turned back to the Seine.
Yes, a plane, she could see it now. But friend or foe was the question that caused her heart to knock in her ears.
The small seaplane was flying on a slight angle east just above the river. It seemed to be headed directly toward her. It cleared the Pont d’Arcole by maybe six feet and then suddenly dropped. She saw the plane slow, almost to a stall, and then the nose came up a fraction just before the floats touched the water. The pontoons splashed on the glassy water, throwing up a wide spray to either side of the fuselage. Instantly the pilot throttled back and coasted to a stop.
Jet froze. My God, she thought, if someone aboard that plane meant to harm her, there was absolutely nowhere to run, no cover.
The seaplane, sleek and silvery, roared once more and accelerated toward Jet. It made a fast taxi over to the quay, then swung around with the nose pointed west, toward the Pont d’Arcole.
The pilot’s window slid open. Jet’s hand slid inside her bag, her fingers searching for the gun. A familiar face appeared in the open window. Curly black hair. He was smiling and motioning for her to come aboard.
“Come on!” Alex Hawke shouted above the engine’s roar. “Hop on, we’ve got company!”
“What company?” Jet cried, instinctively looking up at the bridge behind her. A black sedan screeched to a stop and all four doors were flung open. She didn’t have to see their faces. She already knew. Te-Wu.
Hawke had climbed down onto the pontoon and had his hand outstretched toward her. The little plane was drifting toward the quay. Only a few feet of water remained.
“Jump!” Hawke said, “Now!”
“Take the dog!” she said reaching the bag across.
She looked over her shoulder just before she jumped for the pontoon. She saw them now, the men on the bridge. There were four of them, all leaning out over the parapet of the Pont Louis Philippe. One of them had his arm extended toward the plane.
Pointing?
No, shooting. Small geysers were erupting near the pontoons.
She scrambled inside. The cockpit was tiny. She threw herself into the righthand seat. Hawke was instantly beside her, shoving the throttles forward with his right hand as he pulled the door shut with his left.
“Nice to see you again!” he said. The roar of the engine was enormous for such a small plane. They were already racing away from the quay. She felt rather than heard small but troubling noises coming from the wing just below. She saw a line of small black holes suddenly appear stiched in the thin aluminum. The seaplane was accelerating rapidly now, zigzagging, as Hawke tried to avoid the weapons fire from the bridge behind them.
“You, too!” she cried, as the plane rapidly gathered speed across the mirrored water. She craned her head to look behind them and saw all four of the men in black with their arms out, firing at the sea-plane. She looked back at her pilot and saw a grim smile.
“Buckle up,” Hawke said. “Not a lot of room to get airborne here. Sorry.”
“Sorry? I’m amazed you’re here—”
“This will be tight—hold on.”
A bridge was coming up fast. The Pont d’Arcole. A black sedan screeched to a stop in the middle of this bridge, too. Men were jumping out and pointing at the oncoming airplane. Crouched inside, she felt as if the tiny aircraft was about to fly apart. The vibration and noise were tremendous, the strain on every seam and bolt horrific. She clenched her jaw to stop her teeth from rattling.
For a second she thought Hawke was going to zoom right under the arch of the bridge. But, with their wingspan and height, going beneath the bridge didn’t seem remotely possible. Or over it, for that matter. Suddenly, the nose came up. She felt the water lose its grip just as the bridge filled her view. She held her breath, afraid to look over at Hawke. A surreal beat of time, and she knew they’d made it. The pontoons couldn’t have missed the car by more than a foot. They screamed over the Pont d’Arcole just low enough to make the men dive for the pavement.
She waved an ironic good-bye to the Te-Wu men as the seaplane suddenly lifted and roared away into the nighttime sky. She looked down at the city while slipping on her headset. Paris looked even blacker from above than it did from the ground.
“What are you doing here?” Jet said, looking at him now. “Shouldn’t you be storming the Bastille?”
“Something like that.”
“You took time out from that to save me?”
“Stokely said you were in trouble. By the look of things, he wasn’t exaggerating.”
“Thank you, Alex. I hardly know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. We’ll catch up later. There’s something on the radio we have to listen to.”
“What is it?”
“I had an idea. If it works, it might save a lot of innocent lives. The president agreed to give it a shot tonight. All the radio and television networks have agreed to the broadcast. We’ll see…”
Hawke reached over and twisted the radio receiver knob.
She heard a burst of static and then the modulated voice of the BBC announcer saying, “And now, from the White House, the president of the United States.”
“Good evening. I speak tonight to America’s oldest ally, the brave men and women of France. Frenchmen shed blood in the cause of our own Revolution. Americans died fighting for French freedom in 1917 and 1944.
“In a garden in Normandy stands an American memorial to peace. On it are a few simple words this American president would like you to hear.
“From the heart of our land
Flows the blood of our youth
Given to you in the name of Freedom.
“Tonight, the lights no longer shine in Paris. Fear roams her streets. But I say France has nothing to fear. Not from America or those who stand with us. Your distress at this hour can be laid at the doorstep of one man. A traitor to the noble ideals of France, a tyrant accused of willful murder, a man who now cowers behind darkened palace windows.
“Make no mistake. I ask no one to take up arms against this evil man. I ask only for a show of hope. A visible sign that the citizens of Paris still cherish the rule of law. Our prayers tonight are that a liberated France soon regains her rightful place among the fraternity of free and lawful nations.
“If you cherish freedom and democracy, show it. The eyes of the world are riveted upon you. I urge you now, every man, woman, and child, to go and make a light to shine in every window. Go out into the streets, climb up to your rooftops, not with guns, but with candles. Set your city aglow with candlelight. Light up the sky with your hope.
“You will see, the whole world will see, that tyrants cannot abide your light of freedom. Tyranny cannot survive the will of a free people seen so clearly set against it.
“So, tonight, I urge everyone, men, women, and children, go now, show the world that Paris is still what it has always been—a shining beacon of democracy and hope—still that beautiful City of Light you call home.
“Thank you. Bon soir et bonne chance.”
A few moments later, Jet reached over and squeezed Hawke’s hand on the throttle.
“Alex, look. Just down there. And over there beyond the river. It’s amazing….”
Hawke rolled his plane left. Below, he saw it beginning. It started with a few scattered pinpoints of light here and there, then small patches of brilliance were shining in the blackness. It began in the center of town and rapidly spread out to the farthest perimeter. Whole streets were lit up one at at a time, becoming grids of light. Soon, a rolling wave of light swept across Montparnasse and the Latin Quarter to the Jardin des Plantes and the Champs de Mars, and swept over the river to the Marais.
What had started with a single lit window spread, as whole sections of the city were illuminated, until the city was a dazzling spectacle.
