DNA computer and Chambord.""Yes," Randi said. "Now you. Tell us what happened at the villa in Algeria. When I heard the automatic fire, I was sure you'd been killed.""Chambord hadn't been kidnapped at all," he told them. "He was with the Crescent Shield from the beginning. Actually, they'd been with him, or at least that's what he claims. It makes sense, knowing what I know now. He also created the deception that he was a prisoner, for Theacute;regrave;se's benefit. He had no idea Mauritania had taken her, so he was as surprised to see her as she was to see him.""Explains a lot," Peter said. "But how in blazes did they get the prototype out before the missile hit?""They didn't," Jon told them. "The missile destroyed it for certain. What I don't understand is how Chambord could've built another prototype and had it up and running soon enough to take over our satellites.""I know," Randi agreed. "It's baffling. But our people say no other computer has the power, speed, or capacity to reprogram the satellites through all their codes, firewalls, and other defenses. In fact, most of our safeguards are still cla.s.sified and supposedly impossible to discover, much less breach."Peter checked the time, the distance they had come, and the fuel gauge. He said, "Perhaps you're both right. But why couldn't there be a second prototype?"Jon and Randi exchanged a glance."That's an idea, Peter," Randi said.Jon said slowly, "One already in existence. One that Chambord either had access to, had set up to be programmed remotely, or had trained someone else to operate on his instructions. Also, one that Mauritania appeared to know nothing about.""Swell," Randi grumbled. "A second DNA computer. Just what we need.""It makes a lot of sense, especially when combined with what I haven't brought up yet.""That sounds ominous," Peter said. "Fill us in, Jon."Jon stared ahead through the helicopter's windshield at the French countryside, threaded with small rivers and ca.n.a.ls and dotted with neat farmhouses. "I told you I learned at the villa that Chambord had been part of the terrorism from the start," he said, "and that he probably-helped plan the attack on us.""Right. And?" Randi prompted."Hours ago, before I finally got away from Abu Auda, it began to make sense that not only did the Crescent Shield use the Basques for cover, Chambord and Bonnard have been using the Shield for cover, too. The Shield has a fairly large and flexible organization with terrorist skills, and it could do what Bonnard and Chambord couldn't do by themselves. But I think the Shield gave them something else as wellh.e.l.lip;it's their stalking horse. A group to blame for whatever horror they're really planning. Who better to pin it on than an Islamic extremist group led by a man who was once a top lieutenant of Osama bin Laden? Which, by the way, is maybe why they took Mauritania with them. They could be planning to make them the fall guy."Randi frowned. "So you're saying the two of them, Chambord and Bonnard, are behind all the electronic attacks on the U.S. But why? What possible motive could a world-renowned scientist and a respected French army officer have?"Jon shrugged. "My guess is, their goal won't turn out to be dropping a mid-range tactical nuclear missile on Jerusalem or Tel Aviv. That makes political sense for the Crescent Shield, but not for a pair of Frenchmen like Chambord or Bonnard. I figure they're planning something else, most likely against the United States, since they 've now taken out our satellites. But I still haven't been able to figure out why.As the wind rushed past, and the helicopter's rotors beat a steady tattoo, the three friends fell silent."And the Shield knows nothing about what Bonnard and Chambord are planning?" Randi asked."From listening to all their talk, I'd say the idea that Bonnard and Chambord weren't their dupes never occurred to the Crescent Shield. That's what happens to fanatics, they see nothing but what they want to see."Peter's hands tightened on the controls. "I expect you're right about the stalking horse. Could get nasty for whoever gets the blame for what they've done so far, never mind whatever Armageddon they're planning. Like what happened after the World Trade Center and the Pentagon were attacked. Our soldier and scientist wouldn't want responsibility for something like Afghanistan to come crashing down on their heads.""Exactly," Jon acknowledged. "I think Chambord antic.i.p.ates nations may converge again to hunt down the perpetrators this time, too. So he wants a patsy, someone the world is ready to believe would do it. Mauritania and the Crescent Shield are perfect for that. It's a little-known terrorist group, so who'll believe their denials, especially if it looks as if they've been caught red-handed? And then, too, all the evidence makes it look as if they kidnapped Chambord, which he'll swear to. He lies well enough that he'll be believed. Take it from me.""What about Theacute;regrave;se?" Randi said. "She knows the truth by now, right?""I don't know if she knows the whole truth, but she knows about her father. She's learned too much, which must be worrying Chambord. If push comes to shove, he might sacrifice her to save his plan. Or Bonnard will take the decision out of his hands and handle it himself.""His own daughter." Randi shuddered."He's either unbalanced or a fanatic," Jon said. "They're the only reasons I can see for his doing such an about-facefrom ill.u.s.trious scientist to down-and-dirty terrorist."Peter was gazing out at the land, his leathery face intense as he studied roads. "Going to have to pause our discussion a bit." They were approaching a small city built along a river. "That's Macon, right at the edge of Burgundy. River's called the Sane. Peaceful-looking little place, isn't it? Turns out, it is. Randi and I refueled here on our way to track you down, Jon. No problems, so I'm going to set us down here again. The gas tank's hungry. When was the last time you ate, Jon?""d.a.m.ned if I remember.""Then we'd best pick up more than petrol."In the long, undulating shadows of late afternoon, Peter landed the OH-6 at the small airport.Outside Bousmelet-sur-Seine, FranceEmile Chambord leaned back in the desk chair and stretched. The stone walls, evil-looking medieval weapons, dusty suits of armor, and high vaulted ceiling of this windowless work area were cheerless, although a thick Berber rug covered the floor, and lamps cast warm pools of light. That he was working here in the armory where there were no windows was the way he wanted it. No windows, no distractions, and whenever worries about Theacute;regrave;se entered his mind, he pushed them far away.He gazed lovingly at his prototype on the long table. Although he enjoyed everything about it, he was particularly in awe of its speed and power. It tested each possible answer to any problem simultaneously, rather than sequentially, which was how the largest and fastest silicon-chip computers worked. In cyber terms, the world's fastest silicon supercomputers took a long, long time. Still, they were faster than a human brain. But swiftest of all was his molecular machine, its velocity almost incomprehensible.And the basis was in the gel packs, in the special DNA sequence he had created. The spiral string of DNA that curled inside every living cellthe natural chemistry underlying all living thingshad been his artist's palette. And the result was that intractable problems such as those that cropped up in artificial intelligence systems, in fashioning complex computer networks like the information superhighway, and in conducting intricate games such as three-dimensional chess, which were impossible for the most powerful supercomputer, could easily be digested by his molecular marvel. After all, it was merely a matter of selecting the correct path through an enormous number of possible choices.He was also fascinated by his brainchild's ability to continually alter its ident.i.ty while using only one-hundredth of its power. It simply maintained a firewall that changed its access code faster than any conventional