It was light out when Amy emerged from the Catacombs, and she checked her watch. Eight-thirty. With any luck, she’d get back to the hotel before Monica woke up. Just in case luck wasn’t with her, she used the time on the Métro to concoct a story that would explain her disappearance.

But she didn’t need an excuse. Monica wasn’t even there. An excited Madame Anselme handed her a note. Apparently, someone had telephoned the message in English, and this was the hotel manager’s attempt to write it down.

La Tour Eiffel. Top. Monica. Kidnap. Alive. Come.

It wasn’t hard to decipher the note. Monica had been kidnapped. And if Amy wanted to see her alive, she was to come to the top of the Eiffel Tower.

The hotel phone rang. Madame Anselme picked it up. “Oui, Madame!” To Amy she said, “C’est ta maman!”

It was Amy’s mother calling. For the first time that week, they could talk. Only now Amy didn’t dare take up any more time. “Tell her I’ll call her back,” she yelled to Madame Anselme as she ran out of the hotel. It wasn’t until she was back on the Métro that she realized she’d spoken to the woman in English, who probably had no idea what she’d said.

But who had kidnapped Monica? The neo-Nazis? Did they think they could use her to get Amy back? Then another thought hit her. Christophe! He could be holding her for ransom to get money. Anything was possible.

There was a long line of people waiting to board the elevator at the bottom of the Eiffel Tower. Amy jostled through the crowd and ignored the outraged cries as she cut to the very front of the line. She hopped onto the elevator before anyone could stop her. Inside, everyone stared at her with unconcealed hostility. Amy didn’t care.

When she finally got off at the top, she looked around wildly for any sign of Monica, or Christophe, or one of the Nazis. But only ordinary tourists were in sight, and the ones who had been on the elevator with her were still giving her the evil eye.

She tried to think. Then in the midst of the oohs and aahs of the crowd admiring the view, a particular voice stood out. It wasn’t louder than the other voices—in fact, it was so soft she knew she was the only one there who could hear it. It was Andy’s voice.

She stiffened. How low could he stoop? Now he was a kidnapper.

He was calling to her—but from where? She couldn’t see him in the crowd. Following the sound of his voice, she moved toward the edge of the enclosed viewing platform.

All of Paris was spread out before her, but now wasn’t the time to appreciate the view. Her eyes were fixed on a cast iron railing beyond the protective barriers. Andy stood there, precariously balanced on a bar. Amy was stunned. She couldn’t imagine what he was doing there. Even a genetically perfect clone wouldn’t be able to survive a fall from the top of the Eiffel Tower.

Then she saw that he wasn’t alone. A few yards away, on another bar, stood Sébastien.

Carefully Amy climbed over the barrier that prevented the tourists from falling off the tower. Trying not to think about how high she was, she positioned herself on a metal bar between the two guys. Amy spoke first. “So you’re one of them too.”

Sébastien’s voice was even more solemn than usual. “I was one of them, I regret to say. But I have seen the error of my ways and have left the group.”

“He’s lying, Amy.” Andy was speaking now. “He’s very much a part of the group. He wants to bring you back to them.”

“And what do you want, Andy?” Amy asked evenly. “Maybe you want to be the one to bring me back, so you can get the credit. I’m surprised Annie isn’t out here too.”

“I’m not one of them, Amy.”

“Oh, Andy, stop lying. I saw you wearing an armband. I heard you telling them you’d bring me back.”

Sébastien spoke up. “You are correct, Amy. Come to me. I will get both of us down from here safely, and we can go to the police.”

“Amy, don’t listen to him,” Andy said urgently. “You see that helicopter over there?”

There was a helicopter hovering above the Eiffel Tower.

“It belongs to the Nazi group. As soon as Sébastien has his hands on you, that helicopter will come in close enough for him to put you on it.”

Amy hesitated.

“He lies, Amy!” Sébastien declared. “You said so yourself. I have summoned that helicopter to rescue us. It has nothing to do with those people in the Catacombs. Andy is the one for you to fear. I have left the group; he remains with them.”

“Amy, I’m not with that group,” Andy said. “Not now, not ever. I’ve been spying on them to get information that I can turn over to proper authorities. People who can stop them. I had to pretend to be one of them so I could get their secrets. Sébastien is one of their leaders!”

“That is nonsense! Do I look like a leader?”

Amy had to admit that the guide was no model of physical perfection. She looked at him for a moment. Then she looked back at Andy.

His eyes bored into hers, and she felt that instantaneous connection she’d felt before. But she couldn’t trust those instincts anymore. She’d felt that way about Annie, too.

“Come to me, Amy!” Sébastien commanded.

“Amy, please!” Andy cried out. “Come to me!”

She was torn; she didn’t know what to do. Logic and emotion were jumbled up together. The question still haunted her: Could anyone be trusted?

Maybe she wasn’t as smart as she was supposed to be. Because her heart cried out for Andy. She took a step in his direction.

“Stop!” Sébastien yelled. “I have a gun!”

She froze. She could see the glint of a cold metal weapon in his hand. He was pointing it at Andy.

“Take one more step and I will shoot your boyfriend!”

It must have been her automatic response to the notion of someone harming Andy. In any case, she found herself moving faster than she’d ever known she was capable of moving. She leaped to the next lower rung, swung her legs around, and knocked the gun loose from Sébastien’s hand. He reached out to grab it. And in the process, he lost his grip on the rail.

He fell. He fell from the top of the Eiffel Tower. Suddenly crowds of tourists were looking over the barrier, crying out in horror.

For a second Amy couldn’t move. Then Andy was by her side. He put his arm around her waist and pulled her back into the tower. There he held her close, and she clung to him just as tightly.

From way below them came the sounds of police horns, ambulance sirens, people screaming. Amy wanted to remain motionless, with Andy’s arms around her, always.

But there was still an unanswered question, and an unfinished mission.

“Andy …”

“What?”

“Where’s Monica?”