The palace dinner begins in just two hours, Donovan realized as he, de Waha and Maccabee reviewed the dinner’s VIP list for the third time in de Waha’s office.
Donovan was still worried about dinner security. Despite knowing that all guests, attendees, chefs, waiters, service personnel and musicians had been thoroughly vetted, and would be subjected to X-ray body scans, and admitted only with hologram ID cards, he feared that Stahl might be among them.
The office door opened and de Waha’s attractive assistant, Eliane, rushed into the office, her face flushed with excitement.
“A man just called who knows how the leaders will be attacked.”
De Waha shrugged. “Add him to the other seven who know.”
“This one’s different.”
“Why?”
“He called the assassination plot – The Medusa!”
Donovan and de Waha bolted forward in their chairs. Medusa had not been released to the media.
“He’ll call later to tell us how and where the assassination will take place.”
“When later?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Did we get his Caller ID name?”
“No. Untraceable phone.”
“His language?”
“French with a slight Arab accent.”
“Someone’s turning on Stahl,” de Waha said.
Donovan nodded, but wondered why Stahl, on his most important assignment, would suddenly reveal the specifics of his attack plan to another person? Stahl worked alone. Always. On the other hand, Maccabee’s translated Sumerian note said he was working with a team. Maybe someone wasn’t a team player. Maybe he had a traitor in his midst. And maybe we had a mole in his camp.
“Call me the minute he calls back, wherever I am.”
Eliane nodded.
De Waha looked at his watch. “Mon dieu!”
“What’s wrong?” Donovan asked.
“The Palace Dinner! We have to get ready now!”
Maccabee stood up. “I’ll be working at the hotel.”
“What?” De Waha looked shocked. “But you must come!”
“Jean, I didn’t bring a formal dress – ”
“I need a dress!” de Waha shouted.
“Pardon?” Eliane said from her office.
“For Maccabee!”
Maccabee shook her head. “Jean, it’s not necessa – ”
“It is nessa – ”
“But, Jean - ”
“You are a highly esteemed member of our highly esteemed security team. This dinner is an official function. We’re obligated and delighted to provide you with the requisite attire as we can continue our discussions on G8 security this evening.”
“Carina Van Haver’s Shoppe is perfect for you,” Eliane said, smiling. You’ll love Carina and her dresses!”
Maccabee finally shrugged an okay and smiled.
Donovan watched Maccabee walk out the door with Eliane.
He decided he liked watching Maccabee walk out the door. He also liked watching her walk in the door. Or around the desk, or down the street. He liked everything else about her, too. Her smile, courage, intelligence, linguistic skill, sense of humor, and of course, her beauty.
But he didn’t like that he was being drawn to her now. This was not the time. He should be focused on Stahl. And protecting the lives of the eight most powerful leaders in the world. Nothing else should matter now.
Besides, his infatuation with her was absurd. It would lead to nothing. Maccabee obviously saw him as just an old friend of her father.
* * *
After seeing the nosy Mr. D’Hondt at Christine’s B&B engrossed in a soccer game on television, Stahl had crawled through his room’s window and dropped onto the soft dirt of the tulip bed. Then he drove off in the van.
Now, as he drove toward Brussels, he realized the soccer game would have been interrupted with a news flash about him. Nosy Mr. D’Hondt would have seen the bulletin and his face on television, maybe identified him, then discovered his Renault van missing and phoned the police.
Time to change vehicles.
Ahead, he saw a forested rest area. He pulled in, looked around and saw the restroom light reflecting onto the fender of the only other vehicle in the area, a silver Opel Insignia. Its windows were steamed up. Someone inside.
Stahl spun the suppressor onto his Glock. Slowly, he approached the Opel and peered into the back seat. A man was sleeping.
Stahl knocked on the window and smiled. The man woke up, yawned, rolled down the window a few inches. “Yes… ?”
Stahl raised his Glock. “Get out of the car!”
The man, dressed like a middle-aged businessman, paused, then slowly crawled out.