computer could crack it. In essence, his molecular machine "evolved" while being used, and the more it was used, the more it evolved. In the cold stone room, he smiled as he recalled the first image he had seen in his mind when he conceived this attribute. His prototype was like the Borg on the American television show Star Trek, which evolved instantly to find a fresh defense against any attack. Now he was using his constantly unfolding machine to counter the most insidious attack of allon the soul of France.For inspiration, he gazed again at the reproduction of the n.o.ble painting above his desk, and then with a determined heart, he resumed searching for clues to where Marty Zellerbach was hiding. He had easily entered Marty's computer system at his home in Washington and waltzed in seconds through the computer geek's specially designed software defenses. Unfortunately, Marty had not visited it since the night of the Pasteur attack, so Chambord found no clue to his whereabouts there. Disappointed, he left a little "gift" and moved on.He knew the name of Marty's bank, so it was a simple matter to check his records. But again, there was no new activity. He thought for a moment and had another ideaMarty's credit card.As a record of Marty's purchases appeared on the screen, Chambord's austere face smiled, and his intense eyes flashed. Oui! Yesterday, Marty had bought a laptop in Paris. He picked up the cellular telephone on the table beside him.Vaduz, LiechtensteinCarved out of the lush countryside between Switzerland and Austria, the small princ.i.p.ality of Liechtenstein was often overlooked by ordinary tourists, while prized by foreigners who needed a safe place to transport or hide money. Liechtenstein was known for both its breathtaking scenery and absolute secrecy.In the capital, Vaduz, twilight had cast dark shadows across the thoroughfare that edged the Rhine River. This suited Abu Auda. Still dressed in his Western clothes, he moved briskly along, avoiding eye contact, until he arrived at the door to the small, undistinguished private residence that had been described to him. He knocked three times, waited, and knocked four times.He heard a bolt disengage inside, and the door cracked open.In Arabie, Abu Auda spoke into the small s.p.a.ce: "Breet bate." I want a room.A man's voice answered, "May-fah-hem-tiksh." I don't understand.Abu Auda repeated the code and added, "They have Mauritania."The door swung open, and a small, dark man stared worriedly up. "Yes?"Abu Auda pushed his way in. This was a major European stop for hwalala, an underground Arab railroad for moving, banking, laundering, and investing money. Unregulated and completely secret, with no real accounts that regulators could track, the network financed not only individuals but causes. This past year, nearly a billion U.S. dollars had moved through the European system alone."Where did Mauritania get his money?" Abu Auda continued in Arabic. "The source. From whose purse did the financing come?""You know I can't tell you that."Abu Auda removed the pistol from the holster under his arm. He pointed it, and as the man stepped backward, Abu Auda followed. "Mauritania is being held by the people with the money. They are not of our Cause. I know the money was paid by a Captain Bonnard or a Dr. Chambord. But I do not believe they are alone in this. So now you will speak, and you will be thorough."Aloft over FranceA half hour after taking off again from Macon, Jon, Peter, and Randi finished the sandwiches they had bought at the small airport, and continued their a.n.a.lysis and discussion of the situation.Peter said, "Whatever we decide to do to find Chambord and Bonnard, we'd best do it quickly. Time's not on our side. Whatever they're planning, they'll want to make it happen very, very soon."Jon nodded. "Mauritania had planned to attack Israel this morning. Now that we know there's still a working molecular computer out there somewhere, and that Chambord and Bonnard are free and traveling, my guess is that we've bought ourselves some time, but not much."Randi shivered. "Maybe not enough."The sun had set, and darkness was creeping across the land. Ahead, an ocean of lights sparkled in the gray twilight. Paris. As they stared at the great city's sprawl, Jon's mind went back to the Pasteur Inst.i.tute and the initial bombing that had brought him to Paris and Marty. It seemed a long time ago, although it was just last Monday that Fred Klein had appeared in Colorado to ask him to take on this a.s.signment, which had led across two continents.Now the focus was narrowed, and the price for failure was still unknown, except, they all agreed, it would be high. They must find Emile Chambord and his molecular computer. And when they found them, they were going to need a healthy and alert Marty.

Chapter Thirty-Four.

Paris, FranceDr. Lochiel Cameron could see that Marty was irritated and frustrated. Marty was coming off his meds, pacing the room in his stiff, awkward gait as Dr. Cameron observed from a comfortable armchair, a bemused smile on his face. He was an upbeat, easygoing man who had seen enough war and devastation to find turning back the clock for aging beauties of both s.e.xes in his exclusive plastic surgery clinic a not-unpleasant career."So you're worried about your friends," Dr. Cameron prompted.Marty stopped and waved his chubby arms with aggravation. "What could they possibly be doing? While I decompose in this plush and I'm sure usuriouslyif not criminallyoverpriced butcher shop of yours, where are they? How long can it take to reach Gren.o.ble and return? Is it located on Pluto? I don't think so."He resumed his rolling prowl across the room. The curtains were drawn against the night, and the place was cozy with nice furniture and warm lamplightnone of that overhead fluorescent glare that made most hospital rooms seem harsh. There was even the refreshing scent of a bouquet of newly cut peonies. But the comforting atmosphere was lost on Marty. He was thinking about only one thing: Where were Jon, Randi, and Peter? He was afraid that they had gone to Gren.o.ble not to rescue Jon from possible death, but to all die together.Dr. Cameron said mildly, "So you're upset."Marty stopped in mid-step and turned to the doctor in horror. "Upset? Upset! Is that what you think I am? I am distraught. They are in trouble, I know it. Injured. Lying somewhere desolate in their own blood!" He clasped his hands together and shook them in front as his eyes gleamed with an idea. "I'll rescue them. That's it. I'll swoop down and pluck them from the talons of evil. But I must know exactly where they are. It's so frustrating h.e.l.lip;"The door opened, and Marty turned, a sharp remark ready to be flung at whoever dared interrupt his misery.But it was Jon standing there, tall, muscular, and imposing in his dark bomber jacket. Although his dusky face was battered, a grin as wide as the Atlantic Ocean was aimed at Marty. Crowded behind were Peter and Randi, also grinning. As he was growing up, Marty had not been good at reading people's emotions. Learning that the corners of an upturned mouth were a smile, which meant happiness, and that a frown could mean sadness, anger, or a range of other less joyful feelings had taken some time. But now Marty saw not only that his three friends were happy to be here, but they also had a sense of urgency about them, as if they had arrived only to leave again. Things were not good, but they were putting a brave face on the situation.They strode into the room, Jon talking: "We're all right here, Mart. Great to see you. No need to worry about us."Marty let out a whoop and then drew back and scowled. "Well, it's about time. I hope you three have been enjoying yourselves." He pulled himself up to his full height. "I, however, have been vegetating in this boring abattoir with no one but thath.e.l.lip;that"he glared at Dr. Cameron in the armchair"Scottish barber."Cameron chuckled. "As you can see, he's in fine shape. Tiptop and well on his way to complete recovery. Still, best keep him from any more injuries. And of