Marceau moved on to other men until a year later, when she found Pierre, then, a medical student. Marceau liked Pierre, first because he was not in the spy business and second because he had the self-confidence that most doctors exhibit. The fact that Pierre was also a biathlon champion was icing on the cake. She thought that having a boyfriend, and someday husband, who could save her life with medicines as well as with a gun was a good choice. Marceau had her practical side and Pierre satisfied that.
Francois liked Pierre, although he thought Pierre was somewhat aloof. He kept encouraging Pierre to become involved with spying, but was only occasionally successful. His one big success was when Pierre obtained a blood sample of a guest while giving him a checkup for a possible heart attack. Francois knew much about plants. He put a small amount of an extract of monkshood into the man's pottage to induce symptoms of a heart attack.
The symptoms occurred two hours after dinner and the man never connected it to the dinner. The blood sample was checked for DNA and a month later, when the results of the analysis came back, the man was found to be a dangerous Russian spy who had undergone cosmetic surgery to avoid being identified. Francois had overheard the man speaking of it through the bug in the toilet. People always believed their toilet would not be bugged and was a safe place to talk. In Francois' hotel, the toilets were always bugged and were never a safe place to disclose secrets. The man was never seen again.
When Francois saw John's first blog regarding the virus, he thought, "No, this could never happen." He personally spoke with the head of the cryptographers to double check that the agent who decrypted John's message had not made a mistake. But four people had already checked it, including the section head.
John's second and third messages proved beyond question that the situation was dire. A fourth message sent when John was in Tokyo was depressing. The one from Dubai was devastating. Further messages from French spies in China revealed that even John's horrifying missives were understated. It was far worse than John said. Every message John sent said it was worse than the previous. Then, when the first case of the virus showed up in Provence, just yesterday, less than an hour away by TGV, it was obvious that John had not exaggerated. Most of the people in the world would see the horrific end. A few would have a new and difficult beginning.
Chapter 13 - The Gathering, France
The second week in April was cool in France. John had worn a coat, but Masako had only worn a sweater. The parlor of the hotel was not well heated and as they waited, John could see her shivering. He removed his coat and placed it over her shoulders.
She smiled, wondering exactly what their relationship now was and what it would be in the new world. Cho's stares were not lost on her.
Francois LeBlanc was a heavy set, short and normally-happy man who had spent most of his life working for French Intelligence services, first the DST and later the DCRI. Now he was retired, but like many spooks, not really disconnected from his former life. He kept his ear to the ground, his head above the clouds and all of his listening equipment in good working order.
When he came out of his office, Francois did not look like himself. His brow furrowed and his face was drawn. He looked like most of his latest days had been sad and he expected to have more of the same. Like his best friend had died, his dog had left home and his grapevines had developed a fungus, the wrong one.
But when he saw John, his face lit up with a giant smile. His eyes became bright and his step had a bounce as he ran over. Again, a terabyte of data flowed between the two men in an instant. He hugged John, kissed both cheeks, twice, and patted him with both hands on the back. Francois had a tremendous problem he could not solve, until this second. John was originally the messenger of that problem, but now he was the champion Francois had been wishing for. This was going to be a great day. No doubt, the best day of the rest of his life.
"Francois. It's so nice to see you again. I see you are still having a love affair with Napoleons."
"Napoleon?" Masako said. "The man?"
"Napoleons. The best pastries in the world. Created by the best pastry chefs in the world. Flaky crust and rich, sweet creamy filling. And with the best hot chocolate in the world, Francois has to spend all his hotel's profits buying himself bigger clothes. Maybe you should not have retired. Francois, this is Masako."
"Jean, my boy. Eet ees zo good to zee you. Any friend of Jean's ees a friend of mine."
"You can speak without the accent. I'm not a tourist or a government agent. Any more."
Francois smiled and said, "Yes, I forget." He gave John another pat on the back. "You were always so smart. My best pupil, I think. As you know, retirement is not always an option in our business. You are an exception. I was so proud when I heard you received the position in -- you know, your last position," he said, looking around to see who or what might be listening. "Come into my office, mon amie," he said, as he held open the door.
Inside, he passed out glasses and filled each with rich red liquid. "To the new world," he said, taking a sip. "Your stepfather would be so proud of you. We all miss him. Your father, too. I met him once. You didn't know that. I was in Washington on business and stopped by your little camp. He was an interesting man. Not a spy, but interesting. A survivor I think. You have a lot of him in you. But you have followed in your stepfather's footprints as well and the student has surpassed the teacher. Now this. It is all so sad. How are you? Still alive, I see."
Looking at Masako, John said, "Francois taught me more than anybody else knows about interrogation and women."
"From my experience, he should be proud, but I've never seen you interrogate anyone."
Francois laughed and then said, "Are you staying long?"
"Only overnight. I came to pick up the package I left."
"Of course, but, as an old friend, I must ask you a favor, Jean."
"Not a chance. I still haven't paid back half the favors I owe you. Anything. Just name it."
"My daughter, Marceau. She won't make it by herself."
"She has you, Francois, and Marie. What else does a young girl need, but loving parents? How old is she now, twenty-four?"
