56

Limoges, France. January 22

The two policemen dropped Noah, Duncan, and Elise outside the Grand Hotel Doré at 3:35 A.M. They could have come back sooner, but none of them wanted to miss hearing from the detectives who interrogated Sylvie Manet inside her heavily guarded hospital room. Elise translated the report for Duncan and Noah. According to the officers, Sylvie had spoken freely, welcoming the opportunity to unload her secrets.

As soon as Noah reached his hotel room, he picked up the phone and called Washington, where it was already after nine P.M. Anna answered on the second ring. Her tone bordered on frantic. “Noah, are you all right?” she asked.

Noah’s eardrum still whistled and his arm throbbed where he’d been hit with the flashlight, but he had flatly refused to seek medical attention. “I’m good, thanks,” he said as he rubbed his arm.

“It’s all over the news!” she cried. “The contaminated lake water. The conspiracy. The kidnapping and murders. A hostage! You must have been terrified. How did you cope?”

“It’s over, Anna.” Though grateful for her concern, Noah was too tired and emotionally drained to relive the experience in its retelling.

“You want to talk to Chloe, I bet,” Anna said understandingly.

“I’d love to,” Noah said. “I don’t suppose she’s still awake?”

“I just put her to bed, but I happen to know from the singing upstairs that she’s still awake.”

Fifteen seconds passed before he heard the excited voice of his daughter. “Daddy!” she shrieked.

His heart soared. Earlier, in the Manet cellar, he had convinced himself that he would never hear her beautiful voice again. “Sweetie! Guess what? I’m coming home tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Tomorrow! That’s awesome, Daddy-o!” Then she added coyly, “With a present?”

“Of course!” Noah laughed. “Now tell me about the rest of your trip.”

Chloe spoke expansively of the last few days spent at her grandparents’ retreat in South Carolina, most of her description focusing on the tricks learned and games played in the swimming pool. Noah took it all in, reveling in his daughter’s enthusiasm and happy to have his thoughts pulled thousands of miles away from the Manets and the carnage in rural France.

“Chloe, I can’t wait for tomorrow,” he said.

“Me either, Daddy. Even if you don’t bring a present.” She paused and then added, as if only out of idle curiosity, “Can you buy Barbies in France, Daddy?”

Noah was still chuckling when he hung up. Checking his cell phone’s screen, he saw that Gwen had left two messages. He retrieved both voicemails. In a calm voice that brimmed with concern, she ended her second message by saying, “Noah, I know how swamped you must be, but please let me know that you are okay as soon you possibly can.”

Noah picked up the phone and dialed Gwen’s cell number, but he hung up before he reached the final digit. He was desperate to vent the frustrations, confusion, and angst of the past weeks. She would understand better than anyone. But selfishly, he decided he would rather do it in person when he would have the chance to see those intelligent sexy eyes light up with empathy. He reached for his open laptop and typed out an e-mail: “Everything okay now. Hell of a story to tell you. Save some time for dinner the day after tomorrow, okay? I love you.” He sent it without rereading it.

He shut his laptop and practically dove into bed, expecting sleep to come quickly. But he tossed and turned for the next few hours. He knew he should have felt proud and relieved at having helped prevent the Lake from reaching the market, but he was distressed at how easily the world had slipped to the brink of catastrophe. And he could still practically feel the pop from the knife as it plunged into Martine DeGroot’s gut. The memory haunted him. Regardless of his justification, he was trained to save lives, not take them.

At 7:13 A.M., deciding to use the flight home to catch up on sleep, he rose wearily from the bed. He showered, changed, and then hurried down to the lobby. He didn’t want to miss Duncan, who planned to catch the earliest flight home to Glasgow.

His bag slung over his shoulder, Duncan walked across the lobby toward Noah. “Let me guess,” he bellowed. “You just heard from Nantal that we’re needed in Belarus. Some daft farmer is shipping his milk inside abandoned warheads of old Soviet smallpox missiles!”