course, if he gets nauseated or dizzy, he'll need to have his head examined."Marty started to protest, but Jon laughed and threw an arm around Marty's shoulders. Marty grinned and looked Jon, Randi, and Peter up and down. "Well, at least you're back. You appear to be all in one piece.""That we are, lad," Peter agreed.Jon added, "Thanks to Randi and Peter.""Fortunately, Jon was in a mood to be saved," Randi explained.Jon started to release Marty's shoulder, but before he could, Marty turned quickly and hugged him. As he gave Jon one last little squeeze and moved away, Marty spoke in a low voice: "Gosh, Jon. You scared the w.i.l.l.i.e.s out of me. I'm so glad you're safe. It just wasn't the same without you. For a long time, 1 really thought you were dead. Couldn't you start living a more sedentary life?""You mean like you?" Jon's navy-blue eyes twinkled. "You're the one who got the concussion from the bombing at the Pasteur Inst.i.tute, not me."Marty sighed. "I thought you might bring that up."As Dr. Cameron said his good-byes and left, the disheveled and weary trio sank into chairs. Marty returned to his bed, punched and patted his pillows into a white mound, and settled back against them, a plump sultan on a cotton throne. "I sense urgency," he told them. "Does that mean it's not over? I'd hoped you'd tell me we could go home now.""I wish," Randi said. She pulled off the band that held her ponytail and shook her hair free. She ma.s.saged her scalp with both hands. Blue half-circles of weariness showed under her black eyes. "We think they're going to try to strike again soon. I just hope there's time for us to stop them."Marty asked, his eyebrows knit, "Where? When?"To save time, Jon described only the high points of what had happened since his capture at the villa in Algeria, ending with their conclusion that Emile Chambord and Captain Bonnard had been using the Crescent Shield not only to do most of their dirty work, but to hide their complicity in a scheme to use the DNA prototype. Now the pair had disappeared with Theacute;regrave;se Chambord."My thought is," Jon concluded, "that they've got to have a second prototype. Is that possible?"Marty sat upright. "A second prototype? Of course! Emile had two so he could test various molecular sequences for efficiency, speed, and capacity at the same time. You see, molecular computers work by encoding the problem to be solved in the language of DNAthe base-four values are A, T, C, and G. Using them as a number system, the solution to any conceivable problem can be encoded along a DNA strand and"Jon interrupted. "Thanks, Marty. But finish what you were saying about Chambord's second prototype."Marty blinked. He looked at the blank expressions on Peter's and Randi's faces and sighed dramatically. "Oh. Very well." Without missing a beat, he picked up where he had left off. "So, Emile's second setup vanished. Poof! Into thin air! Emile said he'd dismantled it because we were so close to the end that there was no need for another system. It didn't make a lot of sense to me, but it was his decision to make. All the bugs were ironed out, and it was only a matter of fine-tuning the prime system.""When did the second one disappear?" Randi asked."Less than three days before the bombing, even though all the remaining big problems had been ironed out more than a week earlier.""We've got to find the second one right away," Ranch told him. "Was Chambord missing from the lab for any length of time? A weekend? A holiday?""Not that I remember. He often slept on a bed he had put into the lab.""Think, lad," Peter pressed. "A few hours perhaps?"Marty screwed up his face in concentration. "I usually went to my hotel room for a couple of hours' sleep every night, you see."But he continued to think, summoning memory the way a computer does. From the hour the bomb had exploded at the Pasteur, his mind screened back minute by minute, day by day, his neural circuits connecting in a remarkably accurate reverse chronology until at last he nodded vigorously. He had it."Yes, twice! The night it disappeared he said we needed pizza, but Jean-Luc was off somewhere, I don't recall exactly where, so I went. I was gone perhaps fifteen minutes, and when I returned Emile wasn't there. He came back in another fifteen minutes or so, and we zapped the pizza in our microwave.""So," Jon said, "he was gone at least a half hour?""Yes.""And the second time?" Randi urged."The night after I noticed the second setup was gone, he was gone nearly six hours. He said he was so tired he was driving home to sleep in his own bed. It was true he was p.o.o.ped. We both were."Randi a.n.a.lyzed it. "So the night it disappeared, Chambord wasn't gone long. The next night, he was gone about six hours. It sounds to me as if the first night he probably just took it home. The second night, he drove it somewhere within three hours of the city, probably less.""Why do you think he drove?" Peter asked. "Why not fly or go by rail?""The prototype's too big, too clumsy, with too many parts and pieces," Jon told him. "I've seen one, and it's definitely not portable.""Jon's right," Marty agreed. "It would've required at least a van to transport, even dismantled. And Emile would've trusted no one but himself to move it." He sighed sadly. "This is all so incredible. Horribly incredible. Incredibly horrible."Peter was frowning. "He could've driven anywhere from Brussels to Brittany in three hours. But even if we're looking for a place less than two hours away, we're talking hundreds of square miles around Paris." He considered Marty. "Any way you could use that electronics wizardry of yours to solve our problem? Locate the b.l.o.o.d.y prototype for us?""Sorry, Peter." Marty shook his head. Then he picked up his new laptop from his bedside table and put it on his crossed legs. The modem was already connected to the phone line. "Even a.s.suming Emile left the security software we designed for it in place, I wouldn't have the power to break through. Emile has had plenty of time to change everything, including the codes. Remember, we're up against the fastest, most powerful computer in the world. It evolves its codes to adapt to any attempt to locate it so swiftly that nothing we have today can track it."Jon was watching. "So why have you turned your laptop on? Looks to me as if you're going online yourself.""Clever of you, Jon," Marty said cheerfully. "Yes, indeed. As we speak, I'm logging onto my supercomputer at home. I'll simply operate it from this laptop. With the use of my personally designed software, I hope to make a lie out of what I've just told you was impossible. Nothing to lose, and it'll be fun to try" He stopped speaking abruptly, and his eyes grew large with astonishment. Then dismay. "Oh, dear! What a rotten trick. Dam you, Emile. You've taken advantage of my generous nature!""What is it?" Jon asked as he hurried to the bed to look at Marty's screen. There was a message in French on it."What's happened?" Randi asked worriedly.Marty glared at the monitor, and his voice rose with indignant outrage. "How dare you enter the sanct.i.ty of my computer system. Youh.e.l.lip;you sinister satrap! You'll pay for this, Emile. You'll pay!"As Marty ranted, Jon read the message aloud to Peter and Randi in English:Martin,You must be more careful with your defensive software. It was masterful, but not against me or my machine. I've taken you offline, closed your back door, and blocked you out totally. You are helpless. The apprentice must yield to the master.EmileMarty raised his chin, defiant. "There's no way he can defeat me. I'm the Paladin, and the Paladin is on the side of truth and justice. I'll outwit him! Ih.e.l.lip;Ih.e.l.lip;"As Jon moved away, Marty's fingers flew over the keyboard, and his gaze grew hard and focused as he tried to convince his home system to power itself back on. Glumly, Jon, Peter, and Randi watched. Time seemed to be pa.s.sing much too swiftly. They needed to find Chambord and the prototype.Marty's fingers slowed, and little spots of sweat appeared on his face. He looked up, miserable. "I'll