SAINT-JEAN-CAP-FERRAT, FRANCE
The Thetis lay at anchor in the outer harbor of the Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat marina. One deck below and down a narrow gray hallway, Alex lay on a gurney inside the medical bay. She wore a blue wraparound patient gown, a heavy blanket pulled up to her chin.
“You are very fortunate, mademoiselle,” said the ship’s physician. He pulled off his nitrile gloves as a nurse placed a bandage over the stitches he had just finished sewing into her left shoulder. The doctor turned to her and tucked his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. “It closed easily and will heal well. Someone should remove the sutures in about a week. I would do it, but alas, we will still be at sea, and you will be wherever you will be.”
Caleb was standing in the corner and raised his hand to volunteer for the task.
“No,” Alex said firmly.
She sat up on the stretcher, and an ice pack slid off her knee. The nurse watched it fall to the floor, then nudged it under the bed with her foot.
The doctor continued. “Lucky for you, the waters of the Mediterranean are at their warmest this time of year. Still, you had a mild case of hypothermia, Ms. Martel. But your body temperature is back to normal now. The fact you were able to keep down the warm fluids we gave you is a good sign.” He indicated toward her arm. “We can remove that intravenous now, and you will be free to go.”
“Can she have anything to eat, Doctor?” asked Caleb.
“I’m starving,” she added.
“Of course, something high in carbohydrates would be good. If you’re going to have anything to drink, avoid alcohol or caffeine for the time being.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Alex said as he left the examination room.
The nurse removed the IV catheter, applying a Band-Aid over the site and bending Alex’s arm up.
“Hold,” she said.
“Hear that?” Caleb asked, his hand cupped around his ear.
“What?” Alex asked suspiciously. All she could hear was the drone of the ship’s main engine.
“That’s the sound of a hamburger calling my name.”
“Good luck with that. Maybe a baguette with ham and brie.”
“Not the same, but I’ll take it,” he said.
“You can relax your arm now,” said the nurse, pulling the curtain closed around the cubicle. From a cupboard, she handed Alex a pair of flip-flops, along with dark blue sweat pants and a hooded fleece sweatshirt emblazoned with the insignia of the French Navy.
“You can keep these as a souvenir of your time aboard,” she said, smiling. “I’m sorry we had to throw your dress away. It must have been beautiful before…” Her voice trailed off.
“It’s okay,” said Alex, gently touching the woman’s hand. “It was just a dress. I’ve always been more comfortable in these anyway.”
The woman gave her a sympathetic smile. “Vous êtes une tough cookie, Alex,” she said. Alex had the sense she was referring to more than just her injuries.
“Merci.”
When she finished pulling on the comfortable sweats, she opened the curtain. Caleb gave a low wolf whistle. Alex flipped him the bird.
“Let’s go.”
She led them up the stairs, her bruised knee and cut foot complaining with each step, her shoulder doing the same.
“You okay, Shooter?”
“Stop asking.”
They reached the main deck. She took a deep breath of the night air as she gingerly touched the cut on her cheek and sighed. The salty air was cool and cleansing after the sensation of nearly drowning only a few short hours ago.
Caleb interrupted her thoughts. “I updated the deputy director,” he said.
“Bet she’s pissed.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Would she have preferred if we had all been killed and the ship sank?”
Off his look, she didn’t pursue it further.
A ship’s tender—in fact, it was a RHIB not unlike the ones they had battled earlier—took them from Thetis to the mainland, where several police vehicles waited. They were greeted by a uniformed officer as they reached the top of the steps along the boulevard lining the marina.
“Mademoiselle, mon capitaine wishes to have a word.”
Alex nodded. It was unavoidable. The local constabulary would expect a full account of the incident.
“This way, please.”
The policeman led her and Caleb across the street and into a bistro, its patio doors opened to the night. A slender man of medium height with wavy hair was standing at the bar, stirring a freshly prepared espresso. He glanced over his shoulder as they approached.
“Captain,” Alex said.
“Oui,” he replied, turning and eyeing her up and down. “Please, be seated.”
Alex sat at the small café table he had indicated. She was getting a feeling this would be more interrogation than interview.
The man tilted his coffee back and swallowed it in one gulp.
What was the point? she thought.
“You must be hungry, yes?” he asked.
She nodded, and he called the barman over. Although it was 2 A.M., the proprietor delivered a tray with a hot bowl of onion soup, followed by a croque monsieur—a ham and Gruyère cheese sandwich grilled on white bread—and frites.
Caleb had ordered a hamburger.
Alex wolfed the offering down with a bottle of sparkling water like it was her first meal after returning to base following a drawn-out skirmish.
“Ms. Martel, what is your occupation?”
Her soup spoon stopped and hung suspended in the air, a strand of melted cheese sagging back into the bowl. Shit, she thought.
The question was to be expected, but in her state of hunger and exhaustion, she hadn’t mentally prepared a suitable response that wouldn’t pull the Central Intelligence Agency into the investigation.
“US government employee,” Caleb said.
The police captain glanced over at Caleb and his hamburger, unamused.
“And you are?”
“A coworker.”
Alex continued eating. Between bites, the police captain dutifully recorded her account of the evening’s events in his notebook, interrupting her now and then to clarify a point, establishing a timeline of who shot whom, when and where, and so on.
“And what about the Aurora?” asked Alex.
At that moment, two cars pulled alongside the curb outside the restaurant. Celeste Clicquot emerged from the second sedan joined by Street.
Celeste ran into the shop and pulled Alex out of her chair to hug her.
“Alex,” she said. “I’m so glad to see you.” She stood back to assess her at arm’s length. Alex winced at the pain from her shoulder. “Oh my dear, I’m so sorry—”
“It’s nothing,” Alex replied. “I’ll be alright.”
“We need to get you back to the villa to rest, Alex. Capitaine, how much longer?”
“Just a few more questions, madame.”
Caleb lingered one table over. Alex could see him listening intently to every word she said, never interrupting to interject a note of concern or caution. As Alex’s supervisor at CIA, he could have taken her away from here, relieved her of the official demand to deliver a statement regarding the events aboard Aurora and after. In the short time she had known him, and the even shorter time she had worked with him, Alex had learned that it would be a mistake to think of him as the affable character he appeared to be on the outside. She knew him to be inwardly calculating and severe in his dealings with those who made that kind of miscalculation.
Alex wrapped up her statement and was told she was free to go. A bone-deep exhaustion overcame her, and she wondered if she’d ever be able to get up out of her seat. The desire to place her head down on the table and go to sleep was overwhelming. Celeste looked at her and motioned for Street to come help her up.
“Alex, you are coming to the villa with Valtteri and I. You need to rest.”
Lacking the energy to argue, Alex let Street help her up from the chair.
“Nice work out there, Alex,” Street said as he guided her out the door.
She smiled at him and then caught Caleb’s reflection in the window as he glared at Street.
If looks could kill.