The Paris Vendetta

“And when it’s over? What of my son’s murderer?”

The other end of the phone remained silent. Which told him what he already knew. “That’s what I thought. Goodbye, Stephanie.”

“What are you going to do?”

He switched off the phone and handed it to Sam. The younger man and Meagan Morrison had stood silent, watching him through concerned eyes.

“Will you betray me, too?” he asked Sam.

“No.”

The answer came quick. Perhaps too quick. But this eager soul was anxious to prove himself.

“Something’s happening,” Meagan said.

He turned and focused across the boulevard at the hotel.

Ashby appeared out front and spoke to the doorman, who quickly motioned for a cab. Thorvaldsen turned away and faced the buildings behind them. His face might be seen.

“He’s in the cab,” Sam said.

“Flag us one, too.”

SIXTY-THREE

ASHBY STEPPED OFF THE DOCK AT PONT DE L’ALMA AND ONTO the tour boat. Off to the east a carillon of bells pealed for three PM. He’d never toured the Seine by boat, though he assumed the cruises were quite popular. Today only about twenty strangers filled the seats under a sooty Plexiglas canopy, the boat not quite half full. He wondered why Peter Lyon insisted on meeting in such tacky surroundings. The call had come an hour ago, a gruff voice instructing him on the time and place. He’d told Caroline to keep working on what she’d discovered and that he’d return shortly. He’d debated ignoring Lyon’s summons, but knew better. Besides, Lyon had been the one who failed, not him. And there was the matter of the fee already paid, and the balance owed.

He settled into a seat on the last row and waited ten minutes until the engines revved and the flat hull glided out into the river, heading east toward the Île de la Cité. Through a loudspeaker a woman’s voice described, in English, the two banks and the sights while cameras clicked.

A tap on the shoulder diverted his attention and he turned to see a tall, urbane-looking man with blond hair. He appeared to be midsixties, the face drawn and shielded by a bushy beard and mustache. A vastly different look from the other day, yet the eyes remained the same amber color. The man was dressed in a tweed coat and corduroy slacks, appearing, as usual, quite European.

Ashby followed him toward the stern, outside the Plexiglas enclosure, where they stood in the cold. The tour guide inside continued to hold the crowd’s attention.

“What do I call you today?” he asked.

“How about Napoleon?” The voice was husky, throaty, more American this time.

The boat eased past the Grand Palais on the Right Bank.

“May I ask what happened?”

“No, you may not,” Lyon said.

He wasn’t about to accept that rebuke. “You are the one who failed. Not only that, you caused me to be exposed. The Americans are applying pressure. Do you have any idea the situation you have generated?”

“The Americans are the ones who interfered.”

“And that was a surprise? You knew they were involved. I paid three times your fee to compensate for their involvement.” His exasperation showed, but he did not care. “You said it would be quite a show.”

“I don’t know, as yet, who to blame,” Lyon said. “My pla

He registered the same condescending tone he’d grown to hate. Since he could not reveal that he’d been using Lyon to do his dirty work, he asked, “What can be done to rectify the situation?”

“That will be your problem. I’m done.”

He could not believe what he was hearing. “You’re-”

“I want to know,” Lyon said, interrupting. “What did you hope to gain from killing those people at the tower?”

“How do you know I wanted to kill them?”

“The same way I know about the Americans.”

This man knew an awful lot. But he sensed that Lyon was not nearly as confident today. Good to know that even the devil failed occasionally. He decided not to rub the disaster in the man’s face. He still needed Lyon.

“I would have never been rid of them,” he said. “Larocque, especially. So I decided to terminate the relationship, in a way she would appreciate.”

“And how much money was involved?”

He chuckled. “You like to come to the point, don’t you?”

Lyon shifted on his feet as he stood, propped against the aft railing. “It’s always about money.”

“I have access to millions in club funds deposited in my bank. That’s how you were paid. I could not have cared less what you charge. Of course, that money, or what’s left of it, would have been mine, if your flight had been successful.” He allowed his words to linger, conveying again who was responsible for the botched attack. He was tiring of theatrics, gaining courage by the second, a

“What was really at stake, Lord Ashby?”

That he was not going to share. “More than you could ever imagine. Plenty to compensate for the risks involved in killing those people.”

Lyon said nothing.

“You’ve been paid,” Ashby made clear, “but I did not receive the service, as promised. You like to talk about character and how almighty important that is to you. Do you fail, then keep a person’s money?”

“You still want them dead?” Lyon paused. “Assuming I’m interested in continuing our association.”

“You don’t have to kill them all. How about just Larocque. For what you’ve already been paid, and for the remaining payment owed to you.”

THORVALDSEN HAD NOT BEEN ABLE TO BOARD THE TOUR BOAT with Ashby. His operatives were on the way from England and should arrive within the next few hours, so they were of no help. Instead, he’d opted to follow the slow-moving vessel, paralleling the Seine in a taxi, on a busy boulevard.

He’d first considered sending Sam or Meagan, but was concerned Ashby might recognize their faces from the meeting. Now he realized there was no choice. He faced Sam. “I want you to get aboard at the next stop and see what Ashby is doing. Also, find out the route and call that to me immediately.”

“Why me?”

“You were able to masquerade for Stephanie Nelle, surely you can do this for me.”

He saw that his rebuke bit into the young man, as intended.

Sam nodded. “I can do it. But Ashby may have seen me in the meeting room.”

“It’s a chance we have to take. But I doubt if he pays much attention to hired help.”

The road ahead passed between the Louvre on the left and the Seine on the right. He saw the tour boat ease toward a dock just below the roadway. He signaled for the driver to stop at the curb.

He opened the door and Sam jumped out into the cold afternoon.

“Be safe,” he said, then he slammed the door and told the driver to go, but slowly, and not to lose the boat.

“YOU STILL HAVEN’T ANSWERED MY QUESTION,” LYON SAID TO Ashby. “What’s at stake here?”

He decided that to secure Lyon’s continued help he was going to have to give a little. “A treasure beyond measure. One far greater than the fee you extorted from me.” He wanted this demon to know that he wasn’t intimidated any longer.

“And you needed Larocque and the others gone to acquire it?”

He shrugged. “Just her. But I decided that since you were killing people, why not kill them all.”

“I so underestimated you, Lord Ashby.”

No kidding.

“And what of the Americans? You deceived them, too?”

“I told them what I had to and, I might add, I never would have sacrificed you. If things had evolved properly, I would have had my freedom, the treasure, the club’s money, and you would have been on to the next client-richer by three times your usual fee.”

“The Americans were smarter than I anticipated.”

“Seems that was your mistake. I performed my part, and I’m ready to pay the remainder of the fee. Provided-”