Was there a telephone in the bedroom? She reached over to turn on the bedside light but decided against it. The intruder did not know she was here. Better to keep it that way for now.
No telephone. She remembered now that it was in the kitchen.
She was growing frantic. She would have to find help down in the square. That was it. Help below. She tiptoed to the balcony, opened the French doors and went out, careful not to make a sound.
The square was deserted. It was later than she realized.
She left the balcony doors open and hurried back to the bed. She straightened the quilt and pillows, and put on her sneakers. She could still hear voices in the parlor.
Oh, God, this was horrible. A lot seemed to have happened in a short time, none of it good. He was hurting her, and Sophie was making strange noises. Sophie pleaded with him to stop what he was doing. It was heart-rending. It was awful.
“Are you prepared to tell me?” the man said.
A pause.
He said, “Then talk. Where is he?”
“Grenoble,” Sophie choked. “He’s going for Nicole. She’s with her aunt.”
The lights went off in Nicole’s head. Sophie was trying to save her and Steven!
God, he wasn’t really going to kill Sophie, was he?
The man’s words dashed her hopes. He said, “I’m sorry but I can’t honor my part of the bargain.”
A struggle ensued, not very intense. She heard Sophie choking and wheezing.
Nicole began to faint.
No! She must get hold of herself. Sophie was being killed. She must help her!
She started toward the door, not knowing what she would do. Then she heard sounds that made her realize it was too late. She knew those sounds. She had been at the hospital when her mother died. Some things you never forgot.
The man was whistling quietly. Joints creaked as he got to his feet. Oh, my God, he was going to search the apartment!
Footsteps came toward the bedroom, footsteps on parquet that echoed like bombshells in her head. Still fighting to stay quiet, she ran on tip toes to the balcony, went out and shut the doors behind her. She spun to the side, staying close to the building so he wouldn’t see her if he looked out.
She heard the bedroom door opening. The room lights came on, illuminating the balcony and stripping her of the protection of night.
She could hear him rummaging around inside now, yanking open drawers. Would he come out here?
She heard people. She looked down on the square. Several noisy teenagers were strolling by, shoving each other and laughing. A big help they would be.
She felt paralyzed. The footsteps were coming again. She could not cower in the shadows until he found her. She had to do something.
There was only one place to go. She climbed out on the narrow ledge and started moving as fast as she could toward the corner of the building.
Her foot hit a piece of lose stucco. She slipped, gasped, but managed to hold on.
She reached the corner, found a foothold and began turning it just as the intruder stepped outside. Her foot came off the ledge, the foot she had already slung around the corner of the building. She bit her lip and tottered. More stucco rained down.
One of the teenagers let out a booming laugh. The man looked to his right first, toward the kids. Where he looked next, Nicole did not know. She was out of sight around the corner, legs shaking and heart trying to bump her off the wall.
***
The cabby was French. He spoke English he said he had learned in Trinidad. “Hey, wake up, buddy. Place Maubert right here. You say you want out here?”
Warner opened his eyes as they drove slowly down one of the boulevards flanking the deserted square. This was the right spot, though it didn’t resemble Place Maubert during the busy morning, when he had come to Sophie’s flat for the guns. About the only thing the same was the sign above the Métro station.
His car was parked on a side street. He’d written down the name, but couldn’t recall it. He was about to tell the cabby to let him out when he glimpsed a lone man walking through the shadows on the far side of the square. The man wore an informal coat like the one Claussen had worn when he arrived at Michelet’s. His hair was combed straight back, and he carried himself with the same confident insouciance. Could it be?
“Pull in that alley,” said Warner. “Hurry.”
“The sir wakes up like a watch dog. Will do, sir.”
The cab turned off the square and stopped. Warner didn’t have change. He paid the cabby three times the amount on his meter and got out dragging his pack.
“Don’t drive back through the square, understand? Understand? Drive off slowly. Get going.”
“Will not drive there, sir.”
Warner raced to Place Maubert. Too late. The man was gone. He heard an engine start, heard a car pulling away. And then the night was calm.
He let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. That was that. He would never know if the man was who he appeared to be or a figment of Warner’s fevered imagination; never know what he would have done if it had been Claussen.
He was turning around to go when the clatter of debris raining down a wall distracted him. He noticed light in the third story flat of Sophie’s apartment building. Steven’s flat, if he wasn’t mistaken.
He felt an intense burst of annoyance. Could that careless bugger have gone up there? If so he was trying to get himself killed ahead of schedule. His irritation level was climbing toward the red line when he heard the clatter of debris again. It seemed to have come from near Steven’s balcony.