Noah smiled. “I’m not taking Jean’s calls anymore.”

“Finally, a few sensible words out of you.” Duncan roughly scratched his beard. “Still, no regrets about coming back. It was right that we finished this.”

“Agreed.” They shook hands warmly. “Any word on Maggie today?”

“She seems okay…this morning, anyway.” Duncan shrugged. “Hasn’t lost her sense of humor. She told me she is desperately proud of her husband for sneaking up behind a woman and clubbing her with a branch.”

Noah grinned. “I can’t think of anyone who deserved a clubbing more than Sylvie Manet. I meant to ask, how did you and Elise manage to surprise Sylvie like that?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“She chased us through the woods,” Duncan said. “But when the other flashlight went down, Sylvie rushed over to help her lovable Dutch friend. We knew you were involved, so we followed. With you finally useful—as a decoy, mind you—I was able to surprise her with a pine tree to the noggin.”

“You saved my hide.”

Duncan waved Noah’s gratitude away. “It’s the least I could do for you after all the biblical predicaments you’ve dragged me into.”

“What’s next for you, Duncan?”

The playfulness deserted the Scot’s face. “Now that her arm is on the mend, I am going to take Maggie home,” he said.

“And then?”

“They’re giving her a break before more chemo.” His shoulders sagged. “We honeymooned in the Canary Islands. In spite of that, she’s always loved the place. I think I might take her back there for some sunshine and knock-off British food.”

Noah nodded. “Live for the moment.”

“Doubt we have anything else but.”

Noah swallowed away a pang of sorrow. “You’re going to be okay, huh?”

“Ah, shite, things are looking a lot rosier than they did in that dank basement in Lac Noir. Enough with the navel gazing.” He shifted his suitcase to leave, but before he took a step he said, “Listen, Noah, I don’t know what the hell is going on between you and Elise—”

“Nothing.”

“If you say so.” Duncan nodded. “I have to tell you, though, I always thought you and Gwen had a decent shot of making a go of it.”

Noah nodded. “I’m going home to find out if you’re right.”

“Good. Don’t let this job fuck that up. Remember, Haldane, you’re not irreplaceable.” The familiar wry smile creased his features. “The world can always find another crazed woodsman.”

Noah walked Duncan out the front door. The dawn skies were clear, but it was no warmer than the day before. They shook hands again, and Duncan headed off to the waiting taxi.

Noah headed back inside. He went to the restaurant and claimed his usual table in the far corner. Remembering his cholesterol, he ordered the fruit and cereal, forgoing one final crêpe with a tinge of regret. Without asking, the waiter handed him a copy of the International Herald Tribune. Noah opened it to discover that the story had somehow made it to press with a headline that read BOTTLED DEATH. The article was vague on details, but it was linked to a more comprehensive story that described the death of Vishnov “pioneer” Dr. Claude Fontaine, whose remains were found in a burned-out château in Switzerland. Drugs and alcohol had been implicated, but from Sylvie’s confession to the police Noah knew that his death was anything but accidental.

Elise arrived at the table. Though she was dressed elegantly in a black skirt, matching jacket, and stylish pumps, her eyes were puffy and downcast.

Noah lowered the paper. “Did you sleep at all?” he asked.

“You know.” She shrugged as she sat down beside him.

“Elise, I’m very sorry.”

She stared past him. “So you said last night.”

“I mean, about how things have worked out, you know, with…”

“It was my stupidity.” Elise picked up the menu in front of her. “How is your family?” she asked without looking up from it.

He told her about his conversation with Anna and Chloe.

Elise smiled distantly. “Little girls always miss their fathers.”

They shared forced small talk, Noah carrying the brunt of the conversation. He was thankful when her breakfast arrived and relieved him of the burden. Elise picked at her food with little interest while he downed his fourth cup of coffee. The server had just cleared the dishes when Jean Nantal and Javier Montalva appeared at the restaurant’s entrance. Noah caught Elise’s eye and she nodded once. The melancholy in her expression vanished, replaced with sudden purpose.

