We didn’t arrive back at Le Petit Château until after eight. Juliette had retired to her room by then. The cook had left a note saying she had left supper in the oven. We ate quietly, not saying much, still caught up in the power of the day’s experience.
As we finished, Mom turned to Dad. “I’m going to take a hot bath, then it’s off to bed for me.”
“Me too,” I said.
Grandpère held up his hand. “One more thing before you do. I checked the weather forecast for next week. By Tuesday, high pressure is supposed to start coming to most of northern France again. They’re predicting at least a couple of days of cool but pleasant weather.”
Mom, who had started to get up, sat down again. “Are you sayin... . ?”
“I am saying that maybe early Monday we head for Paris. Finally take that trip we’ve been talking about. We’ll spend Monday and Tuesday seeing all the usual sites—Notre Dame, the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower. Then Wednesday, we’ll spend the day down at the Palace of Versailles.”
“Oh, yes,” Mom said. “We have to see Versailles. Unbelievable.”
“We’re also going to see the museum at the former Gestapo headquarters in Paris,” I said. “Right, Grandpère?”
To my surprise, Mom frowned. “I’m not sure about that.”
“Yes,” Grandpère said. “That is as much our heritage as the walk from Germany. And then on Thursday, it’s on to Normandy. I hope we can stay at least two days, maybe three.”
“And find the grave of Lieutenant Fitzgerald?” Cody asked.
“Yes.”
We turned in surprise as the door to the dining room opened and Juliette came in. “Is that the American pilot you and your parents saved, Jean-Henri?”
“Yes. The same. He’s buried at the cemetery there.”
“I have an uncle, my father’s brother, who was in the Royal Air Force on D-Day. He was shot down on the third day of the invasion.”
“Really?” Dad said. “Is he buried at the cemetery too?”
“No,” Juliette answered. “Not the American one.”
Grandpère spoke up. “The British have their own war cemetery at Bayeux, not far away. Is he buried there?”
“Yes, that’s the one. I promised my mother before she died that sometime I would go up there and put flowers on his grave. But I never have.”
“Then come with us,” Mom said. She turned to Dad. “We could do that, couldn’t we?”
“Yes, of course,” he said. “We have room in the van. We’d love to have you.”
Juliette was immediately embarrassed. “Oh, no. I wasn’t suggesting ... no, it is too much of an imposition. This is your family’s holiday time.”
“Nonsense,” Grandpère said. “The promise must be kept.”
“I ...” She was clearly wavering. “Do you mean that? Truly?”
“Oh, yes, Juliette,” I exclaimed. “All your other guests have gone home. Come with us.”
She hesitated, then brightened. “I could stay with Philippe while you tour Paris. I also have some business at the bank. Then whenever you are ready to go north, I could join you.”
“Excellent idea,” Grandpère said. “Sounds like we have a plan.”
PART SEVEN
Return to the Past
CHAPTER 25
Marriott Courtyard Hotel, Paris, France
October 20, 2011
“Where’s Grandpère?” Cody asked. “I’m hungry. When are we going to go down for breakfast?”
“You’re always hungry,” I said.
“He’s on his way back right now,” Mom said. “He called and said he’ll meet us in the dining room at eight thirty.”
“He’s gone?” I asked. “Where did he go this early?”
She chuckled. “This is hardly early for Grandpère. But he decided to go to Louis Girard’s office in person. Be there right at seven thirty to see if he could get some answers as to Louis’s whereabouts.”
“Oh?” Dad said. “I thought Louis’s electronics factory was in a suburb of Paris.”
“The factory is out to the east somewhere,” Mom explained, “but the corporate offices are here in the city.”
“Maybe Louis doesn’t want to see Grandpère,” I suggested. “Maybe that’s why he isn’t returning his calls.”
“Why would you say that?” Mom said, frowning at me. “They are lifelong friends.”
“Because Grandpère has been trying to get together with him since we first arrived. That’s almost a month now. Doesn’t that strike you as a little odd?”
“Not if he’s out of the country,” Dad said.
“So he couldn’t call? What country doesn’t have telephone service? I’m just saying, it seems a little strange to me. And I think even Grandpère is puzzled by it all.”
Mom shrugged. “I’m sure there is some logical explanation for it. But your grandfather wanted to go to his office in person. Give them our itinerary in case he returns.” She stood and started for the bathroom. “I’ll brush my hair, then we’ll go down.”
I had another thought. “Have we heard from Juliette? Did she make it to Paris all right?”
“Yes. She called Grandpère last night. Her board meeting was today. We’re picking her up at her hotel on our way out of town.”
“Good. With Paris traffic, Grandpère might not make it back by eight thirty.”
“On the other hand, he just might.” We turned as Grandpère entered the room. He was wearing his wool coat and beret and his cheeks were red.
“Oh, good,” Cody said. “Let’s go to breakfast.”
Mom went to Grandpère and helped him off with his coat. “Is it cold out there?”
“Pretty nippy. But the sky’s clearing, and I think we’ll have a good day.”
“Any luck with Louis?” Dad asked.
