Paris

In the days since she had learned of her son’s death, Mei Ling was sleepwalking through life. She wandered the streets of Paris aimlessly, followed by the French policeman who was part of the protection Elizabeth had arranged. She forced herself to eat, to maintain her strength, so that one day she could gain her revenge, but that was easier said than done because she had no appetite. She slept ten or twelve hours a day because she had no desire to get out of bed.

After days of grieving, her mind began to focus again. She forced herself to think: why would Zhou have killed her son now? What did he have to gain?

Then the answer came. Her son was one of the few people who knew where Mei Ling was. If Zhou wanted to locate and kill the person who challenged and almost defeated him for the Presidency, then forcing it out of her son would be the logical way to proceed.

It was afternoon in Paris. She walked over to the window overlooking Rue Duphot and looked out from a break in the curtains. She could hardly believe her eyes.

On the sidewalk in front of the hotel was the French policeman protecting her, but standing next to him was a Chinese man dressed in a suit and tie who was talking to the policeman. She thought she recognized the Chinese man.

No. It couldn’t be. Her eyes must be deceiving her.

Mei Ling snatched the binoculars from a desk drawer and looked down. Her eyes weren’t deceiving her. It was Captain Cheng, Zhou’s personal aide and henchman. There was only one reason Captain Cheng was here: to kill her. She needed help and she needed it fast. She knew Jacques was the head of French Intelligence and Craig’s friend, but she didn’t have his number. The only person she could call, Elizabeth Crowder, was thousands of miles away in the United States.
It was probably hopeless, but Mei Ling had nowhere else to turn.

While keeping her eyes focused on the sidewalk below, she frantically dialed Elizabeth’s cell.

She heard, “This is Elizabeth. Who’s calling?”

“It’s Mei Ling. I need help. I…”

Holding the phone to her ear, Mei Ling watched in horror as Captain Cheng whipped out a knife. He stabbed the policeman in the chest and knocked him to the ground. Then Captain Cheng stepped over his bleeding body and walked into the hotel.

“What’s wrong?” Elizabeth cried out.

“Zhou sent somebody to kill me. He just killed the French policeman outside the hotel. He’s coming into the hotel now. What should I do?”

“Get out of your room fast. There’s an inside staircase two doors away. Leave your room; lock it. Then hide in that staircase. Don’t go out on the ground floor. He might see you.”

“What if he comes in the staircase?”

“I’ll get help for you before that happens. Only listen to someone who tells you: ‘Jacques sent me.’ Now stop talking and move.”

In Washington, Elizabeth had been at home working on her book when Mei Ling called. She would have liked to call Craig and have him call Jacques, but there was no time for that. Besides, Craig was at the White House for a meeting with Treadwell. She’d have to deal with this herself. She dialed Jacques. Fortunately, he answered the phone.

As soon as Elizabeth spit out her story, Jacques said, “I’ll get on it. Call you right back.”

“Thanks. Make sure your men tell her, ‘Jacques sent me.’”

The staircase was dimly lit and dusty. Straining her eyes to see and holding onto a railing to avoid falling, Mei Ling took baby steps down three flights to the midpoint; then stopped. She could go up or down depending on which direction he came from.

She felt stupid. She should have brought a knife with her into the staircase. Even a bottle she could have thrown. Anything she could use as a weapon, but she didn’t. You fool, she berated herself.

She remained still. Trying to breathe softly.

Then she heard it: a series of blasts coming from the sixth floor, like a car backfiring. But she knew it was gunfire. One… two… three…
four shots. Then silence.

The door to the staircase flew open on the sixth floor. Mei Ling held her breath. The bright beam of a flashlight zeroed in on her face.

“French police. Jacques sent me.”

“Yes,” Mei Ling called out with relief.

Her knees wobbling, she walked up the stairs to the policeman who told her, “Your assailant is dead. You’re safe.”

She walked back to her room. Two French policemen were lying on the floor not moving. Across the room was Captain Cheng in a pool of blood. Dead!

Mei Ling called Elizabeth and told her what happened. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“It was all Jacques, the Director of French Intelligence. He’s coming now to your hotel room. He’ll take you to a safe house in Paris where you’ll be heavily guarded around the clock. You don’t have to worry anymore. And I’ll tell Craig what happened.”

“How long will I have to stay in that safe house?”

“A month or two. By then, hopefully, we’ll bring down President Zhou.”