The E.U. minister wore another expensive-looking suit, but his walk lacked its usual swagger. Jean was his bubbly self again. He kissed Elise on both cheeks and hugged Noah warmly. Montalva shook Noah’s hand perfunctorily, and then kissed Elise on the cheeks.

“Wonderful work,” Jean gushed. “We owe you both a huge debt of gratitude for your efforts. The whole world does. Who knows how much senseless suffering you have saved us?”

“Yes,” Montalva echoed. “I am going to recommend the highest recognition the E.U. has to offer. For both of you.”

“And Detective Avars and her son?” Elise asked.

“Of course,” Montalva said with a sweep of his hand.

“I am told Mme. Avars’s surgery went well,” Jean said. “She is in stable condition now.”

“Good.” Noah nodded with genuine relief.

Jean and Montalva sat down in the two empty seats at the table. Both refused the menus and coffees the waiter came by to offer.

“Did you get to the bottles of the Lake in time?” Noah asked.

“We think so,” Jean said, though his voice showed a trace of uncertainty. “We still have to catalog the shipments, but there have been no reports of any reaching market. Even if a few did, we like to hope that the media coverage would alert potential buyers.”

“Besides,” Montalva added, “I understand the people involved were convinced that the purified water would be safe for consumption.”

“They might have been convinced,” Noah snorted. “I sure as hell am not. Perhaps they lowered the risk slightly, but there is no known way to reliably sterilize prions.” He shook his head. “That’s what bothers me the most. Sylvie is a biologist. She must have known she was rolling the dice just to hit her jackpot.”

“Nothing blinds faster than greed,” Jean said.

“Too true,” Noah said, avoiding eye contact with anyone else at the table.

Elise looked over to Jean. “What about Lake Vishnov itself?” she asked.

“Production has been halted at the site,” Jean said. “An international team made up of Antarctic Treaty signatory members is flying in today to assume control of the operation. In all likelihood, the well into the lake will be destroyed and the site dismantled.”

“Good riddance,” Noah grunted.

“Incidentally,” Jean said, “we have learned that the operation was funded by a Moscow-based oil company by the name of Radvogin Industries.”

“The CEO, Yulia Radvogin, is missing,” Montalva said.

Noah shook his head. “She is not missing at all.”

Montalva frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“Because she is dead,” Elise said.

Montalva’s shoulders squared, and he glanced from Noah to Elise. “How do you know?”

“Sylvie Manet told the detectives who interrogated her,” Elise said.

“Oh, we had not heard,” Jean said.

Noah looked over his shoulder and nodded once, though no one was in sight. He turned back to the table. “There are a couple of other things you haven’t heard yet, Jean.”

Jean glanced quizzically at Montalva and then back to Noah.

Montalva’s eyes narrowed. “As the ranking E.U. official, I do not appreciate being left in the dark,” he said with a tense smile.

Noah continued without acknowledging the comment. “The whole time, I had this uncanny sense that the conspirators knew what we were up to. What our next steps would be.” He turned to Elise and touched the back of her hand. “I even suspected that Elise might have leaked the information.”

Elise looked at the others. “It turns out that I was the leak,” she said bluntly.

Montalva leaned forward until his elbows rested on the table. His expression was somewhere between bewilderment and wariness. “Elise? Is this true?”

She viewed the minister intently. “Do you not remember, Javier? You asked me to keep a very close watch on the situation. To report twice daily.”

“Of course I did.” Montalva pulled his elbows free of the table and sat up straighter. “This epidemic was an immense threat to the European economy. I had to know exactly what was going on.”

Noah leaned back and said nothing. Jean also watched in circumspect silence.

“Of course you needed to know, Javier,” Elise said. “But why did you need me to sabotage Noah’s investigation? For that matter, our own investigation?”

