They were in session when Bonaparte escaped from Elba, and placed the En glish Duke of Wellington in charge of an international force to try to put the genie back in the bottle. Hence the “Hundred Days” campaign leading up to Waterloo.
5 Michel Ney (1769-1815). As noted earlier, Napoleon conferred the title “Marshal of France” on a number of his generals. It had mostly an honorary significance. Ney, however, was marshal in both the military and honorary sense. He and Napoleon might have had much to discuss. Ney had been among those demanding his former commander’s exile and had served the Bourbons before rejoining Napoleon upon his return from Elba. He was hotheaded and heroic, and many blame Ney’s rash actions for the loss at Waterloo.
CHAPTER FIVE
472 Lafayette Drive, Atlanta
11:35 the same day
Almost dragging Manfred by the arm, Gurt reached her front door and fumbled in her pocket for the keys. What the hell was happening? Although those two men had not expressly said they were from the Agency, how else would they have known her real name and her Agency reputation? The tactics, poorly executed as they had been, were typical Agency, too. Miles had said he would have someone keep an eye out, not try to abduct…
Movement at the corner of her vision caused her to drop Manfred’s hand long enough to grasp the butt of the Glock as she turned, mindful of the ice on her doorstep.
A wet and shivering Randy slowly made his way up the drive. Water sloshed from his shoes and she could see him shivering from where she stood. Steam from his body heat enveloped him as though he were some spirit materializing on the front lawn.
He shook his head, chagrined. “Sorry, Mrs. Reilly, I don’t know what happened. One minute you and the little boy were in full view, the next I was floating in a fishpond. Some sort of tranquilizer delivered by…”
“By a dart gun,” Gurt finished for him, ignoring his surprise as she finished opening the door.
“Yeah, I guess that could have done it,” he admitted sheepishly. “But I don’t understand-”
She interrupted him with a motion. “Come. Inside before you die of hypothermia. You can take a hot shower, take some of Lang’s clothes.”
He crossed the threshold, visibly savoring the warmth. “Thanks. But first I need to call the office for reinforcement. Whoever knocked me out was obviously going after you. Are you all right?”
“Quite,” she assured him. “I saw the men responsible. You can call whoever you wish after you have shed those wet, cold clothes.”
His professional curiosity overcame his discomfort. “You saw whoever…?” He glanced round. “Where…?”
“They give no longer a problem and will not be back soon. Now, the hot shower.”
To the sound of water running upstairs, Gurt checked and rechecked the house’s alarm and security features before she called Lang’s BlackBerry. Perhaps he could explain what had happened. She got a cheery recording assuring her that if she left a name and number, he would call her back. Next, she called Lang’s office. Sara had not heard from him in two days. Unusual but not unheard of.
If only she knew how to contact Miles. Lang had his number around here somewhere. But where? Relenting and letting Manfred turn on the television as he ate a hastily prepared peanut butter and jelly sandwich, she left him to enter the closet under the stairs Lang referred to as his office. A five-minute search of the file cabinet produced a list with Miles’s name and a Washington, D.C., phone number.
She called it, leaving her name and BlackBerry number. Before she got back to where Manfred was teasing Grumps with the remainder of his sandwich, he called back.
“Gurt?” Miles’s voice lacked the normal breezy self-assurance. “I’ve been trying to contact Lang. I’ve gotten no answer.”
“I also,” Gurt said. “But that is not the only difficulty. Not an hour ago, two men tried to snatch Manfred and me.”
She paused, waiting for an explanation.
When none was forthcoming, she said, “The two were from the Agency, I am certain. What is happening, Miles?” she added pointedly.
“Er, I’m not sure. The reason I was trying to get hold of Lang was to tell him I was ordered to drop protective surveillance of him, your house and family. No explanation.”
“Miles…,” she began with more than a trace of accusation.
“No, no, I swear! That’s all I know, really.”
“But why?”
“I told you. I don’t know. Would I lie to you and Lang?”
As long as you have been employed by those people, in a heartbeat.
“It is possible the reason has been concealed from you?”
A snort. “Of course. No one is told more than they need to know. Surely you remember that.”
“It is also possible there has been some change in the policy that made protective surveillance desirable.”
“True,” Miles admitted, “but it would have to have been a change from outside. I get the internal memos.”
Gurt thought for a moment. “Outside? You mean…?”
“Anyone from the State Department, the White House, Defense. The possibilities are endless. It’s not the who that bothers me, it’s the why. As in why would this anonymous policy maker suddenly want to take you somewhere?”
“They said there were some very nasty people.”
“So, what’s different? There always are. No, my guess is they want to make sure you stay quiet about what you know, don’t go to the press.”
“About what?”
Another snort from Miles. “I’d guess this Chinese-in-Haiti matter. For whatever reason, some branch of government wants a lid kept on it.”
Gurt was truly puzzled. “But why?”
“Above my pay grade. If I knew that, I’d be heading up some government department, meeting with the prez on a daily basis. For the moment, I’d suggest you keep your head down.”
“What about Lang?”
“Lang will have to look out for himself. He has a pretty good record of doing just that. I hear from him, I’ll let you know.”
“But, Miles…”
He had ended the call.
Cairo International Airport 21:49
Lang had been unable to figure out what, if any, pattern there was to the bus’s stops. It seemed that a man waiting on the road’s shoulder merited stopping to let him aboard, as did a lone camel who preferred macadam to sand, or a herd of goats crossing the pavement. At last, the livestock delays diminished as darkness grew. At various points, a rider would stand, remove his luggage from the overhead bin and make his way forward to speak to the driver, who would then bring the bus to a wheezing halt to allow the passenger to disembark into the darkness. At each stop, whether or not someone was getting on or off, the door opened, admitting a hot cloud of swirling sand particles stirred up by the bus itself.
Lang had been relieved to hear the roar of a jet overhead, a noise that got louder with each takeoff or landing. When he could see signs in multiple languages bearing a pictograph of an airplane, indicating the road to the airport, he stood and retrieved his bag preparatory to getting off. By the time he reached the driver, two other men were also exiting the bus, both in blue short-sleeve shirts, dark pants and wearing identity tags around their necks. There was not enough light to read the cards, but Lang would have bet they indicated employment by one of the airlines.
