The Paris Option - Страница 59

Thérèse swallowed and nodded. "But my father. He was ready to stop them. He even stole a gun." She turned toward the trail that led back to the villa. "You can't kill him!"

"We don't want to kill him or anyone" Randi began.

Jon said, "Let's go with a combination of the options. I don't want to take the time to try to get the computer out of there. But we can rescue Chambord, and then your people can extract us."

"I like that," Thérèse said. "That's what I want, too. But if worse comes to worst" her face seemed to pale in the moonlight" you must do what you have to, to prevent a catastrophe."

Randi checked her watch. "I can give you ten minutes." She pulled a short-range walkie-talkie from her backpack. "Take this. When you've got Chambord and you're exiting the villa, call me. Then I'll notify the Saratoga that it's their turn."

"Right." He attached the walkie-talkie to his belt.

"I'm going with you," Thérèse told Jon.

"Don't be stupid. You're not trained. You'd just be"

"You may need my help with my father. Besides, you can't stop me. What will you do, shoot me to keep me here?" She looked at Randi. "Give me a gun. I know how to use one, and I'll hold up my end."

Randi cocked her head, considering. She nodded. "Take my Beretta. It's silenced. Here, take it, and go!"

Jon timed the passage of the guards, and when they turned the corner, he led Thérèse in a fast run. They landed on either side of the front door and flattened themselves back. The interior guard emerged through the doorway. A single blow from Jon's new Sig Sauer dropped him. Jon dragged the unconscious terrorist into the house as Thérèse closed the door carefully, making only a small noise. He could hear a loud discussion from the direction of the dome room. It sounded as if a war council were in progress.

He signaled Thérèse, and they sprinted across the broad tiled entry into the west wing of the old villa, not stopping until they reached the sharp turn toward the rear. They paused there, and Jon peered around the corner. He whispered in Thérèse's ear: "No guards. Come on."

They dashed down the side hallway that was completely lined in magnificent mosaics, their pistols ready to fire if discovered. They stopped again, this time at the door to the former women's quarters.

Jon was puzzled. "Still there's no sign of a guard. Why's that?" he whispered.

"Perhaps he's in the room with Papa."

"You're probably right." Jon tried the door. "It's open. You go first. Tell them you were set free and sent back to make him work even harder. The guard may believe that."

She nodded, understanding. "Here, take the gun. We don't want to make them suspicious."

Jon considered, then took the Beretta.

She straightened her shoulders and pushed the door open. She stepped in, crying out in French as she ran to him, the consummate actress: "Papa, are you all right? M. Mauritania said I should return"

Emile Chambord rotated in his desk chair and stared at Thérèse as if he were seeing a ghost. Then he saw Jon slip in behind her, the two weapons in his hands, sweeping the room in search of guards. But there were none.

Mystified, Jon looked at Chambord. "Why aren't you being guarded?"

The scientist shrugged. "Why would they need to watch me now? They had you and Thérèse. I wasn't going to destroy the prototype or escape and leave her, was I?"

Jon motioned sharply. "Let's get you out of here. Come on."

Chambord hesitated. "What about my computer? Are we leaving it?"

"Leave it, Father," Thérèse cried. "Hurry."

Jon looked at his watch. "We've got only five minutes left. There's no more time." He grabbed Chambord's arm and pulled the scientist until he started hurrying on his own. They ran down the corridors, from one to another until at last they reached the grand foyer. There were accusatory voices outside the front door. Either the unconscious guard had awakened, or he had been discovered.

"To the back!" Jon ordered.

They had gone halfway when they heard more angry voices, these from the distant dome room, and then the noise of many running feet. Jon shoved his Sig Sauer into his waistband next to where he had put Thérèse's Beretta. He pulled out the short-range walkie-talkie and pushed the Chambords to a window at the side of the villa.

"We'll go this way. Hurry!" Herding them, he flicked on the walkie-talkie. Urgently he relayed the good news to Randi in a whisper: "We've got Chambord. We're fine and will be out in a couple of minutes. Call in the strike."