get him yet. But not this way."Outside Bousmelet-sur-Seine, FranceIn his quiet, windowless workroom, Emile Chambord inspected the message on his monitor. As he suspected he would, Zellerbach had contacted his home computer system in Washington, at which point he had received Chambord's message and the system had shut itself off. This made Chambord laugh out loud. He had outwitted the arrogant little American. And now that he had a trace on him, he would also be able to find him. He typed quickly, beginning the next stage of his search."Dr. Chambord."The scientist looked up. "You have news?"Brisk and compact, Captain Bonnard took the chair beside Chambord's desk. "I just received a report from Paris." His square face was unhappy. "Our people showed your photo of Dr. Zellerbach to the store clerk. He said Zellerbach wasn't with the man who used the credit card to buy the laptop. However, it did sound as if he could be one of Jon Smith's accomplices. But when my man checked the records for the sale, the address given was for Washington, D.C. There were no notations of any Paris address or phone number. Of course, since Zellerbach could merely have sent this man into the store, our people canva.s.sed with the photo. Bad results again. No one recognized Zellerbach."Chambord gave a small smile. "Don't give up, my friend. I've just learned a lessonthe power of the DNA computer is so limitless that one must readjust one's thinking of what's possible."Bonnard crossed his legs, swinging one foot impatiently. "You have another way to locate him? We must, you know. He and the others understand too much. They won't be able to stop us now. But laterh.e.l.lip;ah, yes. That could be catastrophic to our plans. We must eliminate them quickly."Chambord hid his annoyance. He knew the stakes better than Bonnard. "Fortunately, Zellerbach visited his home system. I antic.i.p.ate that he took precautions first, probably bouncing the signal around from country to country, from whatever phone number his modem is using. He may also have tried to further disguise his path by going through a large number of servers and an equal number of aliases.""How can you trace through all that?" Bonnard asked. "That's standard to disguise an electronic trail. It's standard, because it works.""Not against my molecular machine." With confidence, Dr. Chambord returned to his keypad. "In minutes, we'll have the phone number in Paris. And then it'll be a simple matter to discover the address that goes with it. After that, I have a little plan that'll put an end completely to anyone's pursuit."

Chapter Thirty-five.

Paris, France"So here's our situation." Jon was telling Randi, Peter, and Marty. "All of our agencies are working on this. Our governments are standing at highest alert. Our job is to do what they can't. From what Marty's told us about the second prototype, Chambord and Bonnard have to be somewhere two hours or so from Paris. Now, what else do we know, and what don't we know?""They're an ivory-tower scientist and a junior French officer," Randi said. "I wonder whether they did it all alone.""Me, too." Jon leaned forward in his armchair, his face intense. "The whole operation smacks of someone else pulling the strings. We've got Captain Bonnard, who was operating around Paris with no apparent connection to the attack on the Pasteur, while the Pasteur was bombed and Dr. Chambord was 'kidnapped' by the Basques. The Basques spirit Chambord to Toledo, where they deliver him to the Crescent Shield. Then they turn right around and return to Paris, s.n.a.t.c.h Theacute;regrave;se, and deliver her to Toledo, too. Meanwhile, Mauritania is sometimes in Paris, sometimes in Toledo, while Dr. Chambord and Captain Bonnard apparently don't contact one another until the villa in Algiers. Mauritania believes he's in equal partnership with Bonnard and Chambord until Gren.o.ble. Soh.e.l.lip;who's watching over the whole thing, orchestrating, coordinating all the various people and aspects? It has to be someone close to both Frenchmen."Peter added, "Someone with money. This is obviously an expensive operation. Who's paying for it?""Not Mauritania," Randi told them. "Langley says that ever since he left Bin Laden, Mauritania's resources have been sharply limited. Besides, if Chambord and Bonnard were using the Crescent Shield, they were certainly the initiators of the collaboration, so it's likely they were picking up the bills, too. I doubt that either an army captain or a pure scientist like Chambord would have that kind of money."Marty came to life. "Certainly not Emile." He shook his round head. "Oh, dear, no. Emile's far from wealthy. You should see how modestly he lives. Besides, he has trouble keeping a desk drawer organized. I seriously doubt he could systematize that many people and activities.""For a while, I thought it might be Captain Bonnard," Jon said. "After all, he came up through the ranks. That's both difficult and admirable. Still, he doesn't appear to be a true organizing leader, a mastermind. Certainly, he's no Napoleon, who also worked his way up the ranks. According to his file, Bonnard's current wife is from a prominent French family. There's wealth there, but not the kind we're looking for. So unless I've missed something, he strikes out on both counts, too."As Jon, Randi, and Peter continued to talk, Marty crossed his arms and burrowed back into his pillows. Eyes closed, he allowed his mind to wing back over the past few weeks, flying high through a three-dimensional patchwork of sights, sounds, and odors. From the springboard of memory, he reexperienced the past, recalling with joyful clarity working with Emile, the excitement of one small success after another, the brainstorming sessions, the meals ordered in, the long clays and longer nights, the odors of chemicals and equipment, the way the lab and office had grown on him, had felt more and more like homeAnd he had it. Abruptly he uncrossed his arms, sat upright, and opened his eyes. He had remembered exactly what the lab and office looked like."That's it!" he announced loudly.All three stared at him. "What's it?" Jon asked."Napoleon." Marty spread his arms grandly. "You mentioned Napoleon, Jon. That's what reminded me. What we're really looking for is an anomaly, something that doesn't fit. An oddity that points to what's missing in the equation. Surely you know that if you keep looking at the same information in the same way you'll keep coming up with the same answers. Utter waste of time.""So what's missing, Mart?" Jon asked."Why,"Marty said. "That's what's missing. Why is Emile doing this? Maybe the answer is Napoleon.""He's doing it for Napoleon?" Peter said. "That's your priceless gem, lad?"Marty threw a frown at Peter. "You could've remembered, too, Peter. I told you about it." As Peter tried to recall the mystery to which Marty referred, Marty shook his hands excitedly over his head. "The print. It didn't seem important at first, but now it looms large. It is, in fact, an anomaly.""What print?" Jon asked."Emile had an excellent print of a painting hanging on his wall at the lab," Marty explained. "I think the original oil was by Jacques-Louis David, a famous French artist around the turn of the nineteenth century. The t.i.tle was something like Le Grande Armeacute;e's Return from Moscow. I can't remember all the French. Well"he moved the laptop onto the table and bounced to his feet, unable to sit still "this one showed Napoleon in a big blue funk. I mean, who wouldn't be, after capturing Moscow, but then having to retreat because someone's burned down most of the city, there's nothing to eat, and winter's arrived? Napoleon started out with more than four hundred thousand troops, but by the time he got home to Paris, he had less than ten thousand left. So the painting shows Napoleon with his chin sunk down on his chest." Marty demonstrated. "He's riding his big white horse, and the gallant soldiers of his Old Guard are stumbling miserably through the snow behind like total ragam.u.f.fins. It's so sad.""And that print was missing from Chambord's lab?" Jon