Julian searched the plaza around the Eiffel Tower, wishing it wasn’t so dark, hoping he could find Evette or Lohr or Mr. Donovan. He would never forget Claire’s face as she’d told him her father was part of the League. Pain could show in multiple ways, but Claire’s expression portrayed a broken heart so clearly that Julian had feared Warren was dead. Claire had said enough for Julian to know that wasn’t far from the truth, but right now he had to focus on Evette. McDougall had wanted to come instead, but he didn’t know Lohr like Julian did, and Julian lacked McDougall’s pull with the police.
He caught a hint of movement near a clump of bushes and quietly moved to investigate. As he approached, he saw moonlight reflecting on a bucket. A wrist was held over the pail, and the wrist was attached to a woman. Most of her body was hidden from sight, but Julian didn’t have to see details to sense who it was.
He barreled into the man huddled over the woman with the force of a 75mm shell. As he collided with the shadow, he recognized Lohr. The man from Lorraine was stronger than Julian—he remembered that all too clearly. But Lohr was also slower, and Julian had caught him by surprise.
As Julian shoved Lohr to the ground, the bigger man began fighting back, but Julian quickly landed an elbow in the murderer’s throat and three jabs to his nose.
Lohr stopped struggling, so Julian scrambled back to Evette. The liquid inside the bucket gleamed dark in the moonlight. A trail of blood from the bucket to Evette’s wrist showed she still bled. Julian yanked out his handkerchief to bind the wound and had just tied it when he felt Lohr rushing toward him. Julian turned to meet him, but this time their struggle was more matched.
Lohr reached for Julian’s neck. Julian dodged his grip and rammed into his assailant with more strength than he thought he had after the gas in Essen. Lohr grunted but had enough dexterity to throw them into a roll across the grass. Lohr’s fist connected with Julian’s jaw and momentarily stunned him.
Julian gasped for air with aching lungs. A glance at Evette’s prone form was sufficient motivation for him to strike back, attacking Lohr’s neck again and pinning him to the ground on his stomach. Julian twisted Lohr’s arm around behind his back and yanked. The bone cracked loudly, and Lohr’s grunt turned into a cry. Julian felt no remorse. The League was, after all, trying to butcher the woman he wanted to marry. Julian was about to bash the man’s head into the ground, preferably hard enough to knock him unconscious so he could care for Evette properly, when a mechanical click sounded in his ears.
“That will be enough, Monsieur Olivier.”
Julian looked up to see Mr. Donovan holding a Lebel revolver. Julian slowly raised his hands, letting Lohr slip from his grip.
Mr. Donovan motioned toward Evette. “Perhaps we should take her elsewhere. There’s been too much of a disturbance here, and we wouldn’t want anyone else to interrupt us.”
Lohr stood and winced. He cradled his broken arm as he stepped away from Julian.
“You know the thing about spiders?” Mr. Donovan asked. “I’ve never felt guilty for crushing one.”
Julian thought Mr. Donovan would pull the trigger then, but instead he handed the weapon to Lohr. “Should we incorporate his body into our scheme?”
Lohr grunted. “France has seen a million dead poilus in this war. One more won’t make a difference unless he’s famous.”
“If he’s found dead, they might release details of what he did in Essen. A murdered spy could be worthwhile.”
“He’s dangerous. I’d rather have him dead now.”
“Fine. I’ll get the girl. Give me time to take her to the carriage before you fire in case someone hears. Bring the bucket of blood with you when you’ve taken care of the pest.”
Julian watched Mr. Donovan drag Evette’s unconscious body away. Despite years of dreading death, he felt strangely detached about Lohr’s upcoming shot. But he’d come so close to saving Evette, and his failure to help her stung.
As the sound of Donovan’s footsteps faded, the only noise was the rattle of Julian’s breath. His lungs still weren’t up to fistfights. Lohr was a silent guard. Quiet, wary, and focused. Julian thought that perhaps by changing one of those conditions, he could impact the others.