Randi had moved closer to the villa and was now crouched under a canopy of leaves in the shadows of the fragrant orange grove. She looked at her watch again, dreading the advance of the digital numbers. Damn. Heartsick, she saw that the ten minutes she had given Jon were up. The moon was behind a dark cloud, and the temperature was dropping. Still, she had broken out in a sweat. There were lights in the three windows of the female annex and under the towering dome, but she saw nothing else noteworthy, heard nothing.

She looked at her watch again. Eleven minutes. She ripped up a handful of grass, roots and all, and hurled it into the night.

Then her walkie-talkie gave a low crackle, and her pulse raced with hope as Jon's voice reported in and finally whispered, "Call in the strike."

With a thrill of relief, she told him where she was hiding. "You've got five minutes. Once I call in"

"I understand." There was a hesitation. "Thanks, Randi. Good luck."

Her voice seemed to catch in her throat. "You, too, soldier."

As she cut the connection, she turned her face up to the cloudy night sky, closed her eyes, and gave a silent prayer of thanks. Then she did her job: She bent to her radio transmitter and made the death call to the Saratoga.

Jon stood at the villa's window, waiting for Thérèse to crawl through. She froze, staring at her father. Jon looked back.

Chambord had produced a pistol. He was pointing it at Jon. "Step away from him, child," Chambord said, the pistol leveled steadily at Jon's chest. "Lower your weapon, Colonel." He'd had it in his jacket pocket.

"Papa! What are you doing?"

"Shhh, child. Don't worry. I'm making things right." He took a walkie-talkie from his other pocket. "I'm serious about your weapon, Colonel Smith. Put it down, or I'll shoot you dead."

"Dr. Chambord" Jon tried, puzzled. He let his weapon drift down, but he did not release it.

Chambord said into the walkie-talkie, "West side. Get everyone out here."

Jon saw the shine in Chambord's eyes. The glow of excitement. They were the eyes of a fanatic. He remembered the detached, almost dreamy expression he had seen on the scientist's face when Mauritania had discovered them. With a flash of insight, Jon understood: "You weren't kidnapped. You're with them. That's why all the work to make you look dead. That's why there was no guard on you just now. It was all an act with Mauritania, to make Thérèse think you were a prisoner."

Dr. Chambord spoke with disdain: "I'm not with them, Colonel Smith, they're with me."

"Father?" Thérèse questioned, her face full of disbelief.

But before Chambord could respond, Abu Auda, three of his men, and Mauritania appeared on the run. Jon raised his weapon and grabbed Thérèse's from his belt.

Randi checked her watch. Four minutes. Suddenly there was noise from the building. Shouts and running feet. She held her breath as shots rang out, followed by a burst of automatic fire. Jon and Thérèse had no automatic weapons. She was afraid to think, but there was only one possibility: Jon and the Chambords had somehow been discovered. She shook her head, denying it, as two more bursts of automatic fire spit noisily in the distance.

She leaped to her feet and tore across the grounds toward the villa. Then came another awful sound: From inside, she could hear triumphant laughter. Shouts of victory, praising Allah. The infidels were dead!

She froze. Unable to think, to feel. It could not be. But all of the gunfire after the two initial early single shots had been automatic. They had killed Jon and Thérèse.

A great sorrow washed over her, and then a towering rage. She told herself sternly she had no time for either. It was all about the DNA computer. That it must not remain in the terrorists' hands. Too much was at stake. Too many other lives.

She turned on her heel and ran away from the villa, racing as if all of the hounds of hell were pursuing. Trying not to see Jon's face, the dark blue eyes, the laughter, the outrage, all of the intelligence. His handsome face with the high, flat cheekbones. How his jaw would knot when he was angry

When the missile landed, the explosion threw her forward ten feet. The percussive blast was thunderous all around her head and inside it and a windy heat at her back. It was almost as if she had been hurled away by an angry demon. As debris shot through the air and fell in a dangerous rain, she crawled under the branches of an olive tree and covered her head with her arms.

Randi sat with her back to the perimeter wall, watching red and yellow flames lick up toward the dark sky from where the white villa had stood nearly a mile away. She spoke into the radio. "Call the Pentagon. The DNA computer is destroyed, and Dr. Chambord with it. There's no more danger."

"Roger, Agent Russell. Good work."