“Sabotage?” Montalva threw his hands up, his cheeks reddening. “When did I ask you to sabotage anything?”

“‘Listen, darling’”—she feigned a Spanish accent and flailed her hands in an exaggerated manner—“‘Dr. Haldane will stop at nothing to make a name for himself here. Do not let him make it off the backs of the European farmers. Keep the investigation focused on the Allaire farm, from where we know this has all come!’”

Montalva’s cheeks blazed a deeper red. The veins at his temples began to pulsate. “There is no need to twist my words, Elise,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Twist them?” Elise said. “I know them by heart because you repeated them so often. Somehow, you convinced me I was right to undermine Noah’s investigation.”

Montalva shuffled in his seat. “Now, Elise.” He held out his hand to her in his familiar offer-of-escape-from-a-sinking-ship gesture. “I understand how hurt you must feel about what transpired between us, but there is no need—”

“Two and a half million euros,” Noah said quietly.

The comment froze Montalva in midsentence. His eyes darted over to Noah. “What are you talking about?” he growled.

“The consulting fee Sylvie Manet and her associates paid you.”

“What nonsense!” Montalva spat.

“It isn’t such a bad price for insurance, really. Two and a half million euros for you to ensure that the E.U. investigation would conclude that Philippe Manet, Benoît Gagnon, and Giselle Tremblay all died from BSE acquired during the outbreak at the Allaire farm.”

Jean’s jaw dropped. He turned to the Spaniard. “Javier, is this so?” he asked gravely.

Montalva jumped to his feet. “I don’t have to listen to such absurd unsubstantiated accusations!” he barked with unconcealed hatred.

Noah smiled. “In fact, Sylvie Manet substantiated these facts for us. No doubt the forensic auditors have already found the money trail.”

Montalva spun, poised to flee, but Inspector Esmond Cabot and two uniformed gendarmes trooped toward the table from the restaurant’s entrance. Two other policemen suddenly emerged from the kitchen door.

Eyes bulging and face crimson, Montalva turned back to Elise. “Clearly, this is a gigantic misunderstanding,” he croaked.

Elise rose slowly to her feet. She glared at him for a long moment and then, suddenly, she slapped him across the cheek with a sharp crack. Montalva recoiled from the contact. His face contorted in pain and surprise. Without another word, Elise spun on her heel and strode past the policemen and out of the restaurant.

Noah hurried after her. When he caught up to her in the lobby, she was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “Elise,” he said.

She cleared her throat and looked down in embarrassment. “I feel like a fool, Noah.”

“Montalva fooled everyone,” Noah said.

She shook her head. “Not you.”

“I didn’t know him like you did,” he said. “I had no reason to trust him…or to want to believe him.”

Elise looked up at Noah. “I should have never have let my personal feelings intrude on my work.”

“Sometimes, you can’t avoid it.” Noah broke into a grin and winked. “That was a hell of a slap you laid on him. I was impressed. A tad jealous, even.”

She laughed. “It did feel good.”

“You going to be okay?”

“In a few days.” Her eyes were dry, and her smile genuine. “Time for both of us to go home, I think.”

Noah reached out and wrapped her in his arms. He held her close for a moment, then kissed her cheek lightly and let her go. He turned for the elevator without another word.

Inside the room, Noah threw his clothes into a bag. As he put on his coat, he felt the back of the notebook press into his hip, and he pulled it out of his jacket pocket. For a moment, he considered tossing it into the garbage but, more out of superstition than nostalgia, he tucked it into the outside compartment of his suitcase.

Noah powered up his laptop and saw that new e-mails had arrived. He scanned the list but opened only the reply from Gwen, which was as short as his original message: “I love a good yarn. Consider the evening yours. Welcome home. I love you, too.”

Noah turned off the laptop and slipped it into his case. A fulfilling sense of closure warmed him.

It was over. And he was heading home to the people he loved.

He could not have asked for anything more.