He shook his head. “No. His executive assistant did say he has been traveling extensively, but assured me that he has received my messages. He’s promised to call as soon as he returns, which will be tomorrow.”
More stalling, I thought. “For a guy who is a successful and wealthy businessman, doesn’t it seem odd that he can’t call you from wherever he is? Or send a note?”
He gave me a long look. After a moment, I began to squirm. “Sorry. Just wondering.”
In Roman times, the area that is now France was called the province of Gaul, so the French are often referred to as the Gallic people. And today, there is a thing known as a Gallic shrug, because the French have perfected this gesture. The shoulders lift and fall slightly; the hands are held up, palms out; the head is tipped slightly to one side; the mouth is pulled down in a slight frown and the lower lip is stuck out. And that simple action can convey all kinds of meanings, like: “I don’t know what you are talking about,” or, “I don’t understand this matter, so why should you?” or, “Why blame me? It’s not my fault,” or, “Why are you asking me these questions?” or, “I don’t agree with you, but I won’t embarrass you by saying that.”
Grandpère was a master of the Gallic shrug, and he gave me one now. I knew there was no use pushing him any further on the matter. He took his coat from Mom and hung it up in the small closet by the bathroom door. “So,” he said, “who’s ready for breakfast?” Before Cody could respond, he added, “And don’t give me any lip about not being hungry, Cody. You’re going to eat no matter what.”
Cody was up and moving for the door. “Finally. Someone in this family who is talking my language.”
As the waitress cleared the last of our dishes, Mom started to get up. “All right. Let’s try to be out of here in the next fifteen minutes. We have a full day ahead of us.”
Grandpère reached out and caught her hand, pulling her down. “I have something I’d like to say before we start today.”
“Okay,” Mom said, sitting back down again.
/> He turned to me and Cody. “In a way, what we are doing this week is like some grand vacation. But I want Danni and Cody to remember, this is a school day for you. What we are doing is part of your schooling.”
“I’m cool with that,” Cody grinned. “Let’s do school like this every day.”
“Just remember, we are here not just to see but to learn and to feel.”
Both Cody and I nodded, though I’m not sure either of us was sure what he meant by that.
“Um ... Dad?” Mom said.
Grandpère turned to her. “Yes?”
“I’m not sure taking Cody to the Gestapo Museum is a good idea. I’m wondering if he and I maybe should find something else to do.”
Cody reacted quickly. “No, Mom. I want to go. I think it will be way cool.”
“It will not be way cool!” Grandpère snapped, the sharpness in his voice catching us all by surprise. “It will be sobering. It will be depressing. In some ways it will be awful. But it will definitely not be way cool.”
“Sorry, Grandpère,” Cody murmured.
“We do not go there out of some morbid curiosity. We will not be visiting just another museum. This is where my father was tortured to the point where they broke every bone in his hands trying to get him to betray his resistance comrades. This is where my mother was captured by Colonel Horst Kessler and taken out to be shot and dumped into the same mass grave as her husband. Since coming here, we have tried to immerse you two in the culture and heritage of France and the heritage of our family. This afternoon and the next few days we are immersing ourselves in our heritage as Americans. And you, Cody—and you too, my sweet and tenderhearted Angelique—need to be there. To see it. To feel it. Yes, even to relive the horror and the pain to some small degree.”
Mom’s head dropped a little. “You’re right, Dad. I’m sorry.”
He smiled. “Having said that, we will not be visiting the Gestapo Museum today.”
Back up came her head. “Really?”
“There’s a snowstorm coming in from the North Sea. They’re saying it will get here late tomorrow afternoon or evening, so we’re going straight to Normandy to have as much time there as possible while the weather is good. We’ll have to do the museum on the way back or some other time.”
Mom was happy, though she didn’t say it. For me, that was a slight disappointment, but it was Normandy I wanted to see the most, so I was okay with it.
Grandpère went on soberly. “Lieutenant Arnold Fitzgerald left his comfortable home in Nebraska and came to France. He came to help us fight the Nazi tide. He came with hundreds of thousands of other Americans and Canadians and Australians. And many of them never returned to their homes. France was made all the richer because of their sacrifice, and the soil of France became their final resting place.”
His voice went very soft. “Today, we shall stand amongst their graves. I hope we shall do so in humble reverence and in deep gratitude and take a moment to thank them in our hearts for giving their all that we might be free.”
As we got up from the table and started away, Cody suddenly gave a little cry and pointed. “There’s Juliette.”
He was right. Juliette was standing at the entrance to the dining room, looking around. Cody waved. “Over here,” he shouted, turning several heads in our direction.
Mom took him by the shoulder. “Cody, remember where you are. You’re not out in the back pasture now.”
He nodded but shot away and went over to Juliette, then escorted her back.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” Dad said as she approached.
To my surprise, Grandpère just grunted something. I looked at him and was surprised to see that he didn’t look too happy. But he put on a smile and greeted her warmly, as we all did.
“I thought it might be,” she said. “Philippe had to leave early for a conference in Bordeaux, so I thought I would save you a trip and have him bring me by. My luggage is out with the concierge.”
