The words took a second to sink in, but when they did, Skye said, 'Your brother?'
'That's right. Jules was a year younger than me.'
Skye tried to do the calculation, but her thoughts were whirling around in her head. 'That would make you '
'Never ask a lady her age,' Madame Fauchard said, with a languid smile. 'But I'll save you the trouble. I'm past the century mark.'
Skye shook her head in disbelief. 'I don't believe it.'
'I'm hurt by your skepticism,' Madame Fauchard said, but her expression belied her statement. 'Would you like to hear the details?'
Skye was torn between her scientific curiosity and her revulsion.
'I saw what happened to Cavendish because he knew too much of your business.'
'Lord Cavendish was a bore as well as a blabbermouth. But you flatter yourself, my dear. When you're as old as I am, you learn to keep things in perspective. You're no good to me dead. Live bait is always more effective.'
'Bait. For what?'
'Not what. Whom. Kurt Austin, of course.'
SHORTLY AFTER FIVE O'CLOCK, the workers at the Fauchard vineyards ended the day that had started with the rising sun. As the men headed back to their crude do/mitories, a fleet of dump trucks laden with newly picked grapes rolled along the dirt roads that ran through the rolling hills and converged on the gate in the electrified fence. A bored guard waved the line through the gate and the trucks headed to a shed where the grapes would be offloaded for crushing, fermentation and bottling.
As the last truck slowed to a halt near the shed, two figures jumped off and darted into the woods. Satisfied that they had not been seen, Austin and Zavala brushed the dirt off their clothes and tried to wipe the grape juice off their faces and hands, but it only made the stain worse.
Zavala spit out a mouthful of damp earth. 'That's the last time I let Trout talk me into one of his crazy schemes. We look like a purple version of the Blue Man Group!'
Austin was picking twigs out of his hair. 'You must admit it was
a stroke of genius. Who'd expect anyone to disguise themselves as a bunch of grapes?'
Trout's plan was deceptively simple. He and Gamay had taken another tour of the vineyards. This time Austin and Zavala were hunkered down in the backseat. The Trouts stopped and got out to say hello to Marchand, the foreman they had met on their first visit to the Fauchard vineyards. As they chatted, the dump truck pulled up in front of the car. Austin and Zavala waited until the truck was loaded, then they slipped out of the car, climbed onto the back of the moving vehicle and burrowed into the grapes.
The dark woods were like something out of a Tolkien novel. Austin carried a device Gandalf the wizard would have envied. The miniaturized Global Positioning System could put them within yards of the chateau. Using a compass in the initial stages of their journey, they struck out through the woods in the general direction of the chateau.
The woods were thick with clawing brambles and foot-catching underbrush, as if the Fauchards had somehow extended their malevolence into the flora surrounding their ancestral home. As the sun sank lower in the sky, the woods grew darker. Traveling in the dusky light, the two men stumbled over roots, and needle-sharp thorns caught at their clothes. Eventually, they broke out of the forest onto a dirt path that led to a network of well-used trails. Austin frequently consulted the GPS and it proved its worth when he saw a glow through the trees from the turrets of Chateau Fauchard.
At the edge of the woods, they crouched in the trees and watched a lone guard make his way along the edge of the moat. When the guard rounded the far wall of the chateau, Austin set the timing mode on his watch.
'We're in luck,' Zavala said. 'Only one sentry.'
'I don't like it,' Austin said. 'Nothing in my brief acquaintance
with the Fauchard family leads me to believe that they treat their own security lightly.'
Even more suspicious, the drawbridge was down and the portcullis up. The water in the strange war-the med fountain tinkled musically. The tranquil scene stood in stark contrast to his last visit, when he'd driven the Rolls into the moat under a hail of bullets. It seemed all too inviting.
'You think it's a trap?' Zavala said. 'All that's missing is a big hunk of cheese.' 'What are our options?'
'Limited. We can turn around or keep moving and try to stay one step ahead of the bad guys.'
'I've had my fill of grapes,' Zavala said. 'You didn't say anything about an exit strategy.'
Austin clapped Zavala on the shoulder. 'Here you are, about to take an exciting tour of Chateau Fauchard, and you're already thinking of leaving.' .
'Sorry I'm not as blase as you are. I was hoping for a more dignified exit than driving a Rolls-Royce into a moat.'
Austin cringed at the memory. 'Okay. Here's the plan. We will offer to trade Emil for Skye.'
'Not bad,' Zavala said. 'There's only one little hitch. You flushed Emil down the drain.'
'Madame Fauchard doesn't know that. By the time she finds out, we will be long gone.'
'Shame on you, bluffing an old lady.' Zavala pursed his lips in thought. 'I like it, but what if she doesn't bite? Is that when we call in the gendarmes?'
'I wish it were that easy, old pal. Picture this. The cops knock on the chateau door and the Fauchards say, 'Search all you want.' I've been in those catacombs, you could hide an army in that labyrinth. It could take weeks to find Skye.'
'And time isn't on our side.'
A thoughtful look came to Austin's eyes. 'An hour is worth a hundred years,' he murmured, checking his watch.
'Is that from one of your philosophy books?' Zavala said. Austin was a student of philosophy and the bookshelves in his Potomac boat-house were crammed with the works of the great thinkers.
'No,' he replied thoughtfully. 'It's something Dr. MacLean said to me.'
The guard emerged from the other side of the chateau, cutting their discussion short. Austin clicked his watch again. The sentry had taken sixteen minutes to perambulate the chateau.
As soon as the guard started on another round, Austin signaled Zavala. They dashed across the open space and followed the moat to the arched stone bridge, then sprinted across the drawbridge into the courtyard. In their black clothes, they were almost invisible in the shadows along the base of the wall. Lights glowed in the first-floor windows of the chateau, but no guards patrolled the grounds, further raising Austin's suspicions.
He was sure his instincts were on target when he and Zavala came to the gate guarding the staircase to the ramparts. When he and Skye had inspected the gate, it was locked. Now it was wide open, an invitation to climb to the wall and cross over a narrow bridge to the turret. Austin had other plans. He led the way across the cobblestones to the rear of the chateau and descended a short stone staircase to an ironbound wooden door.
Austin tried the handle. The door was locked. He extracted a portable drill and a handsaw from his pack, drilled several holes in the door and sawed out a circular section. He reached in through the hole, raised the bar and opened the door. The putrid mustiness of the catacombs welled through the doorway like the exhalation of a corpse. They switched on their electric torches, stepped inside and closed the door behind them.
They went down several short flights of stairs. Austin paused briefly at the dungeons, where Emil had paid his bloody homage to Edgar Allan Poe. The pendulum hovered over the wooden table, but there was no sign of the unfortunate Englishman, Lord Cavendish.
Austin blundered down a few blind alleys, but his mariner's sense of direction held him in good stead. Before long, they passed through the bone-filled ossuary and followed the route to the armory. Again, a door was unlocked. Austin pushed it open and he and Zavala stepped into the altar area. The armory was in darkness except for a glow that came from the far end of the nave. The flickering yellow light glinted off the highly polished armor and weapons.
Zavala glanced around at the display. 'Cozy. I like the combination of Gothic and heavy metal. Who's their interior decorator?'
'Same guy who worked for the Marquis de Sade.'
They made their way along the long nave past the lethal relics that were the foundation of the Fauchard fortune. The light grew brighter as they came up behind the mountedTcnights. Austin went first, and as he stepped
