Albert Van Ness relaxed back in his chair. He loved his south Parisian château’s library as a place to unwind after a busy day. Logs crackled in an open fireplace. Thousands of books packed the antique mahogany bookcases that hugged the three other walls. Some of the tomes had been in his family for several generations. Tragedies by Daniel Caspar von Lohenstein and Andreas Gryphius. A seminal work on philosophy by Immanuel Kant.
He belonged here among other great minds.
It was his quiet time in his personal space. He raised his glass of brandy and breathed in through his nose, and he savored the rich aroma. Van Ness went to take a sip—
The phone on his writing desk rang. He powered his chair over and picked up the receiver with annoyance. “Speak.”
“Our London team is no longer reporting back,” Edwards said through the phone. “Something is wrong.”
Annoyance shifted to anger. He squeezed his brandy glass in his hand nearly to the breaking point.
“Have the British discovered our plans?”
“I don’t believe so, sir. We would have spotted their military or police force moving into the Underground.”
“Which means a small team must have moved in, undetected.”
“It is possible that—”
“Silence.”
Van Ness gazed across the library at his father’s vast collection of books about political ideology and war strategy. The Art of War by Sun Tzu. On War by Carl von Clausewitz. Guerilla Warfare by Che Guevara. And, of course, Mein Kampf, with an inscription by Hitler himself.
A military genius wasn’t coming after the Foundation, though. In fact, he didn’t think any existed in modern times. No, it was that politician he had already broken once.
“It’s that damned American. It’s Cafferty and his team,” Van Ness said icily. “How long ago did our team stop responding?”
“About twenty minutes.”
“They are still in those tunnels.”
“How do you know that, sir?”
“Because I know that man. He won’t be able to resist what he sees. To put it more directly, the man cannot stop himself. And neither can I.”
“What would you like me to do?” Edwards asked.
“Have a team sweep the nearest unguarded Underground entrance in the vicinity and I suspect we’ll discover what I want.” Van Ness hung up the phone and sipped his brandy.
Cafferty was a growing irritant, one that needed to be dealt with more directly.
A few minutes later, the phone rang again and Van Ness answered.
“Sir, our UK Four team just carried out a sweep around the nearest unguarded station and spotted Ellen Cafferty in a van.”
“But no one else?” Van Ness asked.
“No, sir.”
He smiled. “Perfect. Bring her to me, would you?”
“I’m sorry, bring her to you?”
“That’s right. Capture her and bring her here to Paris. Cafferty will follow, I assure you.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just trigger the weapon, sir? This is a deviation from our plans . . .”
“Easier. Yes, yes, I suppose it would be,” Van Ness confessed. “However, you know what I would like most?”
“What’s that, sir?”
“I’d very much like to see the former mayor on his knees, begging me, before I show him what it’s like to lose someone you love. To see all his shortsighted plans come to nothing. To know he has no power and, worse, no clue about the powers that he is trying to oppose. Then, when he has witnessed his stupidity, when his spirit is broken, I’d like him to watch what I do to those who defy the Foundation. Ours is a great undertaking, and no politician from a dirty little city is going to upset that when presidents and prime ministers accede to our demands.”
Van Ness sipped his brandy.
“You will bring his wife to me, and he will learn there are things in this world besides the creatures worth fearing.”
“I’ll see it’s done,” Edwards said.
Van Ness smiled to himself, knowing he would rest well this evening. “Good night, dear friend.”