ignore the man with the gold stud.
'As long as he doesn't suspect you're on to him we're okay, understand?'
He stepped off the curb. Checking for oncoming vehicles, he strode across the street. He could see the black Audi cabriolet, its cloth top up. So far as he could determine, there was no one around it. But how can you be sure? He kept going, his pace remaining constant, though his nerves were screaming.
Movement flickered in the extreme corner of his eye. It was coming from his left, the direction in which he and Jenny had seen the man with the stud in his ear lounging against the white Mercedes.
He's coming!
He kept his focus on the nearby Audi. He told himself that he trusted Jenny, trusted her expertise, trusted her plan. In any event, it was too late for doubts. He'd committed himself and there was no turning back.
Three steps, four, and then a hand gripped his shirt, the long, slender fingers curling, the nails digging into his flesh. He turned, saw a flash of metal-the gold stud-and, below, another metallic flash from the drawn gun raised into a patch of brilliant sunlight.
There was just enough time to take in the look of triumph on the Knight's narrow face before his black eyes rolled up. Jenny, who had come up behind him without making a sound, caught him under the arms just as he collapsed and together, she and Bravo half dragged the man onto the curb.
In response to the inquiring look a passing couple gave them, Jenny said, 'Our friend had too much wine at lunch.' The couple hurried on, in no mood to have their vacation interrupted.
Leaving the unconscious Knight propped up against an iron fence, Jenny and Bravo got into the Audi and drove away.
They reached Charles de Gaulle without further incident but with little time to spare, which was just as well since neither of them had any appetite for waiting around the airport for the Knights to find them again. In any event, Jenny, on somber lookout from the moment they exited St. Pierre, was convinced they hadn't been followed from Dreux.
All the way to the airport Anthony Rule had been on both their minds, though perhaps for different reasons. Rule had been like Bravo's second father and, in fact, on occasion had stood in for his best friend when Dexter Shaw had been unable to attend his son's school play or athletic meet. Rule, who was unmarried and childless, had openly reveled in his relationship with Bravo, imparting bits of wisdom or tricks for any and all of the physical disciplines the young boy was studying. So it wasn't difficult to understand why Bravo adored him. What seemed obvious now had never occurred to Bravo at the time: namely, that it was no coincidence that Uncle Tony was proficient in all the disciplines he was learning to master and only too delighted to help Bravo toward further success.
'It must have been interesting having Anthony in your life,' Jenny said as they were cruising the car park, trying to decipher the confusing signs. The French seemed to have a fetish for making their airports as difficult to navigate as possible. 'What was it like?'
'It was great.' Bravo pointed to what looked like a space at the far end of the row. 'He was like my father, without all the baggage between a father and son.'
'Well, that was an answer I wasn't anticipating.'
'What's with you and Uncle Tony, anyway?' Someone had parked a car over the dividing line and the spot was too small even for the cabriolet 'Do you mix it up like that with all your superiors?'
Jenny shrugged. 'More or less, but I can tell you that none of them are like Anthony Rule.'
'Don't tell me you have a thing for him.'
She winced. 'Not in the least.' A spot opened up in the next row, and they pulled in. She sat for a moment, unmoving, staring straight ahead at nothing.
Bravo had seen that five-mile stare before, and he knew her mind was working overtime. By now he understood that she had a difficult time revealing anything of herself, and when she did, as she had at Mont St. Michel, she immediately withdrew into the anonymity of her self-made armor.
'It's okay if you don't want to-'
'Shut up,' she interrupted in a rush. It was as if once she'd begun she wanted to make certain she said what was on her mind. 'I respect Anthony tremendously-he and your father were two of the really good guys. Because of that, it's painful when he ridicules me.'
'He ridicules you because he likes you,' Bravo said.
'Really?'
He nodded. 'He used to do it to me, too.'
She had turned to look at him, to make certain he was being sincere. It gradually dawned on him what a terrible price she'd paid for maintaining her position in the Order. She had developed an assumption that when she was with a man she was bound to be the butt of endless jokes.
On impulse, he said, 'Dorothy Parker once said that ridicule might be a shield, but it's not a weapon.'
She stared at him for what seemed a long time. 'Well,' she said in a soft voice, 'I guess it's safe to say that Dorothy Parker was never a part of the Voire Dei.'
She got out of the Audi on the pretext of needing to stretch her legs, but in reality she was afraid that the look on her face would reveal her true feelings. She had been surprised that he had understood the crux of her plight and terribly touched by his attempt to mitigate her anguish by putting it in the words of the famous author feared for her sarcastic wit by men and women alike. Right now, though, having been so recently vulnerable, she could not afford to allow her normal steely facade to waver.
Inside the terminal, they picked up their tickets. As they were going through security, Bravo's cell phone rang. On the other side of the checkpoint, he discovered that Jordan had called. The tone on his voice mail was thin and strained, not at all the sanguine Jordan Bravo was used to.
Jordan picked up during the first ring when Bravo called back.
'C,a va, mon ami?'
'None the worse for wear, Jordan.'
'And your friend Jenny?'
'Right beside me,' Bravo said with a frown. They were heading toward the gate and he was on the lookout for a bookstore. 'You're the one who sounds bad.'
'Ah, well, the Dutch have been working me over. Without you, I am lost. You're the one who knows how to handle them-you intimidate them, you see.'
'The secret is simple, Jordan. The next time you meet with mem you must be mentally prepared to walk away from the deal. If you are, they'll sense it and back down. They don't want this deal to fall through, trust me.'
'I do, mon ami. I will do as you suggest.' Jordan took a breath. 'But this other matter-I am not encouraged by what Camille tells me. I think you should consider abandoning this quest you seem to be on.'
'I can't, Jordan, I'm sorry. This is something I have to do.'
'Camille warned me you'd say that. Then you must allow me to provide you with a higher level of security. Where are you now?'
'At Charles de Gaulle. We're taking an Air France flight that gets into Venice at 10:45 tonight.'
He spotted the bookseller and, with Jenny at his side, headed toward it.
'Bon. I will make a hotel reservation for you and have you met at Marco Polo Airport. A man named Berio. He'll be armed and will stay with you for as long as you're in the city.'
'Jordan-'
'This is non-negotiable, mon ami. I'm not going to risk losing you-my business would collapse inside a year.' He laughed, but quickly sobered. 'Take care of yourself and of Jenny. You are vulnerable until you step onto the plane.'
'Don't worry, Jordan, I'll be careful.' He hesitated a moment. 'And Jordan…'
'Oui?'
'Thanks.'
He made several purchases at the bookseller, then they headed straight for the gate. By the time they arrived, their flight had begun boarding. It was with a palpable sense of relief that they surrendered their boarding passes and passed into the covered jetway.
The flight was full. Under the pretext of using the bathroom Jenny went back down the aisle, checking each
