Bilbao, Spain
A
cton listened to the newscast on the car radio, shaking his head along with Laura. The reports were disturbing, horrifying, and all he could think about was what had happened to Marchand and his family.
And the fact the world thought they were responsible.
The phone rang, signaling the next stage of this horror.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Professor Acton. I want you to get to La Rochelle.”
Acton looked at Laura who shrugged. “Where the hell is that?”
“Southern France, on the coast.”
“How are we supposed to do that? According to the radio, there are roadblocks everywhere, and the police are looking for us.”
“I don’t care how you do it, Professor Acton, but I would suggest you go by boat.”
“Boat?”
“Boat.”
The call ended.
Acton slammed his head against the back of his seat. “How the hell do we get a boat?”
“Rent one?”
“Do you really want to use a credit card? They’re probably watching those.” He paused. “We could call your travel agent.”
Laura shook her head. “I don’t want her getting in trouble. I’ve got a little cash, but not much.”
He cursed. “There’s no way we’re renting a boat to take to France.”
“Then what should we do?”
He shrugged. “Well, we’re already wanted for terrorism and mass murder. What more can they do to us?”
“You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.”
He winked. “Argh! Let’s be pirates!”