As Stahl glanced back at the highway, the man suddenly came at him with a switchblade. Stahl side-stepped him and pumped two silenced shots into the idiot’s forehead.
The man slumped to the ground.
Stahl removed his wallet and ID, dragged the body into the van and drove it deep in the forest and left it there.
He walked back, took the big Opel and drove toward Brussels.
* * *
In her Amigo Hotel room, Maccabee checked her new dress in the mirror. She thought the crimson dress looked good, maybe a bit naughty. Maybe very naughty. It was low-cut and strapless with bare shoulders and back, but hopefully not too risqué for the royal dinner at the palace.
Eliane and Carina Van Haver had both assured her it was palace-appropriate and looked fabulous on her.
Will Donovan like it? she wondered.
Will he finally look at me as a woman… not just as my dad’s daughter?
She smiled as she remembered her high-school crush on Donovan. He’d never realized it, thank God. She also remembered the sensitive way he’d talked with her after her mother’s death a few years ago, and again after her father’s death. His eyes, always warm and caring, seemed to listen and speak to her at the same time. Those same eyes, she’d noticed a couple of times today, had dimmed with sadness, as he obviously recalled memories of his wife and her horrific murder here.
Would he ever get over that loss? Could he? Did anyone ever get over the savage murder or unexpected death of a loved one? She doubted it. They probably just learned to live with it better. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get over the sudden death of her fiancé, David.
Glancing at her watch, she realized it was time to leave. She grabbed the matching red-lacquered purse, checked herself in the mirror and whispered, “Let’s go boogie with world leaders and important potentates!”
She stepped into the hall.
Theo smiled at her. “Ooooh la la… Monsieur Charbonneau! You look very feminine, Monsieur!”
Maccabee laughed. “Merci, Theo.”
He escorted her down to the Amigo Hotel lobby.
Minutes later, she and Donovan, De Waha and his wife, Florian, strolled through the ornate and elegant entrance of the Royal Palace.
Maccabee was overwhelmed. The Grand Staircase, a majestic ascent of polished white marble steps, was lined with ten tall Palace Guards in white trousers, black coats and tall fur hats. They held long gleaming swords, unsheathed, and looked ready to skewer anyone trying to crash the event.
“No White House party crashers here,” Maccabee whispered to Donovan.
“They wouldn’t make it into the parking lot.”
She looked around at the gilded décor. “Jean, the palace is… spectacular!”
“Thank you. But the truth is part of it was built by those heathens to the north.”
“The Dutch?”
“Yes. But we kicked their butts out in 1830 when we won our independence. Today northern Belgium speaks Dutch or Flemish while the south, the Walloon area, speaks French. And we love to fight each other. But when we’re invaded by Germany, which happens now and then, we unite. When the Krauts get kicked out, we go back to normal.”
“What’s normal?”
“Fighting each other like bloody hell.”
They stopped at a pair of enormous doors. Two guards opened the door and led them inside.
“Voila! The Throne Room,” de Waha said.
Maccabee caught her breath. The décor and grandeur were like nothing she’d ever seen. The room was larger than a professional basketball court. She saw mirrors everywhere and made the room seem even larger. The room reminded her of the Palace of Versailles. A small orchestra in the balcony played something by Beethoven.
Dignitaries and guests stood on a floor made of several shades of gleaming woods. From the ceiling, hung the largest crystal chandeliers she’d ever seen.
I just stepped into a Merchant Ivory film!
A waiter offered them flutes of champagne. They each took one.
Donovan lifted his glass. “May we have even more reason to celebrate tomorrow evening when the leaders, God willing, are flying home!”
“I’ll drink to that!” de Waha said.
“You’ll drink to a toilet cleaner sale!” his wife said.
Everyone laughed, except Donovan, who Maccabee noticed was hurrying over toward a man who was placing a large potted plant next to the leaders’ table.
Donovan started examining the potted plant closely.
Maccabee recalled him telling her that a potted plant bomb was disarmed in the lobby of a Jerusalem hotel minutes before it was set to explode.