The Paris Option - Страница 74

Marty's fingers slowed, and little spots of sweat appeared on his face. He looked up, miserable. "I'll get him yet. But not this way."

Outside Bousmelet-sur-Seine, France

In his quiet, windowless workroom, Emile Chambord inspected the message on his monitor. As he suspected he would, Zellerbach had contacted his home computer system in Washington, at which point he had received Chambord's message and the system had shut itself off. This made Chambord laugh out loud. He had outwitted the arrogant little American. And now that he had a trace on him, he would also be able to find him. He typed quickly, beginning the next stage of his search.

"Dr. Chambord."

The scientist looked up. "You have news?"

Brisk and compact, Captain Bonnard took the chair beside Chambord's desk. "I just received a report from Paris." His square face was unhappy. "Our people showed your photo of Dr. Zellerbach to the store clerk. He said Zellerbach wasn't with the man who used the credit card to buy the laptop. However, it did sound as if he could be one of Jon Smith's accomplices. But when my man checked the records for the sale, the address given was for Washington, D.C. There were no notations of any Paris address or phone number. Of course, since Zellerbach could merely have sent this man into the store, our people canvassed with the photo. Bad results again. No one recognized Zellerbach."

Chambord gave a small smile. "Don't give up, my friend. I've just learned a lesson the power of the DNA computer is so limitless that one must readjust one's thinking of what's possible."

Bonnard crossed his legs, swinging one foot impatiently. "You have another way to locate him? We must, you know. He and the others understand too much. They won't be able to stop us now. But later ah, yes. That could be catastrophic to our plans. We must eliminate them quickly."

Chambord hid his annoyance. He knew the stakes better than Bonnard. "Fortunately, Zellerbach visited his home system. I anticipate that he took precautions first, probably bouncing the signal around from country to country, from whatever phone number his modem is using. He may also have tried to further disguise his path by going through a large number of servers and an equal number of aliases."

"How can you trace through all that?" Bonnard asked. "That's standard to disguise an electronic trail. It's standard, because it works."

"Not against my molecular machine." With confidence, Dr. Chambord returned to his keypad. "In minutes, we'll have the phone number in Paris. And then it'll be a simple matter to discover the address that goes with it. After that, I have a little plan that'll put an end completely to anyone's pursuit."

Chapter Thirty-five

Paris, France

"So here's our situation." Jon was telling Randi, Peter, and Marty. "All of our agencies are working on this. Our governments are standing at highest alert. Our job is to do what they can't. From what Marty's told us about the second prototype, Chambord and Bonnard have to be somewhere two hours or so from Paris. Now, what else do we know, and what don't we know?"

"They're an ivory-tower scientist and a junior French officer," Randi said. "I wonder whether they did it all alone."

"Me, too." Jon leaned forward in his armchair, his face intense. "The whole operation smacks of someone else pulling the strings. We've got Captain Bonnard, who was operating around Paris with no apparent connection to the attack on the Pasteur, while the Pasteur was bombed and Dr. Chambord was 'kidnapped' by the Basques. The Basques spirit Chambord to Toledo, where they deliver him to the Crescent Shield. Then they turn right around and return to Paris, snatch Thérèse, and deliver her to Toledo, too. Meanwhile, Mauritania is sometimes in Paris, sometimes in Toledo, while Dr. Chambord and Captain Bonnard apparently don't contact one another until the villa in Algiers. Mauritania believes he's in equal partnership with Bonnard and Chambord until Grenoble. So who's watching over the whole thing, orchestrating, coordinating all the various people and aspects? It has to be someone close to both Frenchmen."

Peter added, "Someone with money. This is obviously an expensive operation. Who's paying for it?"

"Not Mauritania," Randi told them. "Langley says that ever since he left Bin Laden, Mauritania's resources have been sharply limited. Besides, if Chambord and Bonnard were using the Crescent Shield, they were certainly the initiators of the collaboration, so it's likely they were picking up the bills, too. I doubt that either an army captain or a pure scientist like Chambord would have that kind of money."

