There were rumors Diana was pregnant. If only one of these thugs could get a shot of a small bulge in that sleek figure-the baby bump was worth millions.
Two cars were parked out front, a Ritz black Mercedes stretch limousine and Dodi's personal black Range Rover, drivers already behind the wheels. Henri Paul, the Ritz's chief of security, kept emerging from the lobby, shouting to the paparazzi, 'Won't be long now, boys! She'll be out in a minute or two, so, gentlemen, start your shutters!'
Eyes flashing like shining marbles in the flickering blue video light, Smith adjusted his lip mike. He was looking at the pack of snarling motorbikes, photographers clambering onto the pillion seats behind the drivers. On the periphery of the crowd, in the shadow of Napoleon's Column, was a blue-and-white BMW K1300S motorcycle.
It was essential equipment tonight, the most powerful and fastest production bike in the world. 'Omar,' he said into his lip mike and saw the man astride the BMW turn his head instinctively toward the top floor of the hotel.
'Sir?'
'Change of plans.'
'Yes, sir?'
'They're going to use the rear entrance. Rue Cambon.'
'When?'
'Now. Hotel Mercedes, standard. That means non-armor plated, no blackout windows.'
'Perfect. I'm on my way.'
He saw the BMW accelerate away, slowly so as not to attract too much attention, leaving the square.
Smith toggled back to the Imperial Suite. Dodi, now dressed in jeans, a leather shirt that hung outside, and cowboy boots, was waiting for Diana at the bedroom door.
'You look so beautiful tonight. I am so lucky.'
'Don't be ridiculous.' Diana laughed. 'I look beautiful every night. Everyone says so, or hadn't you heard?'
She giggled and took his hand, following him out into the living room beyond with a toss of her short blond hair, leaving her cares behind her in the mirror, determined to have fun.
Smith switched off his video equipment and removed his headset. Standing, he grabbed a black nylon camera bag and slung it over his shoulder. He donned a motorcycle helmet and pulled the goggles down over his eyes. The invisible man once more. Then he headed for the door. He deliberately left it unlocked because his engineer would be here momentarily to remove everything, erasing every trace of his presence.
His room, being one of the least expensive in the hotel, was conveniently located next to the service stairway. It was the work of a moment to descend to the ground floor and exit the hotel at the rear.
DIANA AND DODI LEFT THE IMPERIAL SUITE at 12:14 A.M. They descended the stairs to the back entrance of the Ritz, waiting for the Mercedes just inside a narrow service corridor. Dodi ordered Trevor outside to watch for the hotel limousine and chatted with his acting head of security, Henri Paul, who would be driving them to the apartment.
'Car's here,' Trevor said five minutes later, sticking his head inside the door.
The bodyguard clearly wasn't happy. This bloody backup car, a Mercedes S280, had no bulletproof armor. Worst of all, it did not have darkened windows. On top of that, Dodi's designated driver, the Ritz head of security, Henri Paul, seemed to have spent a little extra time in the bar.
The whole bleeding thing was totally unprofessional. A cock-up of major proportions just waiting to happen, and there was precious little he could do about it. For not the first time, he decided he'd soon tell Mr. Dodi Fayed to kiss his bloody arse good-bye. He'd never been a generous boss, never offered a kind word or a congratulatory smile. And now that she'd come into his life, well-
Dodi placed his hand gently at the small of Diana's back and ushered her outside to the waiting sedan. Henri took the keys from the hotel driver and slid behind the wheel. A few suspicious paparazzi who had sniffed out the ruse now stepped out of the shadows and flashbulbs pierced the darkness. Diana lowered her eyes and shielded her face with her right hand as Trevor quickly ushered his two charges into the backseat, then climbed into the front next to Henri Paul.
Before starting the car, Henri turned and smiled at Dodi. 'Managed to give most of those rotten buggers the slip this time, eh, boss?'