said. "When?""It was gone the night of the bombing. When I arrived to pick up my paper, my first shock was the corpse. Then I noticed that the DNA prototype was gone. And finally I saw that the print was missing, too. At the time, the print's whereabouts seemed unimportant. Incidental, as you can imagine. Now, however, it seems glaringly strange. We must pay attention."Randi puzzled, "Why would the Black FlameBasquessteal a print about a French tragedy some two centuries ago?"Marty rubbed his hands together excitedly. "Maybe they didn't." He paused for effect. "Maybe Emile took it with him!""But why?" Randi wondered. "It wasn't even the original painting."Jon said quickly, "I think that Mart's saying the reason he took the print could tell us what was on Chambord's mind when he left with the terrorists, and maybe about why he's doing what he's doing."Peter strode to the window. He peeled back the drape and studied the dark street below. "Never told you about another little problem MI6 dumped on me. We lost a bigwig general a few days agoSir Arnold Moore. Bomb in his Tornado, I'm afraid. The general was flying home to report information to the PM so hush-hush that he would only hint at it.""What was the hint?" Jon said quickly."He said that what he knew might bear on you Americans' communications problems. The first attack, that is, that you Yanks told only us about." Peter let the drape fall back into place. He turned, his face grave. "I backtracked Moore through various contacts, you see. Their intel all toted up to a clandestine meeting of highly placed generals on the new Frenchie carrier, Charles de Gaulle. There was Moore, of course, representing Britain, plus generals from France, Italy, Spain, and Germany. I know the ident.i.ty of the GermanOtto Bittrich. So here's the k.n.o.bby part: Seems the meeting was terribly sub rosa. Not unusual on the face of it. But then, come to find out, it was organized by the top French muckity muck at NATO himself, Jon's 'friend'General Roland la Porte, and the order to sail that big, expensive warship apparently originated at NATO, but no one has been able to find the original signed order."Jon said, "Roland la Porte is the deputy supreme commander of NATO.""That he is," Peter said, his face both strained and solemn."And Captain Bonnard is his aide-de-camp.""That, too."Jon was silent, turning the new information over in his mind. "I wonder. I thought Captain Bonnard might be using La Porte, but what if it's the reverse? La Porte himself admitted the French high command, and presumably himself among them, had been keeping close tabs on Chambord's work. What if La Porte kept much closer tabs than anyone else, and then kept what he knew to himself? He did say he and Chambord were personal friends as well."Marty stopped pacing. Slowly Peter nodded."Makes a terrible kind of sense," Randi said."Roland la Porte has money," Marty added. "I remember Emile talking about General La Porte. He admired him as a true patriot who loved France and saw its future. According to Emile, La Porte was mind-bogglingly rich.""So rich he could've financed this operation?" Jon asked.Everyone looked at Marty. "Sounded like it to me.""I'll be a duck's uncle," Peter said. "The deputy supreme commander himself.""Unbelievable," Randi said. "At NATO, he'd have access to all kinds of other resources, including a big warship like the De Gaulle."Jon recalled the regal Frenchman, his pride and suspicion. "Dr. Chambord said La Porte was a 'true patriot who loved France and saw its future,' and Napoleon was, and still is, the peak of French greatness. And now it seems that the only thing other than the DNA prototype that Chambord took with him from his lab that night was a print of the beginning of the end for Napoleon. The beginning of the end for French 'greatness.' Are you all thinking what I'm thinking?""I expect we are," Peter said, his lean face solemn. "The glory of France.""In which case, I may have an anomaly, too," Jon went on. "I noticed it in pa.s.sing, but it never seemed significant. But now, I wonder.""What is it?" Marty said."A castle," Jon told him. "It's a burnt-red colorprobably constructed with some kind of red stone. I saw an oil painting of it when I was in General La Porte's Paris mansion. Then I saw a photograph of it, this time in his office at NATO. It's obviously important to him. So important he likes to keep a likeness nearby."Marty hurried to his bed and grabbed his laptop. "Let's see if I can find it, and find if Emile was right about le general's financial health."Randi looked at Peter. "What was the meeting aboard the De Gaulle about? That could also tell us a lot.""Should find out, don't you think?" Peter said, heading to the door. "Would you be so kind, Randi, as to brace Langley for anything new? And, Jon, why don't you do likewise with your people?"As Marty logged onto the Internet using the room's only line, the three rushed out to find telephones.In Dr. Cameron's office, Jon dialed Fred Klein's secure scrambled line."You've found Emile Chambord and his d.a.m.nable machine?" Klein asked without preamble."I wish. Tell me more about Captain Darius Bonnard and General La Porte. What exactly is the nature of their relationship?""It's long. Ongoing. Just as I described.""Is there any indication that Captain Bonnard may have co-opted General La Porte? That Bonnard may be the power behind the general?"Klein paused, thinking about the question. "The general saved Bonnard's life in Desert Storm when Bonnard was still whatever they call a top sergeant. Bonnard owes the general everything. I told you that before.""What haven't you told me about them?"There was a thoughtful pause, and Klein added details.As Jon listened, the situation began to make more sense. Finally Klein finished."What's going on, Jon? Dammit, time's closing in on us. I can feel it like a noose. What's this sudden interest in Bonnard's connection to General La Porte? Have you found out something I don't know? Are you planning something? I hope to h.e.l.l you are."Smith told him about the second prototype."What! A second molecular computer?" Klein raged. "Why didn't you kill Chambord when you had the chance?"The tension was getting to Jon, too. He snapped back, "Dammit, no one guessed about a second prototype. I figured I could save Chambord so he could go on working for the good of everyone. I made a judgment call, and with what we knew, I thought it was the right one. I had no idea it was all a charade to keep us from knowing Chambord was running the show, and neither did you."Klein calmed down. "All right, what's done is done. Now we've got to get that second DNA machine. If you have an idea where it is and have a plan, I want to know.""I don't have a plan, and I don't know where exactly the d.a.m.n thing is except that it's in France somewhere. If there's a strike, it's going to be soon. Warn the president. Believe me, I'll be in touch the instant I have something concrete."Jon broke the connection and sprinted back to Marty's room.In the office of the hospital's accountant, Peter was exasperated as he tried to maintain his grip on his stilted German. "General Bittrich, you do not understand! This is""I understand that MI6 wants information I don't have, Herr Howell.""General, I know you were at the meeting on the De Gaulle. I also know that one of our generals who died a few days ago, Sir Arnold Moore, was with you. What you may not know is his death was no accident. Someone meant to kill him. And now I believe that the same person means to use a DNA computer to render the U.S. defenseless and then attack. It's urgent you tell me what General La Porte's secret meeting was about."There was silence. "So Moore was murdered?""A bomb. He was on his way to fill in our PM about something vital he learned at the meeting. That's what we need to hear from you. What did General Moore learn? What was so devastating that his jet was bombed to stop him from relaying it?""You're certain of the bomb?""Yes. We have the jet's fuselage. It has been tested. There is no doubt."There was a long, anxious pause.At