Marty came to life. "Certainly not Emile." He shook his round head. "Oh, dear, no. Emile's far from wealthy. You should see how modestly he lives. Besides, he has trouble keeping a desk drawer organized. I seriously doubt he could systematize that many people and activities."

"For a while, I thought it might be Captain Bonnard," Jon said. "After all, he came up through the ranks. That's both difficult and admirable. Still, he doesn't appear to be a true organizing leader, a mastermind. Certainly, he's no Napoleon, who also worked his way up the ranks. According to his file, Bonnard's current wife is from a prominent French family. There's wealth there, but not the kind we're looking for. So unless I've missed something, he strikes out on both counts, too."

As Jon, Randi, and Peter continued to talk, Marty crossed his arms and burrowed back into his pillows. Eyes closed, he allowed his mind to wing back over the past few weeks, flying high through a three-dimensional patchwork of sights, sounds, and odors. From the springboard of memory, he reexperienced the past, recalling with joyful clarity working with Emile, the excitement of one small success after another, the brainstorming sessions, the meals ordered in, the long clays and longer nights, the odors of chemicals and equipment, the way the lab and office had grown on him, had felt more and more like home

And he had it. Abruptly he uncrossed his arms, sat upright, and opened his eyes. He had remembered exactly what the lab and office looked like.

"That's it!" he announced loudly.

All three stared at him. "What's it?" Jon asked.

"Napoleon." Marty spread his arms grandly. "You mentioned Napoleon, Jon. That's what reminded me. What we're really looking for is an anomaly, something that doesn't fit. An oddity that points to what's missing in the equation. Surely you know that if you keep looking at the same information in the same way you'll keep coming up with the same answers. Utter waste of time."

"So what's missing, Mart?" Jon asked.

"Why," Marty said. "That's what's missing. Why is Emile doing this? Maybe the answer is Napoleon."

"He's doing it for Napoleon?" Peter said. "That's your priceless gem, lad?"

Marty threw a frown at Peter. "You could've remembered, too, Peter. I told you about it." As Peter tried to recall the mystery to which Marty referred, Marty shook his hands excitedly over his head. "The print. It didn't seem important at first, but now it looms large. It is, in fact, an anomaly."

"What print?" Jon asked.

"Emile had an excellent print of a painting hanging on his wall at the lab," Marty explained. "I think the original oil was by Jacques-Louis David, a famous French artist around the turn of the nineteenth century. The title was something like Le Grande Arme's Return from Moscow. I can't remember all the French. Well" he moved the laptop onto the table and bounced to his feet, unable to sit still" this one showed Napoleon in a big blue funk. I mean, who wouldn't be, after capturing Moscow, but then having to retreat because someone's burned down most of the city, there's nothing to eat, and winter's arrived? Napoleon started out with more than four hundred thousand troops, but by the time he got home to Paris, he had less than ten thousand left. So the painting shows Napoleon with his chin sunk down on his chest." Marty demonstrated. "He's riding his big white horse, and the gallant soldiers of his Old Guard are stumbling miserably through the snow behind like total ragamuffins. It's so sad."

"And that print was missing from Chambord's lab?" Jon said. "When?"

"It was gone the night of the bombing. When I arrived to pick up my paper, my first shock was the corpse. Then I noticed that the DNA prototype was gone. And finally I saw that the print was missing, too. At the time, the print's whereabouts seemed unimportant. Incidental, as you can imagine. Now, however, it seems glaringly strange. We must pay attention."

Randi puzzled, "Why would the Black Flame Basques steal a print about a French tragedy some two centuries ago?"

Marty rubbed his hands together excitedly. "Maybe they didn't." He paused for effect. "Maybe Emile took it with him!"

"But why?" Randi wondered. "It wasn't even the original painting."

Jon said quickly, "I think that Mart's saying the reason he took the print could tell us what was on Chambord's mind when he left with the terrorists, and maybe about why he's doing what he's doing."

Peter strode to the window. He peeled back the drape and studied the dark street below. "Never told you about another little problem MI6 dumped on me. We lost a bigwig general a few days ago Sir Arnold Moore. Bomb in his Tornado, I'm afraid. The general was flying home to report information to the PM so hush-hush that he would only hint at it."