"Ah, oui. We can hope for zee best, but you remember, 'Attente tourmente.'
"Yes, 'he who lives by hope will die of hunger.' "
He briefly dropped his head and then fixed his eyes onto John's. "But, we have no hope, Jean. I will not make it. Marie will not make it. Marceau will have her boyfriend Pierre, but that will not be enough. Paris has no more than one month, the rest of us perhaps a week or two more. The first case of the virus was found yesterday in Provence. Not so far away. An hour perhaps. Hundreds of thousands have it in China. Tens of thousands have died. Over nine in ten of those who are infected with the plague die within one week. Many of the weak, within one day. It is vicious. Horrible."
"It gets worse each day," John said, his eyes looking at the floor. "I do worry about our chances."
"The Chinese were great biologists, but terrible custodians. This is far worse than the Black Plague. The Chinese are using mass graves. They are picking up bodies with giant trucks using hydraulic arms. Each body is sprayed with chemicals before it is picked up. It will be horrific. China is gone. Our future is in the wind and the wind blows in circles. Please, my dear friend, take her with you. Hide out in your mountains. Become hermits. Protect her. That is your plan, yes."
"Yes. Well, of course, we will be happy to have Marceau with us. But it will not pay off my debts. I still owe you."
"And Pierre? She will not go without him. Will that pay off your debts? I think so."
"Possibly. Tell me about him?"
"He is a doctor and he has won many prizes in the biathlon, in France."
"A doctor and he shoots. Great! I'll still owe you." This was a stroke of luck that John had not counted on. He knew that Pierre was a doctor, but his research didn't uncover Pierre's prowess with a rifle.
"But, to be honest, I don't know why she loves him. He can be s
o disagreeable. And he is such a terrible spy. I have tried to teach him, but nothing."
"Ha. We have enough spies and we now have no one to spy on, unless we spy on the dead. So, that's no longer a problem. If he knows about medicine and he can shoot, we will forgive some disagreements."
"Merci, Jean, but all debts will soon be forgiven and all accounts will balance. The world will start over from the beginning. I will bring you the package you left when you were here last year." Francois shuffled to his safe, opened it and retrieved a package the size of a brick. "Bon chance, mon amie."
"And you, Francois. Do you have rooms for us tonight? We will leave early tomorrow morning."
"Mais oui. You will have the best rooms in the hotel tonight, the best dinners chef can prepare and the best grand cru wines in the cellar. It is so sad. In three months, all my beautiful wines will be wasted. I wish you could take them with you, as well. They are almost like my children," Francois said, his eyes wet with tears.
"I wish I could, Francois. But, do not despair. If there is any way I can manage it, I promise I'll come back for them. Some day. Just remember, 'wine has drowned more than the sea.' Isn't that an old French saying?"
"Oui, c'est dommage. I hope it can drown my sorrows. Make me not worry about my lovely Marceau. With you taking care of her, at least I will have one less sorrow. Merci, Jean. But you may have trouble going back to London. The borders are being closed as we speak. The trains are being searched. If you drive to Normandy, I have a friend with a boat. He can take you to England. I will make the arrangements and you can drive one of the hotel's cars."
"Not Calais?" Masako said.
"Calais is being watched, closely. Mademoiselle, you are Japanese, I know, but anyone oriental is being questioned and most are being detained and interned. You are not old enough to remember the last World War, but thousands of Japanese were interned in the United States. Italians and Germans, also. For years. Being put into a small camp with thousands of Chinese, even for a month, is nothing short of murder. Nobody will survive. And Jean, if you are with her, they will take you too. And my Marceau. You must be careful. So very careful."
As Francois' eyes again filled with tears, John put his arms around him and hugged. "Have no worry Francois. We will keep her safe. We will all leave tomorrow morning, early. Remember how we used to say, 'Suspect everyone. Trust no one?' This time, you can trust me. I give you my solemn promise."
"Ah, oui. The boat will be ready after dusk. I will give Marceau the password and the location before you leave. I will arrange it all tonight."
* * *
The road trip to the boat was long and required one stop at a L'Arch rest stop for gasoil for the Peugeot, just outside of Paris. Masako wore a hat provided by Marceau, which covered most of her face. They restyled her long brown hair to cover the rest. Still, a few people in the restaurant showed some curiosity. As they stood in line to pay for their buffet meals, one man walked over.
"I heard you speaking English. Are you English?" he said to John, in a French accent.
"American."
"And your friend? She is Chinese? No?"
"No. Masako's father is Japanese. Her mother is American. Lived in Japan her whole life. Tokyo. We just flew in from there. Never been to China. How about you?"
"I am French. I have not been there either, but we are all worried. You understand, of course."
"Of course, I promise we give you no reason to worry. Masako has never been to China and she does not have any virus."
"We used to have neighbors who looked just like her. They were from China."
"I think you've made a mistake. They were probably Japanese, like her. She doesn't look Chinese. She looks like an American-Japanese mix, which she is. Quite attractive, I think." The checker handed John his change.
"Are you two a couple?"
John guided Masako around the Frenchman, but hesitated. "Just good friends. I think we'll be taking our food with us," he said, turning to look at the others and the cashier.