He stared at the dark walls and windows to either side. He spotted a shadowy figure on a narrow ledge, making its way toward the light. He approached cautiously, remaining across the street, alert for new arrivals in the square.
When the figure came within a few feet of the wrought-iron balcony rail, he could see that it was a girl. She seemed to be intent on sneaking into Steven’s flat. She slipped, almost fell, managed to grab hold of the rail. When she hoisted herself on to the balcony, the light from the door illuminated her face. He instantly recognized Nicole Michelet from the photographs Sophie had shown him that morning.
He bolted for the apartment door. It was locked. He hit the button beside the name LeConte and waited for a voice to answer him through the tiny speaker. No response, so he began to talk to the microphone. “Nicole, I am a friend of Steven’s. Do you understand English? You must let me in. It’s important for Steven. Let me in!”
Nothing. “Nicole, listen to me. Danger! You must get out of there. You will be harmed. Now, please, let me in!”
Finally there came a click as the heavy door unlocked. Warner ran up the loud marble staircase to the third floor. Steven’s door was unlocked. He didn’t wait for an invitation to go inside.
He stopped in his tracks when he saw the body sprawled in a pool of blood. Nicole cowered against the wall in terror. He bent over Sophie and felt for a pulse in her throat. No good. She was dead.
“Claussen,” he murmured as he walked to Nicole. “He was here. You’re lucky to be alive.”
She was too shaken to speak or to move. He put an arm around her. “Come, Nicole, we must go. Steven is waiting.”
“Steven . . . Steven . . . he is okay?”
“Yes. He’s in his studio on Rue Monge. Do you know where it is?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a key?”
“No.”
“Come.”
“But we cannot . . . we cannot leave her here like this. We must call someone.”
“It’s too dangerous. Nicole, you must come with me now, very calmly, as if nothing has happened.”
Warner turned out the lights and extended his arm. “Come.”
***
Steven showered and dressed in the few things he kept at his Rue Monge studio, the tiny sanctum he’d told Sophie would someday produce great things. Well, at least it was producing a place to hide. He h
ad just begun to brainstorm on his options for the near future when the buzzer from the street entrance sounded. It sent a shock through his gut. He grabbed his pistol from the table and paced.
Who the hell was it? Only a few friends knew he worked here. He hadn’t registered with the police, so he didn’t see how Michelet and his buddies could have found the place yet. And if they had, they wouldn’t have bothered to buzz. One of those SDECE guys would have picked the lock down below, and they would have come bursting in like a pack of mad dogs.
Which meant it was probably Warner. He must have telephoned Sophie and gotten the address.
Well, he appreciated Warner’s concern. But this was going too far. Warner would try to convince him to escape, which was a waste of everyone’s time. Warner needed to get the hell out of France before someone figured out he was here; and he, Steven, needed to figure out how to get in touch with Nicole. Two agendas, as he had said on the bike.
He went to the window and peeked through the shutters. It was Warner, all right. Steven could see his rental Peugeot parked near the corner. The odd thing was, he could also see Warner sitting behind the wheel. So who had buzzed?
He craned his sore neck for a better view of the sidewalk down below. When he saw Nicole, his heart skipped a beat. He ran down the stairs and opened. She fell into his arms, weeping, trembling and too upset to tell him what had happened. He held her close and stroked her hair and didn’t push her to talk. There would be time. For now he was just grateful and they were together again.
Warner knocked a few minutes later. The three of them went upstairs to the cramped studio. Steven was ready to talk now, to find out what had happened, but Warner wouldn’t let him. He said, “Sit down. We have to tell you something and it isn’t good. When I got to Place Maubert to pick up my car, a man who looked like Claussen was walking across the square. He disappeared before I could be sure it was him. Then I saw Nicole climbing onto your balcony. I went to your apartment. Claussen had been there. Sophie was dead.”
“It was my fault,” Nicole cried. “I came to see you, Steven. I ran away from Grenoble and came to see you. I decided we should do what you said and go live somewhere else. She heard me at your door. She came down to keep me company.”
Steven couldn’t breathe. He sat at the table, dumbstruck.
“Sophie’s dead?” he whispered numbly.
“Yes,” Warner said. “I’m sorry. She was a great lady.”
“Nicole – ”
“Yes, Steven.”
“Nicole . . . you were there?”
She nodded between sobs.
“How did you escape?”
Steven realized he was speaking English to her for the first time. He didn’t feel like switching to French.
Nicole struggled to regain her composure. “I went out on the . . . how do you say, Mr. Warner?”
“Ledge.”