last, Otto Bittrich said, "Very well." He spoke carefully, making certain each word carried the proper weight. "The French general, La Porte, wants a totally integrated European army independent of, and at least equal to, America's. NATO's inadequate for his purposes. So is the EU's small rapid deployment force. Me envisions a truly United Europe Europa. A continental world power to eventually surpa.s.s the United States. He's adamant that the United States's hegemony must be stopped. He argues that Europe is already positioned to become a contending superpower. If we don't take this place of prominence that's rightfully ours, he claims we'll end up as just another U.S. dependenta large and favored colony at best, but ultimately still slaves to America's interests.""Are you saying he wants to go to war against America?""He claims we're already at war with the United States in many, many ways.""What do you say, General?"Again Bittrich paused. "There's much I agree with in his ideas, Herr Howell."Peter heard a faint hesitation. "I hear a but, sir. What did General Moore want to tell my prime minister?"Bittrich was silent again. "I believe he suspected that General La Porte was planning to prove his point that we must not depend on America by showing the Americans unable to defend themselves.""How?" Peter asked. He listened to the answer with growing alarm.Downstairs in the same public phone booth she had used earlier, Randi slammed down the receiver. She was angry and worried. Langley had nothing new about General La Porte or Captain Bonnard. As she hurried through the lobby and back upstairs, she hoped the others had done better. When she reached Marty's room, Jon was standing sentry at the only window, watching the street, while Marty was still sitting on his bed, working at his laptop."Nada,"she told them and closed the door behind her. "Langley was no d.a.m.n help.""I got something useful," Jon said from the window. "General La Porte saved Captain Bonnard's life in Desert Storm. As a result, Bonnard's utterly loyal and exhibits an exaggerated sense of the general's greatness." Again he gazed at the street. For a moment, he thought he saw a figure moving furtively a block away. "Bonnard will do anything anything the general asks, and then be panting for the next opportunity to please him." He looked into the distance for the figure. Heor shehad disappeared. He studied the traffic and few pedestrians closer to the private hospital."My, my. Such largesse." Marty looked up from his computer screen. "Okay, the answer is that General La Porte and his family are worth hundreds of millions, if you figure it in U.S. dollars. Altogether, approaching a half-billion dollars."Jon exhaled. "A fellow could put together a nice little terrorist a.s.sault with that.""Oh yes," Marty agreed. "General La Porte fits our profile perfectly, and the more I think about it, the more I remember how Emile had begun talking on and on about France. That it didn't get the respect it deserved. What a magnificent history it had, and its future could be even greater than the past if the proper people were put in charge. Every once in a while, he'd forget I'm American and say something particularly irritating about us. I remember once when he was talking about what a fine leader General La Porte was, really too big for his current position. He said it was disgusting that the great General La Porte had to work under an American.""Yes," Jon told him. "That would be General Carlos Henze. He's NATO's Supreme Allied Commander.""That sounds right. But it didn't matter that it was General Henze. The point was, he's American. See? My anomaly explains a lot. It's obvious now that Emile took the print of Napoleon with him because it's his inspirationFrance will rise again.""You found those financial details online?" Randi wondered."Easy as cracking an egg," Marty a.s.sured her. "It was a simple matter to determine his bankFrench, of course. Then I tweaked some software programs I'm familiar with. With them souped up, I broke through the firewall and did a fast hit-and-run and escaped with quite a few records.""What about the red castle?" Jon asked.Marty was stricken. "Forgot. La Porte was so fascinating. I'll do it now."Peter strode into the hospital room, almost running. His angular face was tight. "Just talked to General Bittrich. The meeting on the De Gaulle was called by La Porte himself to press his case for a completely integrated European military. Eventually, Bittrich thinks, a united Europe. One nationEuropa. Bittrich was d.a.m.ned cautious, but when I told him our General Moore had been murdered, he finally spilled it. What had alarmed Mooreand, it turns out, Bittrich, toowas that La Porte hammered at the electronic and communications failures the American military was having and strongly suggested there'd be more, proving that the American military could not defend even its own country."Jon's eyebrows rose. "When they met on the De Gaulle, there was no way General La Porte could've heard about our utility grid and communications problems. Only our people and the top Brit leaders were in the loop.""Exactly. The only way La Porte could've known was because he was behind the attacks. At the time, Bittrich dismissed his misgivings as an overreaction and also because he was concerned he was being influenced by the fact that he can't stand La Porte personallya swaggering Frog, he called him." His gaze searched their faces. "In essence, Bittrich is saying he suspects La Porte is going to launch an attack on you Yanks, when all your defenses are down."Jon asked, "When?""He suggested," Peter's voice became hard and bitter, "that 'if such an impossible thought could be in any way true, which, of course, I don't believe for a second,' it'd be what we fearedtonight.""Why does he think that?" Randi asked."Because there's a crucial vote coming up in a special secret session of the Council of European Nations on Monday about whether to create a pan-European military. La Porte was instrumental in making this clandestine session happen so the issue could be voted on in secret."The only sound was the ticking of the clock on Marty's bedside table.Looking out the window to the street below, Jon noticed two men. It seemed to him he had seen them walk past the hospital twice.Randi asked again, "But when tonight?""Aha!" Marty announced from the bed. "Chteau la Rouge. 'Red Castle.' Is this it?"Jon strode from the window to check the monitor. "That's the castle in La Porte's painting and photo." He returned to the window and looked back at the others. "You want to know when? If I were La Porte, here's what I'd do. When it's six o'clock Sat.u.r.day night in New York, it's three o'clock in the afternoon in California. Sports and on-the-town time on the East Coast, the same on the West, plus crowded beaches if the weather's good. The freeways are congested, too. But here in France, it's midnight. Quiet. Dark. The night hides a lot. To hurt the United States the most, and to conceal what I was doing, I'd launch the strike from France sometime around midnight."Peter asked, "Where's this Chteau la Rouge, Marty?"Marty was reading the screen. "It's old, medieval, made ofh.e.l.lip;Normandy! It's located in Normandy.""Two hours from Paris," Peter said. "Within range of where we decided the second computer would be."Randi looked at the wall clock. "It's nearly nine o'clock. If Jon's righth.e.l.lip;""We'd best hurry," Peter said quietly."I said I'd call army intelligence." Jon started to turn from the window. He needed to alert Fred instantly, but he glanced down at the street just once more. He swore. "We've got visitors. They're armed. Two are walking in the hospital's front door."Randi and Peter grabbed their weapons, and Randi sprinted to the door."Oh, my!" Marty said. His eyes grew large and frightened. "This is terrible. I've just lost the connection to the Internet. What's happened?"Peter popped out the modem's hookup and tried the telephone. "It's dead!""They've cut the phone lines!" Marty's face paled.Randi cracked open the door and listened.