“I’m sure Herr Sauer would be proud of your scheme to punish France,” Julian wheezed.
“What?” Lohr stepped closer to hear, just as Julian had hoped.
“I said Herr Sauer would be proud of your scheme to punish France.”
“We aren’t simply punishing France. We’re going to reignite the war.”
“Continuing the war will hurt Germany as much as it hurts France.”
Lohr smirked. “No. We have new weapons. Give us time to implement them, and we’ll have not only Alsace and Lorraine but Paris and the north coast under our control too.”
Julian forced a laugh. “New weapons? Just like your gas or your flame throwers? They gained you a few kilometers, nothing more. Germany is worn out. Everyone is exhausted except the Americans, and they’re on our side.”
“Our new weapon will take the Americans out of the war.”
“How? What is this miracle weapon?”
“Herr Sauer promised it will be ready early next year.”
“You don’t know what it is, do you?” When Lohr didn’t answer, Julian continued. “Sauer is many things, chiefly a survivor. In the peace that will come, no matter what you try or what you do, you’re a liability to Herr Sauer, a connection that proves he’s complicit in sabotage. Did you ever think he might have sent you off on a mission like this to get rid of you?”
Julian was exaggerating, twisting the truth, but he could tell he’d struck home. Lohr’s shoulders and his grip slackened ever so slightly.
Knowing he would die if he did nothing, Julian took a gamble. Lohr was less than a meter away. Julian jumped to his feet and rushed him. Lohr pulled the trigger, but Julian anticipated the move, and the bullet missed him. He gripped Lohr’s wrists and kneed the man in the groin. Chivalry had long ago died in a storm of shells in a muddy trench, the Queensberry rules along with it. As Julian twisted, Lohr cried out in pain and released the pistol. Julian snatched it. He raised it and shot the man from Lorraine in the forehead.
As Lohr fell, Julian ran in the direction he’d seen Mr. Donovan drag Evette. It took a few minutes of searching, but eventually he saw the tall American standing next to a horse-drawn carriage, fastening the door.
When Julian’s footsteps drew near, Mr. Donovan spoke. “Why did it take two bullets? You made twice as much noise as needed. Bring the bucket, and let’s get out of here.”
“It took two bullets because Lohr missed the first time.”
Mr. Donovan turned around slowly. When he noticed the handgun Julian now held, he raised his arms. “Lohr’s dead?”
“Yes.”
Mr. Donovan seemed more relieved than anything. “Look, Olivier, this plan wasn’t my idea. Lohr threatened to harm Claire if I didn’t do everything he asked. He’s gone now, and we can let the whole problem disappear. I know you’re fond of this girl. She’s still alive, and we can save her. Forget this whole mess happened and I’ll make it worth your while. Set you up like a bourgeois. Keep my secret and you’ll never have to work another day of your life.”
“It’s too late for that. You broke your daughter’s heart. She found Major Flynn, and she knows who crucified him.”
“None of this was my idea! You don’t know what it’s like to have someone threaten your daughter. Come, put the gun down. Save Evette.”
Julian could barely see Evette. He kept his weapon aimed at Mr. Donovan and reached through the window. When he grasped her unwounded wrist, he felt a slight pulse. The bandage on the other wrist seemed to have staunched the bleeding. Julian motioned with the revolver toward the front of the cab. “Climb up and drive to the nearest hospital.”
Mr. Donovan hauled himself into the driver’s seat.
Julian studied Evette until the sound of fast footsteps jerked him back from the window. Mr. Donovan was running away, but Julian didn’t shoot. There were few places he could hide, and enough people knew the truth that he was ruined.
“Halt!” a French voice cried in the distance.
The footsteps continued, and the warning was repeated. But perhaps Mr. Donovan knew he couldn’t escape. Several guns fired, and only then did the footsteps fall silent. Julian led the horse toward the commotion to verify his suspicions. McDougall had called the gendarmes, and rather than face justice, Mr. Donovan had run into their bullets.