“Yes. I was in your room, Steven. I was taking a rest. When I woke up, the man was out there with Sophie. I wanted to call but there was no telephone in the bedroom. I went out on the balcony to find help, but there was no one in the square. I should have done something. I was a coward. I was . . . afraid.”
“You did the right thing,” Warner said. “If you had gone into the living room, he would have killed you, too.”
Steven was incredulous. “Didn’t he come looking for you?”
“Yes. That’s when I went out on the ledge. That terrible man, he came into your room. Then he came out on the balcony. He almost saw me but I got around the corner of the building first.”
Steven slapped the table. He was crying and he didn’t care. “Okay, Nicole,” he blurted out, “this is it, now you’re going to hear it all. About me, about your father, about us. I haven’t been able to tell you. I might not be able to tell you tomorrow. Right now I can tell you.”
Nicole stood beside him. She put an arm around his head and stroked his hair. “Steven, it’s okay. Sophie told me everything. She told me how you and I met. She told me about the terrible things my father has done. Steven, she tried to save our lives. I heard her tell the man after he had done horrible things to her that she would tell him the truth. You know what she told him?”
Steven was too choked up to answer. He shook his head.
“She told him you were going to Grenoble. She told him I was with my aunt. But I was in the bedroom, Steven, and she knew you weren’t going to Grenoble because she was waiting for you to come home.”
Steven just shook his head.
“It’s okay,” Nicole said. “It’s okay what you did, Steven. It’s good someone checked up on my father. If the other part is true, I don’t care anymore that you deceived me.”
“The other part?” he whispered.
“That you love me.”
“Nicole, it’s true. I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving it’s true.”
Nicole leaned over and hugged him. They wept together. He couldn’t believe it. Sophie had not only sent Claussen on a wild goose chase; she had given him one last very special gift. She had solved his dilemma for him. It was too much for any one person to do. He was devastated. She was the light of his life. He could not accept that she was gone.
Warner said, “Steven, I don’t mean to be insensitive, but the rest of your life isn’t going to be long enough to crow about if we don’t get out of France. There’s nothing holding you here now. Both of you, come with me.”
Steven stood up and walked in a daze to the window. The pain he felt just kept getting worse.
Then, deep down where it hurt, he felt the stirrings of a new emotion being born, a white-hot rage like nothing he had ever felt. What did Warner have in mind for him after they got out of France? Steven wasn’t going to get involved in maybe propositions and half-ass scenarios. He wasn’t going to allow this one to be turned over to the William Fairchilds of the world. He would go back to the States when he had proof, the sort of proof that would assure that Claussen and the others went down.
He said, “I’m not going back to the US with you, Frank. I want you to know that.”
“Then what the hell are you going to do? Hole up here until they find you?”
“No. I’m going to finish the job we started and I fucked up. The evidence we need might be in Claussen’s house. I’m going to have a look.”
“You don’t know where Claussen lives.”
“I do.”
“How is that possible?”
“Sophie. She made a lot of things possible.”
“Where does he live?”
“In a farmhouse in the eastern part of Germany. Here’s what you can do for me. You can give us a ride to the Air Force base in Germany and get Nicole some sort of protection there. I’ll do the rest. I’ll get you your evidence.”
Warner said, “Steven, I’ve got a lot riding on this one, too. I think our chances will be better if we work as a team. Grab every map of Europe you’ve got in this place and let’s get out of here.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Warner’s rental car wasn’t a station wagon, but you could at least fold the rear seat forward. This extended the luggage compartment from the backs of the front seats all the way through the trunk to the end of the car.
Steven and Nicole were able to lie down and stretch out. With blankets and maps from Steven’s studio, and well-arranged articles of clothing from Warner’s cold weather bag, they could cover themselves and hide from view whenever Warner came to an autoroute toll booth.
Driving out of Paris, they had debated whether to take the autoroute, the high-speed expressway, or less traveled but slower country roads. They had decided it made sense to go for broke, to try to get across the Belgian border, scarcely two hours away, before the manhunt was made public and extended to the rest of France.
They were near Valenciennes, the last French town before the border, when the 6:00 a.m. news forced a change of plans.
“Frank, this is bad,” Steven said. “Get off the road. I mean off t
he road. Now! Down that embankment. Forget the border. They’re looking for this car.”
Warner pulled onto the shoulder and turned off his headlights. The morning was chilly, perhaps 40 degrees. It was still dark, but the metallic gray arc of dawn glowed to the east.
“Go on, drive down there,” Steven said. “You can make it.”
“When these trucks pass,” Warner said.
LACKING VIRTUES Page 38