Chapter Thirty-six.

Outside the door to Marty's room, the hallway was quiet. "Come on!" Randi whispered. "I saw another way out when I was looking for the phone booth downstairs."Marty found his meds, while Jon snapped up the laptop. With Randi in the lead, they slipped quietly from the room and along the corridor past the closed doors of other hospital rooms. A nurse in a starched white uniform had just knocked at one. She paused, startled, her hand on the doork.n.o.b. They rushed past, unspeaking.From the open stairwell, they heard Dr. Cameron's outraged voice float up in French: "Halte! Who are you? How dare you carry guns into my hospital!"They increased their speed. Marty's face was bright red as he hurried to keep up. They pa.s.sed a pair of elevators, and at the end of the hall Randi pushed her way through the fire-exit door just as footsteps pounded up the stairs behind them."Oh, oh! Wh-where to?" Marty tried.Randi shushed him, and the four of them ran down the gray stairwell. At the bottom, Randi started to open the door, but Jon stopped her."What's on the other side?" he asked."We're below the first floor, so 1 a.s.sume it's some kind of bas.e.m.e.nt."He nodded. "My turn."She shrugged and stepped back. He handed the laptop to Marty and pulled out the curved knife he had taken from the Afghan. He opened the door a few inches, waiting for the hinges to creak. When they did not, he pressed it farther and saw a shadow move. He forced his breathing to calm. He looked back and touched his fingers to his lips. They nodded silently back.He studied the shadow again, saw where the overhead light must be that had cast it, gauged the movement once more, and eased out.There was a faint smell of gasoline. They were in a small underground garage packed with cars. The elevators were nearby, and a man with pale skin, dressed in ordinary clothes, was circling away from them, an Uzi in his hands.Jon released the door, and as it swung back, he sprinted. The man turned around, blue eyes narrowed. It was too soon. Jon had hoped to slip up behind. His finger on the trigger, the man raised his weapon. No time. Jon threw the knife. It was not meant for throwing, not balanced properly, but he had nothing else. As it spun end over end, Jon lunged.Just as the man compressed the trigger, the knife's handle hit his side, ruining his aim. Three bullets spit into the floor next to Jon's feet. Concrete chips sprayed the air. Jon slammed his shoulder into the gunman's chest, propelling him back into the side of a Volvo. Jon reared back and crashed a fist into his face. Blood spurted from the fellow's nose, but he merely grunted and swung the Uzi toward Jon's head. Jon ducked and dodged back, while behind him silenced gunfire spit.As Jon looked up from his crouch, the man's chest erupted in blood and tissue. Jon spun around on his heels.Peter stood off to the side, his 9mm Browning in his hands. "Sorry, Jon. No time for a fistfight. Must get the h.e.l.l out of here. My rental car's outside. Used it to get Marty out of the Pompidou Hospital, so I doubt anyone's made it. Randi, grab everything in the poor bloke's pockets. Let's find out who the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l he is. Jon, take the man's weapon. Let's go."Outside Bousmelet-sur-Seine, FranceThere are moments that define a man, and General Roland la Porte knew deep within himself that this was one. A ma.s.sive man of muscle and determination, he leaned on the bal.u.s.trade of the highest tower in his thirteenth-century castle and gazed out through the night, counting the stars, knowing the firmament was his. His castle was perched on a hill of red granite. Meticulously restored by his great-grandfather in the nineteenth century, the castle was illuminated tonight by the light of a three-quarter moon.Nearby stood the crumbled, skeletal ruins of a ninth-century Carolingian castle, which had been built on the site of a Prankish fort, which in turn was on the remains of the fortified Roman camp that had preceded it. The history of this land, its structures, and his family were entwined. They were the history of France itself, including its rulers in the early days, and it never failed to fill him with prideand a sense of responsibility.As a child, he longed for his periodic visits to the castle. On nights like these, he would eagerly close his eyes in sleep, hoping to dream of the bearded Prankish warrior Dagovic, honored in family lore as the first of the unbroken line that eventually became the La Portes. By the age of ten, he was poring over the family's Carolingian, Capetian, and illuminated medieval ma.n.u.scripts, although he had yet to master Latin and Old French. He would hold the ma.n.u.scripts reverently on his lap as his grandfather related the inspiring tales that had been handed down. La Porte and France, France and La Porteh.e.l.lip;they had been the same, indistinguishable in his impressionable mind. As an adult, his belief had only strengthened."My General?" Darius Bonnard emerged through the tower door onto the high parapet. "Dr. Chambord says he will be ready in an hour. It's time for us to begin.""Any news of Jon Smith and his a.s.sociates?""No, sir." Bonnard's firm chin lifted, but his gaze was troubled. He was bareheaded, his short, clipped blond hair almost invisible in the moonlight. "Not since the clinic." He thought again of the murder of his man in the underground garage."Unfortunate that we lost one," La Porte said, as if reading his mind. But then, good commanders were all alike in that respect. Their men came second only to the mission itself. He made his voice kind, magnanimous, as he continued, "When this is over, I'll write the family personally to express my grat.i.tude for their sacrifice.""It's no sacrifice," Bonnard a.s.sured him. "The goal is n.o.ble. It's worth any price."On the Highway to Bousmelet-sur-SeineOnce they were safely out of Pans and certain they were not being followed, Peter stopped the car at a large petrol station. In the bright fluorescent lights, Jon, Peter, and Randi ran to phone booths to report their suspicions about La Porte, Chambord, the castle, and the strike to their bosses. They had learned nothing from the pockets of the man whom Peter had shot. He had carried no identification, just cigarettes, money, and a package of M&M's. But on one of his fingers had been a telling detaila ring with the insignia of the French Foreign Legion.Jon arrived first and lifted the phone to his ear. There was no dial tone. He dropped in coins. No dial tone again. He tapped the tongue of the phone, but still the line gave no response, just as there had been no response from the phone in Marty's room. Puzzled, beginning to worry, he stepped away. Soon Peter and Randi joined him."Did you get a line out?" But even as he asked the question, Jon knew the answer from their concerned faces.Randi shook her blond head. "My line was dead.""Mine, too," Peter said. "Silent as a graveyard at four a.m. Don't like this one bit.""Let's get daring." Randi took out her cell phone, turned it on, and entered a phone number. As she lifted it to listen, her face seemed to crumble. She shook her head angrily. "Nothing. What's going on!""Best if we could report in," Peter said. "A bit of help from our various agencies would be pleasant.""Personally," Randi said, "I wouldn't object if someone high up sent an army battalion or three to meet us at La Porte's castle.""Know what you mean." Jon trotted toward the station's shop. Through the plate-gla.s.s window he