computer.

In the backseat, Marty was wringing his hands. 'I assume this means we're on our own.'

'We can't count on any help,' Jon agreed.

'I'm very nervous about this, Jon,' Marty said.

'Good that you are,' Peter told him. 'Keeps one alert. Buck up though. It could be worse. You could be sitting right smack in the middle of whatever unfortunate piece of terra firma those maniacs have targeted.'

Outside Bousmelet-sur-Seine

Emile Chambord hesitated at the heavy, iron-studded door to the room where his daughter was confined. No matter how much he had tried to explain his views to Therese, she had refused to listen. This pained Chambord. He not only loved Therese, he respected her, admired her work and her struggle to excel at her art, without thought of financial reward. She had steadfastly resisted all invitations to go to Hollywood. She was a stage actress with a vision of truth that had nothing to do with popular success. He recalled an American editor saying, 'A good writer is a rich writer, and a rich writer is a good writer.' Substitute 'actor' or 'scientist' and one saw the shallow ethos of America, under which, until now, the world was doomed to live.

He sighed, took a deep breath, and unlocked the door. He stepped inside quietly, not bothering to lock it again.

Wrapped in a blanket, Therese was sitting at the narrow window across the small room in one of the high- backed baronial chairs that La Porte favored. Because the general prized historical authenticity, the castle offered few amenities beyond thick rugs on the stone floors and tapestries hanging from the stone walls. A fire was alight in the big fireplace, but its warmth did little to offset the cold that seemed to radiate from every surface in the cavelike chamber. The air smelled dank and musty.

Therese did not even glance at him. She gazed steadily out the window at the stars. He joined her there, but he looked down. The ground was awash in the moon's snowy glow, showing the dark grass on the filled-in moat and, beyond that, the rolling Norman farms and woodlands that spread out and around. A shadowy orchard of old, gnarled apple trees hugged the castle.

He said, 'It's nearly time, Therese. Almost midnight.'

At last she looked up at him. 'So midnight is when you do it. I'd hoped you'd come to your senses. That you were here to tell me you've refused to help those unconscionable men.'

Chambord lost his temper. 'Why can't you see that what we're doing will save us? We're offering a new dawn for Europe. The Americans are crushing us with their crass, cultural desert. They pollute our language, our ideas, our society. With them in charge, the world has no vision and little justice. They have only two values: How much can a man consume for the highest possible price, and how much can he produce for the least possible pay?' His upper lip curled in loathing.

Therese continued to stare at him as if he were an insect under one of his own microscopes. 'Whatever their faults, they're not mass murderers.'

'But they are! What about the effect of their policies in Africa, Asia, and Latin America?'

She paused, considering. Then she shook her head and laughed bitterly. 'You don't care about any of that. You're not operating on altruism. You just want their power. You're just like General La Porte and Captain Bonnard.'

'I want France to rise. Europe has the right to rule its own destiny!' He turned away so she would not see his pain. She was his daughter how could she not understand?

Therese was silent. At last she took his hand, and her voice softened. 'I want one world, too, but where people are simply people, and no one has power over anyone else. 'France?' 'Europe?' 'The United States?' ' She shook her head sorrowfully. 'The concepts are anachronisms. A united world, that's what I want. A place where no one hates or murders anyone in the name of God, country, culture, race, sexual orientation, or anything else. Our differences are to be celebrated. They're strengths, not weaknesses.'

'You think the Americans want one world, Therese?'

'Do you and your general?'

'You will have a better chance of it with France and Europe than with them.'

'Do you remember after World War Two how the Americans helped us rebuild? They helped us all, the Germans and the Japanese, too. They've helped people all around the globe.'

That far Chambord could not go. She refused to see the truth. 'For a price,' he snapped. 'In exchange for our individuality, our humanity, our minds, our souls.'

'And from what you tell me, your price tonight could be millions of lives.'

'You exaggerate, child. What we do will warn the world that America cannot defend even itself, but the casualties will be relatively low. I insisted upon that. And we are at war with the Americans. Every minute, every day, we have to fight, or they will overwhelm us. We are not like them. We will be great again.'

Therese released his hand and again stared out the window at the stars. When she spoke, her voice was clear and sad. 'I'll do everything I can to save you, Papa. But I must also stop you.'

Chambord remained motionless for another moment, but she did not look at him again. He walked out of the room, locking the door behind him.

Chapter Thirty-seven

They stopped again, this time at a small petrol station outside the village of Bousmelet-sur-Seine. The attendant nodded in answer to Jon's question: 'Oui, bien, the count is at Chateau la Rouge. I filled the tank of his limousine earlier today. Everyone's glad. We don't see all that much of the great man since he took over NATO. Who could be better, I ask you?'

Jon smiled, noting that local pride had raised La Porte one more notch in the command structure at NATO.

'Is he alone?' Jon asked.

'Alas.' The attendant removed his cap and crossed himself. 'The countess passed away these many years.' He glanced around at the night, even though there was no one else here. 'There was a young lady at the castle for a while, but no one has seen her for more than a year. Some say that's good. That the count must set an example. But I say counts have been taking women not their wives up there for centuries, yes? And what of the peasant girls? It was a tanner's daughter who produced the great Duke William. Besides, I think the count's lonely, and he's still young. A great tragedy, yes?' And he roared with laughter.

Randi smiled and looked sympathetic. 'Soldiers are often married to the army. I doubt Captain Bonnard brought his wife with him either.'

'Ah, that one. He has no time for anyone but the count. Devoted to his lordship, he is. I'm surprised to know he's married at all.'

As Jon took out euros to pay, the attendant studied them. 'You needed little gas. What do you folks want with the count?'

'He invited us to drop in and tour the castle if we were ever in the area.'

'Guess you got lucky. He's sure not here much. Funny, too. Had another guy asking about an hour ago. A big, black guy. Said he was in the Legion with the count and Captain Bonnard. Probably was. Wore the green beret, except he wore it sort of wrong, you know, more like the English wear berets. Kind of arrogant. Had funny greenish eyes. Never saw eyes like that on a black.'

'What else was he wearing?' Jon asked.

'Like you, pants, jacket.' The attendant eyed Randi. 'Except his looked new.'

'Thanks,' Jon said, and he and Randi climbed back into the car. As Peter drove away, Jon asked him and Marty, 'You heard?'

'We did,' Peter said.

'Is the black man the one you called Abu Auda?' Marty asked.

'With those eyes, sounds like him,' Randi said. 'Which could mean the Crescent Shield also thinks Bonnard and Chambord are here. Maybe they're looking for Mauritania.'

'Not to mention possibly getting their hands on the DNA computer if they can,' Peter guessed, 'and getting

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