"As long as she's not bringing the virus here," the man said, as he turned and walked away.
Pierre nodded his head and ran his hand over his coat pocket to show John that he had brought a pistol. John picked up his bag with his cheese, salad and baguette and headed to the door as the others followed. The Frenchman was gone.
"That was a little too close," said John.
"Ah, oui, mon amie. We were not in danger, but we must be careful."
Outside, John walked around the corner to the side of the restaurant where they had parked the car, out of sight of the big front windows, and saw a man standing by their car. "Is that the same man?"
"Oui, mon amie, it is."
"Let's try not to become involved in any arguments. I'll see what I can do." As they approached the car, John said, "Hello, my friend. Maybe you are lost. We could give you a ride. Where would you like to go?"
"I am not lost and I do not want to ride with you."
Keeping a close eye on the stranger and stepping to the side, John said, "Then you are in a strange place, blocking the way to my car. Perhaps, you were just admiring the car. It runs well and uses little fuel."
"We do not want to die with this virus."
John took a long look at the man. Was he scared? Not really. Did he look violent? No. Was John going to be able to talk himself out of this? Probably not. This looked like it would end badly. John hated this. A waste of a life. He casually moved his right hand around toward his back and his three twenty-seven magnum.
"My friend, we have no virus. We bring you no disease. You are safe. I promise."
"We want no Chinese here," he said drawing a gun, but Pierre was faster. He fired and the gun flew from the man's hand as the man screamed.
"Wow! You're even better than I hoped, Pierre, shooting from the hip. I've seen that done on television, but I always wondered if it were really possible."
"Perhaps, I should have been a surgeon. It also takes such tremendous hand-eye coordination. Or the pilot of a fighter plane. That would be more fun. Or an astronaut, perhaps."
"You cannot do this. You will give us all the plague. I will call the police," the man yelled as Pierre carefully looked around the parking lot. Nobody was visible and no cars were moving.
John hated what was to happen next. But, he had tried and failed. Sometimes, you just can't win and you have to go with the only remaining option.
Pierre walked over to where the man was standing, holding his injured right hand in his left. Pierre shoved his gun into the man's chest and said, "I do not think you will call anyone," as he pulled the trigger again. The man fell, almost to the ground, before John caught him. Masako and Marceau both screamed.
"Keep lookout, you two! And give us some cover. Make sure nobody can see what we're doing," John said, trying to make sure the ladies had something to keep their minds off the shooting. "Block the view, so nobody sees us carry the body over there," he said nodding toward a barrel which served as a trash receptacle. Marceau walked beside Pierre as Masako lagged back and they walked over to the barrel and dropped the body in. On the way back to the car, Pierre picked up the gun.
"Oh, Pierre. That was horrible," said Marceau. "How could you do such a thing?"
"Mon petit, it was him or us. I am sorry, but I had no choice. Oui, it was horrible, but necessary. Remember what Francois, your father, told us. The world has changed, mon amour. We must all change -- or we all die. That is the way it now is. What do you Americans say, John? 'Good guys finish last.' Perhaps, now we should say, 'Good guys do not finish at all -- ever.' "
"How about, 'The strong may survive, but the weak shall die?'"
* * *
From Paris to Normandy, the car was quiet, possibly because no one wanted to talk about what had just happened. They knew that this was going to be their way of life from now on. Kill or be killed. Survive at any cost.
It became a case of no news is good news as the radio news was filled with nothing bu
t death. Listening to the radio was depressing and whenever anyone spoke, it was about the virus. After a few minutes, John turned the radio off and they traveled in silence as the sun began to set.
Francois had arranged for a small boat near Le Mont St. Michel in Normandy in the northwest. The region was famous for the great speed the tides came and went and for the beautiful abbey on top of the steep mountain sticking out of the ocean like a giant traffic cone.
"This must be the place. Right, Marceau?" John, said, driving down the causeway connecting the mainland to the island.
"Ah, oui. Now we wait."
"What do we wait for?" said John.
"The call. You can see the tide is still out. We have enough time for dinner. I know a great restaurant. We may not be able to have another meal this good for a long time. This boat we will travel on is English, no?"
"Yes, I understand what you are saying. English cooking."
"Ah oui. In France, we say the book, 'Great English Chefs' is only one page long: the title page. At this restaurant, the ambience also is fantastic. They cook over the open fire in the dining room."
"Maybe you should watch carefully and learn how they do it. You may have to do the same."
"Mon Dieu. You American's are always joking. I hope you are joking. You are, oui?"
John parked the car outside the walled city, and they all entered through the old gated entrance and walked along the narrow cobbled streets to the restaurant.
After the main course was finished and the cheese was finished and the dessert was finished and two bottles of burgundy and a bottle of port were finished, Marceau's phone rang.
"Oui. Soufflé. Merci."
"That was the call you were expecting or were you ordering another course?"
"In five minutes, a boat will arrive just outside the walls. We must go."
"What was soufflé?"
"The password. You know my father. Everything must be cloak and dagger. He will not believe the world is a simple place."
"It's going to be much simpler, soon." John looked at her and smiled, but she didn't smile back.
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