could see a clerk inside. Jon entered. Hanging from a wall was a television set. It was not turned on, but a radio was playing. As he approached the clerk, who was working behind the counter, the music stopped, and an announcer identified the local station.Jon told the youth in French that he had tried to use the telephone outside. "It's not working."The young man shrugged, unsurprised. "I know it. Lots of people have been complaining. They stop here from all over, and they don't have phone reception either. TV's off, too. I can get local stations on it and the radio, but nothing else. Cable's not working. Awful boring, you know.""How long have you had the problem?""Oh, since about nine o'clock. Almost an hour now."Jon's face showed no change in expression. Nine o'clock was when Marty's phone line in Paris had died. "Hope you get it fixed soon.""Don't know how. Without the phones working, there's no way to report it."Jon hurried back through to the car, where Randi had just finished pumping gas. Peter was opening the trunk, and Marty was standing beside him, looking a little giddy as he stared all around. He was staying off his meds, with the hope that they would find the molecular prototype and he would be in creative shape to stop whatever Chambord was setting in motion.Jon told them what he had discovered."Emile!" Marty said instantly. "That despicable rat! Oh, dear. I didn't want to mention it, but I was very worried. This means it's finally happened. He's shut down all communications, wireless and regular.""But won't that backfire on him?" Randi asked. "If we can't get online, how can he?""He has the DNA computer," Marty said simply. "He can talk to the satellites. Open a quick window to use them if he needs to.""Must get a move on," Peter said. "Come here. Choose your poison."Marty looked down into the trunk and jumped back with surprise. "Peter! It's an a.r.s.enal."They gathered around. Inside was a polyglot cache of rifles, pistols, ammunition, and other supplies."h.e.l.l, Peter," Jon said. "You've got a whole armaments depot in here.""Be prepared is my motto." Peter removed a pistol. "Old warhorse, you see. We learn a few things."Jon already had the Uzi, so he chose a pistol, too.Marty shook his head vehemently. "No."Randi ignored him for now. "Do you have anything like a CIA climbing rig and air gun, Peter? That castle wall looked high.""The very thing." Peter showed her a twin of the rig she had gotten from Barcelona CIA. "Borrowed it some time back, forgot to return it, tsk-tsk."They climbed quickly back into the car, and Peter peeled it away, heading toward the highway again that would take them west toward the castle, where they fervently hoped they would find General La Porte and the DNA computer.In the backseat, Marty was wringing his hands. "I a.s.sume this means we're on our own.""We can't count on any help," Jon agreed."I'm very nervous about this, Jon," Marty said."Good that you are," Peter told him. "Keeps one alert. Buck up though. It could be worse. You could be sitting right smack in the middle of whatever unfortunate piece of terra firma those maniacs have targeted."Outside Bousmelet-sur-SeineEmile Chambord hesitated at the heavy, iron-studded door to the room where his daughter was confined. No matter how much he had tried to explain his views to Theacute;regrave;se, she had refused to listen. This pained Chambord. He not only loved Theacute;regrave;se, he respected her, admired her work and her struggle to excel at her art, without thought of financial reward. She had steadfastly resisted all invitations to go to Hollywood. She was a stage actress with a vision of truth that had nothing to do with popular success. He recalled an American editor saying, "A good writer is a rich writer, and a rich writer is a good writer." Subst.i.tute "actor" or "scientist" and one saw the shallow ethos of America, under which, until now, the world was doomed to live.He sighed, took a deep breath, and unlocked the door. He stepped inside quietly, not bothering to lock it again.Wrapped in a blanket, Theacute;regrave;se was sitting at the narrow window across the small room in one of the high-backed baronial chairs that La Porte favored. Because the general prized historical authenticity, the castle offered few amenities beyond thick rugs on the stone floors and tapestries hanging from the stone walls. A fire was alight in the big fireplace, but its warmth did little to offset the cold that seemed to radiate from every surface in the cavelike chamber. The air smelled dank and musty.Theacute;regrave;se did not even glance at him. She gazed steadily out the window at the stars. He joined her there, but he looked down. The ground was awash in the moon's snowy glow, showing the dark gra.s.s on the filled-in moat and, beyond that, the rolling Norman farms and woodlands that spread out and around. A shadowy orchard of old, gnarled apple trees hugged the castle.He said, "It's nearly time, Theacute;regrave;se. Almost midnight."At last she looked up at him. "So midnight is when you do it. I'd hoped you'd come to your senses. That you were here to tell me you've refused to help those unconscionable men."Chambord lost his temper. "Why can't you see that what we're doing will save us? We're offering a new dawn for Europe. The Americans are crushing us with their cra.s.s, cultural desert. They pollute our language, our ideas, our society. With them in charge, the world has no vision and little justice. They have only two values: How much can a man consume for the highest possible price, and how much can he produce for the least possible pay?" His upper lip curled in loathing.Theacute;regrave;se continued to stare at him as if he were an insect under one of his own microscopes. "Whatever their faults, they're not ma.s.s murderers.""But they are! What about the effect of their policies in Africa, Asia, and Latin America?"She paused, considering. Then she shook her head and laughed bitterly. "You don't care about any of that. You're not operating on altruism. You just want their power. You're just like General La Porte and Captain Bonnard.""I want France to rise. Europe has the right to rule its own destiny!" He turned away so she would not see his pain. She was his daughterh.e.l.lip;how could she not understand?Theacute;regrave;se was silent. At last she took his hand, and her voice softened. "I want one world, too, but where people are simply people, and no one has power over anyone else. 'France?' 'Europe?' 'The United States?' " She shook her head sorrowfully. "The concepts are anachronisms. A united world, that's what I want. A place where no one hates or murders anyone in the name of G.o.d, country, culture, race, s.e.xual orientation, or anything else. Our differences are to be celebrated. They're strengths, not weaknesses.""You think the Americans want one world, Theacute;regrave;se?""Do you and your general?""You will have a better chance of it with France and Europe than with them.""Do you remember after World War Two how the Americans helped us rebuild? They helped us all, the Germans and the j.a.panese, too. They've helped people all around the globe."That far Chambord could not go. She refused to see the truth. "For a price," he snapped. "In exchange for our individuality, our humanity, our minds, our souls.""And from what you tell me, your price tonight could be millions of lives.""You exaggerate, child. What we do will warn the world that America cannot defend even itself, but the casualties will be relatively low. I insisted u