Toys

I glided to earth as silently and invisibly as a ghost, landing in a forest with the crisp scent of pines filling my nostrils and the ground beneath my feet softened by their duff. For a full minute, I stayed crouched there, listening and watching the long, shiny, silver vehicle.

There were no sounds other than the wind through the tree branches and the timid rustlings of a few small animals on their nightly quest for supper.

I eased down onto my belly and started moving toward the flares-and the mysterious car parked out in the middle of nowhere.

Chapter 73

What is this all about? Another absolutely insane adventure? More deep secrets? And why isn’t Lucy here with me for these vital meetings?

The limo’s side door was open, revealing a dimly lit interior that looked, well, like a luxury hotel room- complete with a spa bathtub, which just so happened to be bubbling cheerfully.

Someone was splashing around in it.

A female someone with long, dark hair pinned up neatly behind her head and a few damp strands trailing down her neck. One of her hands was just now soaping her creamy skin. I couldn’t quite see the face yet.

I spent the next few seconds convincing myself that I was really seeing what I thought I was.

“I see you too,” the woman said.

She turned my way and I saw that her face had an exotic, aristocratic beauty, with a fine, arched nose and almond-shaped eyes.

“Welcome to France, Hays,” she said. Her voice was husky and accented; she pronounced Hays as Hezz. “My name is Chantal Dugare.”

“I thought… I was supposed to meet the emmy-nonce greese of Interpol,” I said.

“That would be me.”

I stayed where I was. Surprised, a little confused, maybe intimidated as well.

“No need to be nervous,” she said soothingly. “You are our honored guest. There are resistance soldiers nearby-to protect us if need be. To protect me, certainly. Please, come inside the car. Shut the door.”

I exhaled, stood up, and walked to the limo. What the hell-if I was heading into a fatal trap, at least it was an extremely attractive one. A honey trap. Wasn’t that what they used to be called?

The door slid closed behind me, and then the car’s automatic pilot started us moving through the countryside, accelerating to a rapid but smooth speed.

“Beautiful night for a ride,” I said.

“It is, isn’t it? Champagne?” Chantal Dugare replied, waving toward a silver ice bucket on a stand.

“Not just now, thanks. Do you always bathe in your car?” I asked next, sitting warily on a velvet couch beside the sloshing tub.

“Quite often, yes, I do. It relaxes me, helps me think through difficult problems. And I’m very busy, so it saves time.”

“It doesn’t bother you to have an audience?”

“Where’s the harm in it? It’s an old custom of the French aristocracy actually. Louis the Fourteenth?” Then, with a little laugh, she added, “Besides, I wanted you to know-I’m not hiding anything.”

If Chantal Dugare was, it was very well hidden. The froth of the spa water blurred her body, but I could see its outlines. Very nice, those outlines of hers.

“But something puzzles me,” she said. “I expected your partner to be with you. Lucy?”

“She’s not exactly my partner,” I said, hedging. And she’s not exactly my sister, either.

“But you’ve been with her lately, non? When did you two part company?”

“Actually, she bailed out of the plane just before I got here. I have no idea why. I have no idea where she is now. I do know this: she has a mind of her own.”

Chantal nodded. “How strange.” Then she eased forward in the tub, still submerged to the rounded tops of her breasts. She crossed her forearms on the rim closest to me, resting her chin on her slender wrists.

“Tell me,” she said, her big, brown eyes fixed on mine. “Do you trust Lucy?”

Was this a trap-or just French seduction? If I admitted doubts about Lucy, I was betraying her. If I lied to cover for her, I was betraying the human cause. Either answer and my loyalty could be suspect.

“I’d be crazy to trust anybody at this point,” I said. “Including myself.”

She sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. “You talk like a schoolboy who thinks he’s quite smart. How very American of you.”

“I think of myself as a hybrid-don’t you think that’s right?”

She sighed again. “I think-you are quite handsome, Hays. I wish we had a little more time to be together.”

“I see, and was all this a test?” I asked.

“A test? Well, if it was, you failed, but with flying colors. I wasn’t expecting a gentleman.”

“Then we’re even. I wasn’t expecting a very beautiful woman in a bathtub.”

I felt the limo slowing, and a chime rang softly. The road had narrowed to a winding one-lane path. Ahead in the distance stood a huge, old, stone chateau with warmly lit windows, surrounded by well-tended vineyards-acres and acres.

“We arrive at our destination,” she said. “I must ask you to look aside while I dress. But first, would you be a gentleman and kindly dry my back?”

She tossed me a big, fluffy towel, then rose up out of the tub, turning away demurely.

I couldn’t really claim to be a gentleman, but I didn’t mind pretending. And I was definitely right about one thing-the eminence grise was very beautiful, from top to bottom.

“You are peeking, non?”

“I am peeking, oui.”

“Then you pass the test, Hays. You are human. Very much so.”

Chapter 74

As the very clever and alluring Chantal Dugare and I walked into the imposing dining hall of the chateau, she clapped her hands sharply to quiet the guests-about two hundred of them, from what I could see, representing many nationalities, standing in groups and talking excitedly. Waiters bustled around with trays, serving food and fine wines. It looked like a classy, but otherwise quite ordinary, party.

Except that these were reputedly the most important leaders in the free world-gathered to try to keep humankind from being destroyed by a powerful race that despised them.

“Attention, s’il vous plait,” Chantal called out in her husky and cultured voice. “I bring you Monsieur Hays Baker. We are honored that you are here.”

Before she could continue, a stern-looking military man strode forward. He saluted me, then leaned in close to Chantal Dugare and spoke rapidly. Her intelligent eyes widened with concern as she listened. Now what the hell is happening?

“We have just received distressing news that your former boss, Jax Moore, is in Europe right now,” she translated. “This is very dangerous for us. That man is the devil himself! He is a war criminal. A beast among