“And how was your board meeting?” Mom asked.
She gave her a wry smile. “You mean the BOR-ing meeting.” She shot me a quick smile. “Isn’t that how you say it, Danni?”
I grinned. “You got it.”
Dad spoke up. “Have you had breakfast?”
“No. I didn’t want to miss you.”
“Then why don’t you stay here and eat while we go up and get our stuff. It will take us about twenty minutes or so. Charge it to our room number. Room 4329.”
“Thank you.”
As we started away, she called after us. “Oh, Mack?” We all turned back. “Do you have plans for lunch today?”
“Uh ... not really. Jean-Henri heard there’s a storm coming in tomorrow, so we thought we’d head straight up to Normandy. Maybe just grab something along the way.”
“The Marriott prepares box lunches for their guests. Will you let me order one for each of us? Then we can just eat in the car if we choose.”
“Excellent idea. Thank you.”
“Just give me your orders. It will be sandwiches, crisps, a drink, and—”
“Crisps?” Cody blurted.
Mom laughed. “That’s potato chips to you. In England, chips are what we call French fries.”
Juliette nodded and went on. “The sandwiches are ham, turkey, or cheese. The drinks are the usual brands of canned pop or bottled water.”
It surprised me a little that she was so familiar with the options; then I decided she had probably talked to someone before coming in. We gave her our order—which she noted without writing anything down—and then went to our rooms.
As Cody and I came back into Mom’s and Dad’s room, I saw two things at once. Grandpère was already there waiting for us. And Dad was on the phone. And he didn’t look happy. As we set our luggage down, he said good-bye and rang off.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.
He glanced at us. “That was Clay.”
Mom sat down slowly, and I had to grab for the back of one of the overstuffed chairs. The feeling of darkness was suddenly back.
Dad sat down and took Mom’s hand. “Late Tuesday night, El Cobra’s attorney showed up with extradition papers issued by a federal judge in Arizona. They were orders to extradite two of our prisoners to Argentina so they can be tried for crimes they committed there.”
“What?” It was a collective gasp from me, Mom, and Grandpère.
“No advance notice was given either to the FBI or to the prison that the orders had been issued. When they came to the prison, they were accompanied by two men with Argentine papers and documents.”
“And the prison just let them go?” Grandpère cried. “Didn’t that seem a little suspicious?”
Dad nodded. “It was a setup. Four guards at the prison released them without clearing it with any of their supervisors. Those four, as well as the federal judge, have now disappeared. Half an hour later, a private jet with several passengers took off from Tucson with a flight plan for Mexico City. However, the plane diverted in flight and disappeared.”
“Which two?” I asked in a hoarse whisper.
I saw Dad swallow hard before he answered. “Raul Muñoz and—”
“No!”
“And Jean-Claude Allemand.”
I wanted to sink to the earth. Doc and the Belgian. The two men I feared the most.
“Not El Cobra or Eileen?” Grandpère asked.
Again Dad shook his head. “Clay and Joel think they have become a liability and thus they were dumped. Sacrificed for the good of the cause.”
Dad started to get up, but Mom pulled him down again. “Wait, Lucas. Does this mean we’re going to have to go into a witness protection program?”
He frowned. “Clay said they’re almost certain that they flew to Argentina, though it’s not clear yet whether Argentina actually knew about it in advance
. Interpol is still checking on that.” Reaching out, he laid a hand over hers. “I asked him specifically if we needed to cancel going to Normandy. In turn, he asked me a question. He wanted to know if we were being recognized by people when we were out.”
I spoke up. “Did you tell him no? I haven’t had one person stop me.” Mom, Cody and Grandpère were shaking their heads too.
“That’s what I told him. I also told him that when we do go out, we try to change our appearance as he suggested. With that, he said we’re fine to go ahead with our plans. He’s bringing a team over to work with Interpol on this. Witness protection will be on the table for discussion. But right now he’s pretty sure it won’t be necessary.”
And then, Dad got the strangest look on his face. And he was looking me as that happened.
“What?” I said.
“Clay asked how you were doing. I told him you were still a little bummed about the whole Rick thing, but other than that you were fine.”
“I am,” I said.
“He wondered if you needed cheering up.”
I scoffed at him. “Like what? Send me more roses?”
“Oh, I think this is even better than roses.” He stood up, ignoring our questioning looks. “Come with me.”
Totally confused, we all followed him as he went out the door and into the hallway. But he didn’t turn toward the elevator. He turned to the left. To my greater surprise, he stopped at the door next to ours and knocked.
“What is going on?” I cried. But he just stepped back. A moment later, the door opened and Clay Zabriskie stood before us. I couldn’t believe it. He was here in Paris? I started to hug him, but he held up his hand, stopping all of us. Then he bowed, gave a little flourish with one hand, and pushed his door wide open.
For one very long moment, I just stared through the door at what was waiting for us in the center of the room. I gave one piercing shriek, screamed out one word—“You!”—then I launched myself across the room at Rick, who was standing there with the silliest grin on his face I had ever seen.
To Run With the Swift Page 34