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April, 1926
Six Years Ago
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The Rive Gauche, or Left Bank, was the home to thriving art and literary scenes. Here, writers like Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald mingled with visual artists like Marc Chagall and Pablo Picasso. The Left Bank was also brimming with cafés and brasseries. Stone wished he had time to sample them at his leisure.
“Only a few more months until your enlistment ends,” he reminded himself. “Then you get to make your own choices. Until then focus on the mission.”
His thoughts focused and his emotions in check, Stone glanced at his watch. One minute until his ride arrived. Stone hurried across the street and stopped in front of the Café Caderousse. He looked up and down the street, wondering how he was supposed to recognize this Marengo person who was supposed to be his next contact.
A horse-drawn carriage drew up to the curb and stopped in front of him. The driver, a broad-shouldered, thick necked man, seemed to be avoiding Stone’s gaze.
“Ahem.” The carriage’s lone passenger was a nattily dressed man with a lemon-sucking frown. He too did not meet Stone’s eye. “Would you care for a ride, sir.”
“No thank you. I’m waiting for someone.”
“Ahem!” The man pointed down at the side of the carriage. The words Calèches Marengo were painted on the side above a silhouette of Napoleon on horseback.
Stone gritted his teeth, felt his ears burn. He should have remembered Napoleon’s horse was named Marengo. Seeing no way to recover from his faux pas, he climbed into the carriage and sat facing straight ahead. The driver flicked the reins and the carriage rolled out into traffic.
“I believe you dropped this.” The man handed Stone an envelope. “Read it and memorize it.”
Stone opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper. His typewritten orders were summed up in four smudged lines.
Cabaret Mondego
D. Rose
Assist, Acquire, Eliminate
USA76
“Any questions?”
“I am to eliminate my contact at the end of the mission?” That couldn’t be right.
“Correct. But only after you have acquired the prize. Afterward, call that number and you will be collected.”
“I am not an assassin,” Stone said.
“You are a soldier in an ongoing war. Your target is working with the enemy.”
“I have never killed someone in cold blood.” Stone gave a slow shake of his head.
“If the enemy gets its hands on the prize, the consequences would be dire for every American. In a way, it’s an act of self-defense.”
“Did you warm up and stretch before you performed those mental gymnastics?”
Up front, the driver chuckled. Lemon Face was not amused. “That is an order, soldier. Are you refusing?”
“I’m only required to obey a lawful order.”
“Understood. You can discuss it at your court martial. I will have to take you into custody. It could be as much as a year before you are sent back to America, and then several more months before you come to trial. And you know what happens if you are found guilty. With all that at stake, what’s one more kill?”
Stone wanted to choke the man. Of course he was not willing to risk life imprisonment or execution. Even if the judgement went his way, it was clear his superiors would use every trick in the book to delay justice.
“Or you can obey this lawful order, and your enlistment will end in September as scheduled.”
“As long as it’s lawful,” Stone said to the floor.
“There’s a good man. You have been studying Ancient Egyptian?”
“As much as I could in the time I was given. I brought a dictionary with me.” Stone knew it would be a waste of time to ask why it was necessary.
“Have you memorized what’s on that paper?” He pointed at Stone’s orders.
“Yes.”
Lemon Face smirked. “Eat it.”
Stone frowned. “Are you serious?”
“I never joke. In fact, I have no discernible sense of humor.”
The driver laughed again.
“I don’t suppose you have anything to drink?” Stone asked.
“I left my teapot at home.” So, Lemon Face did have a sense of humor. Only it was dry as the Sahara Desert.
Stone wadded up the paper, popped it in his mouth, and dry swallowed. It felt like a lump stuck in his throat.
“The envelope, too.”
Stone didn’t bother to argue. It took some time, but he managed to chew up the envelope and choke it down. He cast longing eyes upon the Seine and wished for a glass of water.
“Any more questions?”
“What is the prize?” Stone asked. “It might help if I know what I’m looking for.”
“Your contact knows and that is enough.”
The carriage stopped in front of the Jardin des Plantes, the famed botanical garden. Stone hopped out and waved to the driver.
“Thanks for the ride, Mister.”
“You’re welcome,” the man said, still looking straight ahead. “By the way, you didn’t really have to eat the envelope.” He barked another laugh and flicked the reins, setting the horse in motion.
Stone glared at the back of the carriage as it drove away. The end of this mission could not come soon enough.