by the English jackals who were lying in wait. He had bought the print as a young man and kept it with him, a reminder of how great his country had once been. For him, everything had changed with his wife's death. Everything but his devotion to France. Everything became the future of France.
He decided the gunfire might be coming from the Crescent Shield, here to rescue Mauritania. But maybe this time they would really steal the molecular computer and kidnap him as well.
He shrugged. It did not matter. They were all too late.
As he returned to his work, the door opened. Roland la Porte ducked his imposing body and entered. 'Is the missile programmed?' he demanded. He straightened up, and his large size and personality seemed to fill the room. He was dressed casually in pleated trousers, a good Breton shirt, and a safari jacket. His black boots were polished to a high shine, and his dark, thick hair was smoothed back.
'Don't rush me,' Chambord said, irritated. 'That gunfire makes me nervous. Who is it?'
'Our old Islamic friends, the Crescent Shield. They're of no consequence. Bonnard and the Legionnaires will beat them off, and then we'll use the Islamics' dead bodies to help guarantee that it's they who're blamed and hunted. It's too bad you were interrupted before you could launch their strike against Israel. That would've provided additional cover for us.'
Chambord said nothing. Both knew there had not been time to move their whole operation from Algeria, regroup, and send the missile against Jerusalem. Not when the attack against the United States was the primary goal. Everything must be wrapped up now, so La Porte could spend Sunday making phone calls to solidify support for the EU council vote on Monday.
Chambord was having problems. This was when he could have used Zellerbach's expertise. 'The codes are more difficult to break into than the missile I reprogrammed for Mauritania;' he complained. 'This missile is as old, but its codes are new—'
General La Porte interrupted, 'Put that aside for the moment. I have another assignment for you.'
Chambord glanced at his watch. 'We have only a half hour! I have to time the Russian satellite precisely to keep my window small. It's no easy matter to open communications to the satellite so I can do its work.'
'Plenty of time for your miraculous machine, Doctor. I came to tell you that the Americans have a secret, experimental antimissile defense system. I didn't expect them to deploy it, but I've just learned they've brought it online. It hasn't been approved, but I know it's had success in tests. We can't risk the possibility it'll work, or that our project will fail. You must shut down this new antimissile system, as you have all their other defenses.'
'How do you know so much?'
'We all spy on each other, even supposed allies,' La Porte said with a shrug. 'There are no friends among nations, only interests.'
Up on the bare battlements, moonlight reflected off the walls of the castle proper and made the stone walkway along the top seem to flow with a river of blood. Through the mirage, Jon, Randi, and Peter scouted quickly. Marty went with Peter. There were two other sentries on top, and they were quickly dispatched, then the four rendezvoused.
Holding one of the FAMAS assault rifles he had picked up, Peter said simply, 'Nothing.'
Jon and Randi reported the same. 'It's twenty-two minutes to midnight,' Randi added. 'So little time.'
They sped to the long, dark curving stairwell that seemed to drop into dark infinity. Behind them, Marty hung back, a twin of Ranch's HK MP5K in both hands as if he were clinging to it for dear life. His gaze darted nervously.
'The Legionnaires are busy at the entrance,' Jon told them. 'That's why there aren't any more up here. We've got four stories and the towers to search. Let's split up. We can each take a floor. If anyone needs help, use the walkie-talkies.'
'That's dangerous, Jon. Dividing our force,' Randi objected.
'I know, but right now losing time is more dangerous. Mart?'
'I'll go with Peter.'
Jon nodded. 'Take the ground floor. I'll do the second, and Randi the third. We'll meet at the top. Let's go.'
They ran down the spiral stone staircase, Peter and Marty leading. Randi peeled off, then Jon.
On the bottom floor, Peter slipped into the corridor first, Marty following. Dim electric lights were spaced widely apart and did little to dispel the dark. There were a few doors on both sides, all set into recesses in the thick walls. Marty opened each door carefully, while Peter waited, weapon up. They found no one. There was no furniture in the first rooms, an indication that at least part of the enormous historic castle was permanently unused.
'You have any idea how much it costs to heat one of these medieval monsters?' Peter whispered rhetorically.
Marty did not believe in rhetorical questions. 'No, but if I had a computer, I'd calculate it in seconds.' He freed one hand from his heavy rifle and snapped his fingers.
Peter snorted, and they continued their search. Occasionally, the noise of rapid bursts of gunfire penetrated the castle, and it seemed to them that another assault had occurred outside. Then there would be a period of silence, followed by more sporadic shots. In here, it was difficult to tell where the battle was and impossible to know whether there was an outcome, or what it was.
At last, having seen no signs of Dr. Chambord, his DNA machine, General La Porte, or Captain Bonnard, and ducking into rooms to avoid the few sentries patrolling the corridors, they ran back up to the top floor, where Jon and Randi joined them.
The quartet was moving down the hall, checking doors, when two soldiers rounded a corner and almost collided with them. The Frenchmen grabbed their assault rifles off their shoulders in seconds. While Marty stumbled back, his menacing submachine gun ready in case the soldiers broke loose, Randi and Jon swarmed the first one to the floor, and Peter was all over the second with his Fairbairn-Sykes stiletto. There was a sharp gasp, a silenced and muffled pistol report, and neither renegade French soldier moved again.
Marty swallowed hard, gulping air. He detested violence, but his round, gentle face was resolute as he guarded the corridor while the others dragged the corpses into an empty room. The door closed, and the foursome hurried on until Jon, who was in the lead now, stopped at a corner and raised a silencing hand.
He gestured to the others. They padded forward and stopped. Ahead a single sentry was posted outside the usual iron-reinforced wood door, lounging lazily against the stone wall, smoking a cigarette. His gaze was aimed away from them, focused on the door that it appeared he was guarding. Dressed in casual civilian clothes, he wore army boots and a dark green beret pulled down on the left side. His FAMAS assault rifle was slung over his shoulder. All of this indicated he was another French Legionnaire.
As the sentry smoked and yawned, Jon signaled the others again. They waited as he slid softly up behind the man and struck hard with the barrel of his Uzi. The guard dropped like a stone, unconscious. Peter and Jon dragged him into an empty room, gagged him, and tied him up with his own clothing and belt. But not before Randi thought to look and found an oversized iron key in his pocket. Jon appropriated the FAMAS assault rifle and extra ammunition, and they returned to the door that had been under guard.
Peter listened at it. 'Someone's moving around inside,' he whispered. He tried the door and shook his head. Locked. 'They wouldn't guard Chambord.'
'Unless it was for protection,' Randi said.
'What would they protect him against?' Marty wondered.
'The Crescent Shield attack down below,' Randi explained.
'Let's find out.' Jon put the key into the lock. The lock had been freshly oiled and turned easily.
Randi pressed the door just wide enough and edged through. Peter slipped after her, while Jon and Marty stayed in the hall, guarding the rear.
Inside, the room was warmer than most, with a fire burning in a large fireplace. Furnished with an odd mixture of heavy medieval pieces and mundane modern, the small room appeared empty. Randi and Peter trained their weapons right and left, standing nearly back to back inside the doorway. Seeing no one, they advanced warily.
Therese Chambord arose like a white apparition from behind a long, massive chest of drawers, a heavy candlestick in her hand.
She said in surprised English, 'Agent Russell?'
Randi demanded brusquely, 'Where's your father? The DNA computer?'
