The Day After Tomorrow

meaning of life. She’d meant to write a love letter, but what she’d put down was more like a writing sample for a position as an English teacher at a private girls’ school. Still smiling, she tore the pages in quarters and threw them in the wastebasket. It was then she saw the car turn off the highway and start up the long drive toward the house.

As it approached, she could see it was a black Peugeot with blue emergency lights mounted on the roof. As it reached the halfway point, she saw agent Montand step into the roadway with his hands raised, motioning the car to stop. When it did, Montand walked to the driver’s window. A moment later he spoke into his radio, waited for a reply, then nodded and the car proceeded on.

As it neared the house, Alain Cotrell walked out to meet it, and like Montand, motioned the driver to stop. Jean Claude Dumas came up behind him, sliding the carbine from his shoulder.

“Oui, madame,” Alain said, as the driver’s window rolled down and a very attractive woman with dark hair looked out.

“My name is Avril Rocard,” she said in French, flashing a picture I.D., “from the First Prefecture of Paris Police. I am here for Mademoiselle Monneray, to bring her to Paris at the request of Detective McVey. She’ll know who I mean.” She produced an official order on French government stationery. “By order of Captain Cadoux of Interpol. And at the behest of the prime minister, Francois Christian.”

Agent Cotrell took the paper, looked at it, then handed it back. As he did, Jean Claude Dumas walked to the far side of the car and looked in. Other than the woman, it was empty.

“One moment,” Cotrell said. Stepping back, he took his own radio from his jacket and walked off. As he did, Dumas came back to the driver’s side.

Glancing in her mirror, Avril saw agent Montand behind her, a hundred feet back down the driveway.

A moment later Cotrell abruptly put away his radio and turned back, approaching the car. His entire body language had changed, and Avril could see his hand moving out of sight behind his jacket.

“Is it all right if I open my purse for a cigarette?” Avril said, looking at Dumas.

“Oui,” Dumas nodded, then watched as Avril’s right hand went to her purse for the cigarette. It was her left hand that took him by surprise. There were two quick pops and he fell backward into Cotrell. For an instant, Cotrell was off balance and all he could see was the Beretta in Avril’s hand. It jumped once. And Cotrell grabbed for his neck. Her second shot, the one between the eyes, killed him.

Montand was running toward her, the Famas assault rifle coming up to fire, when she leveled the Beretta. Her first shot hit him in the leg, punching him down and sending the Famas clattering out of reach across the driveway. He was on the ground, gritting his teeth in pain and straining for it, when she walked up. Looking down at him, she raised the pistol slowly. Gave him a moment to think about it, then shot him. Once just under the left eye. Once in the heart.

Then, straightening her jacket, she turned and started for the farmhouse.

90

VERA HAD seen everything from the bedroom window. Immediately, she’d reached for the telephone but could get only a dial tone. Nothing she could do would clear the line or ring through to an operator.

Earlier, when Francois had first brought her there, she’d asked him for a pistol to protect herself in case something went wrong. Nothing could go wrong, he’d told her. The men guarding her were the finest in the French Secret Service. She’d argued that too much had already happened, that whoever these people were, they had a very definitive way of making things go wrong. Francois’ answer was that that was why she was here, two hundred miles from Paris, sequestered out of harm’s way and guarded by his best and most loyal men. And that had ended the discussion.

And now his best and most loyal men lay sprawled in the driveway and the woman who had killed them was almost in the house.

Avril Rocard reached the edge of the driveway and walked over a small expanse of lawn and stepped onto the front porch. So far the Organization’s intelligence had been valid. Three men had been guarding the house. It was possible, she’d been warned, that a fourth agent might have somehow been missed and could be waiting inside. It was also possible the second agent had broadcast an alert on his radio before she’d killed him. Assuming that was true, it meant the rest, fourth agent or not, had to be done swiftly.

Snapping a fresh clip into the Beretta, she stepped to the side of the front door, turned the knob with her left hand and pushed gently. The oak door swung partway open. Inside, it was silent. The only sound came from behind her, where the songbirds had started vocalizing once more, following their abrupt silence at the first gunfire.

“Vera,” she said sharply. “My name is Avril Rocard. I am a police officer. The telephones are out. francois I Christian sent me to get you. The men protecting you were criminals who had infiltrated the Secret Service.”

Silence.

“Is someone with you, Vera? Is that why you can’t speak out?”

Slowly, Avril pushed the door open enough for her to step inside. To her left was a long bench with a blank wall behind it. In front of her, through the door frame, was the living room. Beyond it, the hallway continued into - shadow and then out of sight.

“Vera?” she said again.

Still there was no answer.

Vera stood alone, just inside the hallway entrance. She’d started to go out the back door, but realized it opened to a wide lawn that ran down to a duck pond. If she Went out there, she’d be nothing but a target.

“Vera.” Avril’s voice came again and she could hear the wide plank floorboards creak beneath her feet.

“Don’t be afraid, Vera. I’m here to help you. If someone has you, don’t move. Don’t struggle. Just stay where you are. I’ll come to you.”

Vera took a deep breath and held it. A small window was to her right and she glanced out, hoping someone would be coming up the driveway. Agents sent to relieve the dead guards, a postman, anything.

“Vera.” Avril’s voice was closer now. She was coming toward her. Vera looked down. She was a doctor, trained to save lives. She had no training in taking them. Still, she wouldn’t die, not here, if she could do anything at all to prevent it. Between her hands was a length of dark blue drapery cord, pulled from the bedroom curtains.

“If you’re alone and hiding, please come out, Vera. francois is waiting for word of your safety.”

Vera cocked an ear. Avril’s voice was retreating. Perhaps she’d gone into the living room. Letting out her breath, she relaxed. As she did, the small window to her right suddenly shattered.

Avril was right there! There was a sharp report, and the wood fragments exploded everywhere. Vera screamed as splinters riddled her neck and face. Then Avril’s hand was inside the window frame, her gun looking for the final shot. Blindly, Vera’s two hands shot forward, encircling Avril’s gun hand with the dark blue cord. At the same time she jerked them tight, and pulled backward with all her strength. Caught off guard, Avril’s head shot face-first through the broken glass. There was a dull thud as the Beretta dropped at Vera’s feet.

Face cut and bleeding from the shattered glass, Avril struggled wildly to pull free. But her struggle only strengthened Vera’s resolve. Tugging backward on the cord, she extended Avril’s arm to its full length. Now, with Avril’s body pressed up against the outside of the house, Vera heaved backward with both hands. There was a pop, and Avril screamed as her shoulder dislocated. Then Vera let go, and slowly Avril slid back out the window and slumped on the ground below, crying in agony.

“Who are you?” Vera said, as she approached from outside. Avril’s Beretta was in her hand and she had it pointed directly at the long-legged figure in the dark skirt slumped on the ground, her dislocated arm twisted awkwardly under her.

“Answer me. Who are you? Who do you work for?”

Avril said nothing. Very carefully Vera moved forward. The woman on the ground was a professional. In the last five minutes she had seen her shoot three men to death and try to kill her.

“Put your good hand out and roll over where I can see both your hands,” she commanded.

Avril didn’t move. Then Vera saw a crimson ooze of blood where her breast and shoulder touched the ground.