Boss? Dodi simply stared at him, trying to suppress his anger. This was not the way an employee addressed him, not in front of the Princess of Wales, certainly. For the first time, it occurred to him that Henri seemed a bit off. He looked over at Trevor and mimed swigging a bottle, nodding his head toward Henri.
Trevor nodded his head yes, but he certainly didn't seem decisive about it. He was angry, though, angry at everybody. Dodi was breaking all the rules, and his security team was not happy about it. For the first time in weeks, Dodi felt a ripple of apprehension wash over him.
'You're quite sure you're all right to drive, Henri?' he demanded of the driver.
'Certainly, sir. No problem at all. Have you home in five.'
Dodi slumped back in his seat, taking Diana's hand and pulling her toward him. He was surrounded by idiots, but now was not the time to let another staff row spoil what he desperately hoped would be the most important evening of his life.
Trevor immediately got on his radio and gave Kez, in the originally booked hotel Mercedes at the front entrance, the heads-up that they were about to move. Two minutes later, the Mercedes and the Range Rover sped away from the front entrance on the Place Vendome. Dodi's ruse had quickly unraveled. At that point, most of the paparazzi were already en route around back to the Rue Cambon entrance where, at 12:20, Henri Paul left the flashbulbs popping and pulled away from the back entrance, accelerating rapidly up to speed.
'Seat belts, please,' Trevor said over his shoulder. Neither of them paid him any mind. Sod it all, he said to himself, not even bothering to fasten his own. It was only a mile-and-a-half journey. Five minutes, tops.
Protocols had long ago gone out the window, he fumed privately. His professionalism had been compromised through no fault of his own, and he'd bloody well had it with this lot.
Neither Trevor nor anyone else noticed a large, blue-and-white BMW motorcycle following them a few hundred yards back.
Trevor heard Dodi talking to Diana in the dark backseat of the Mercedes. 'Only a few minutes, darling, and we'll be home,' he said, kissing the top of her head.
HENRI PAUL SPED UP THE ONE-WAY Rue Cambon, then swung the big car right onto the Rue de Rivoli, headed for the Place de la Concorde. He continued south along the west side of the square past Cleopatra's Needle, almost all the way to the Seine. Ignoring red lights, he swung the car right onto the dual freeway called the Cours la Reine, on a heading parallel to the Seine. Almost immediately, they entered a series of tunnels, and Henri increased his speed, the needle moving past one hundred on the speedometer.
'Why the hell are you going this way?' Trevor demanded of the driver, annoyed. This route was much longer than the direct route up the Champs-Elysees, and he didn't want his party to spend one second longer in this bleeding car than was absolutely necessary.
'Give the bastards the slip, that's why,' Henri muttered, eyes on the rearview mirror. 'None of them will be expecting us to take this route.'
'Christ,' Trevor said under his breath, thinking, Right, now we've really gone off the bloody charts. And if nobody gives a shit anymore, then neither do I.
He suddenly caught sight of a big motorcycle gaining ground in the rearview mirror. Henri Paul had seen it, too, and he was speeding up. At least the bastard on their tail wouldn't get any good photos, Trevor thought. It was dark inside the tunnels and the unlighted interior of the car would cause exterior reflections on the clear windows, too many to get any kind of a decent shot of the occupants, now giggling over something in the backseat.
The car was plunged into semidarkness as they entered the Pont de l'Alma Tunnel at very high speed.
'Jesus Christ, man! Watch out!' Trevor shouted, grabbing the dashboard with both hands.
Diana clutched the rear of the front seat and lurched forward to see what was happening. Then she screamed.
'My God, we're going to hit him!'
They were coming up far too fast on a white Fiat Uno. And the car was swerving right into their lane. Henri swerved hard left in order to avoid a collision. He managed to miss it, but not completely. They clipped the left side of the Fiat with their right mirror and front door.
'Dodi!' Diana cried, swinging her fist at him. 'Do something!' The huge concrete pillars supporting the tunnel
