Lost City

"Sorry I'm not as blase as you are. I was hoping for a more dignified exit than driving a Rolls-Royce into a moat."

Austin cringed at the memory. "Okay. Here's the plan. We will offer to trade Emil for Skye."

"Not bad," Zavala said. "There's only one little hitch. You flushed Emil down the drain."

"Madame Fauchard doesn't know that. By the time she finds out, we will be long gone."

"Shame on you, bluffing an old lady." Zavala pursed his lips in thought. "I like it, but what if she doesn't bite? Is that when we call in the gendarmes?"

"I wish it were that easy, old pal. Picture this. The cops knock on the chateau door and the Fauchards say, "Search all you want." I've been in those catacombs, you could hide an army in that labyrinth. It could take weeks to find Skye."

"And time isn't on our side."

A thoughtful look came to Austin's eyes. "An hour is worth a hundred years," he murmured, checking his watch.

"Is that from one of your philosophy books?" Zavala said. Austin was a student of philosophy and the bookshelves in his Potomac boat-house were crammed with the works of the great thinkers.

"No," he replied thoughtfully. "It's something Dr. MacLean said to me."

The guard emerged from the other side of the chateau, cutting their discussion short. Austin clicked his watch again. The sentry had taken sixteen minutes to perambulate the chateau.

As soon as the guard started on another round, Austin signaled Zavala. They dashed across the open space and followed the moat to the arched stone bridge, then sprinted across the drawbridge into the courtyard. In their black clothes, they were almost invisible in the shadows along the base of the wall. Lights glowed in the first-floor windows of the chateau, but no guards patrolled the grounds, further raising Austin's suspicions.

He was sure his instincts were on target when he and Zavala came to the gate guarding the staircase to the ramparts. When he and Skye had inspected the gate, it was locked. Now it was wide open, an invitation to climb to the wall and cross over a narrow bridge to the turret. Austin had other plans. He led the way across the cobblestones to the rear of the chateau and descended a short stone staircase to an ironbound wooden door.

Austin tried the handle. The door was locked. He extracted a portable drill and a handsaw from his pack, drilled several holes in the door and sawed out a circular section. He reached in through the hole, raised the bar and opened the door. The putrid mustiness of the catacombs welled through the doorway like the exhalation of a corpse. They switched on their electric torches, stepped inside and closed the door behind them.

They went down several short flights of stairs. Austin paused briefly at the dungeons, where Emil had paid his bloody homage to Edgar Allan Poe. The pendulum hovered over the wooden table, but there was no sign of the unfortunate Englishman, Lord Cavendish.

Austin blundered down a few blind alleys, but his mariner's sense of direction held him in good stead. Before long, they passed through the bone-filled ossuary and followed the route to the armory. Again, a door was unlocked. Austin pushed it open and he and Zavala stepped into the altar area. The armory was in darkness except for a glow that came from the far end of the nave. The flickering yellow light glinted off the highly polished armor and weapons.

Zavala glanced around at the display. "Cozy. I like the combination of Gothic and heavy metal. Who's their interior decorator?"

"Same guy who worked for the Marquis de Sade."

They made their way along the long nave past the lethal relics that were the foundation of the Fauchard fortune. The light grew brighter as they came up behind the mountedTcnights. Austin went first, and as he stepped around to the front of the display he saw Skye.

She was seated in a sturdy wooden chair that was flanked by braziers, facing the charging figures on horseback. Her arms and legs were bound tightly with rope and a piece of duct tape had been stretched across her mouth. Two shiny suits of armor stood at her sides, as if ready to defend Skye against the fierce onslaught.

Skye's eyes widened. She shook her head vigorously, becoming more frantic as Austin drew nearer. He was reaching for his sheath knife so he could cut Skye's bindings when out of the corner of his eye he detected motion. The armored suit on his right was on the move.

"Oh hell," he said for want of a better reaction.

Clanking with each step, the suit raised its sword hand and advanced on Austin like an antique robot. He backed away.

"Any suggestions?" Zavala said, doing the same.

"Not unless you brought a can opener."

"How about our guns?" "Too noisy."

The other suit had sprung into life and was advancing as well. The armored figures closed in with unexpected speed. Austin realized that the knife he had in his hand would be about as effective as a toothpick. Skye was struggling in her chair.

Austin wasn't about to be sliced up like a salami. He put his head down, charged toward the nearest suit and threw a football body block across the jointed knees. The suit teetered, dropped the sword and, with arms flailing, toppled over backward and hit the stone floor with a horrendous crash. The suit's occupant gave a feeble jerk of his legs and arms and then he was still.

The other suit hesitated. Zavala duplicated Austin's body block with equal effectiveness. The second suit of armor crashed to the floor. While Austin cut away Skye's ropes, Zavala bent over one fallen figure, then the other.

"Out cold," he said with pride. "The bigger they are, the harder they fall."

"It felt like tackling a Bradley fighting vehicle. All those misspent hours watching NFL football weren't a waste of time after all."

"I thought you were worried about the noise. That little dustup sounded like a couple of skeletons making love on a tin roof."

Austin shrugged and carefully peeled back the duct tape covering Skye's mouth. He helped her rise from the chair. She stood on shaky legs, threw her arms around Austin and gave him one of the longest and warmest kisses he had ever experienced. "I never thought I'd see you again," she said.

A silvery laugh issued from the shadows of a nearby cloister. Then a tall slender figure whose face was obscured by a gauzy veil stepped into the flickering light from the braziers. The diaphanous fabric covered her form down to her ankles. Light filtered through the veil, outlining her perfect figure.

"Charming," she said. "How utterly charming. But must you always be so dramatic in your comings and goings, Monsieur Austin?"

Marcel stepped out behind the woman, a machine pistol cradled in his hands. Then six more armed men melted from dark corners. Marcel relieved Austin and Zavala of their weapons.

Austin glanced at the motionless suits of armor. "From the looks of that pile of tin, I'm not the only one with a flair for the dramatic."

"You know I like the theater. You were at my masquerade ball."

"Masquerade ball "

She slowly unwound the veil from her face and head. Hair that looked as if it had been spun from gold thread tumbled to her shoulders. Slowly, seductively, she removed the rest of the veil as if she were taking the wrapping off a precious gift and let it drop from her body to the floor. Underneath the veil, she wore a long, low-cut gown of pure white. A gold belt with a three-headed-eagle design encircled her slim waist. Austin peered into the cold eyes and felt as if he'd been struck by lightning.