32

Stone stared at Lance, unbelieving. “Lance, are you saying that Jacques Chance hired Simpson to kill me?”

“After what I’ve told you,” Lance said, “can you come to any other conclusion? He certainly didn’t hire the man to kill his sister, whom he loves deeply and, gossip has it, perhaps too much.”

Holly perked up. “I want to hear about that part, please.”

“Chance has a history, going back to his late teens—around the time that Mirabelle achieved puberty—of an extreme overprotectiveness toward his sister, and of dealing harshly with any male who had even the least of designs on her. A highly qualified psychiatrist I spoke to told me that his behavior is indicative of an obsession with his female sibling, though that doesn’t mean that he ever did anything about it. By the way, Jacques has never married, nor has he ever exhibited an interest in another woman, except for the most immediate sorts of gratification, not all of them affectionate. Since her teens he has lavished affection on Mirabelle, giving her expensive gifts, escorting her to public events, and backing her financially in her business—in short, the sort of attention that most Frenchmen bestow on a mistress, rather less on a wife.”

Dino raised a finger. “So, Jacques wants Stone killed because he sees him as a threat to his relationship with his sister?”

“How beautifully you cut to the chase, Dino,” Lance said, flicking a bread crumb off his cuff with his napkin. “There is another possible motive, though: Jacques Chance is very likely the person who you have just told him is giving information on police operations to a Russian mob. He very probably hired the freelance team from the Berlin station to interrogate a member of that mob, to see if he would be exposed. Once the interrogatee died without having exposed him, Jacques felt more comfortable in his position as a spy. Until Stone came along.”

“Why would he see me as a threat to his position?” Stone asked.

“Because Jacques shares his father’s loathing of American intelligence operatives, and he has grossly overrated your importance in that regard.”

“So you have two motives,” Dino pointed out. “Which do you favor?”

“Both, actually,” Lance said. “They are not mutually exclusive, and taken together, they at least double his resolve to remove Stone from the scene. I expect there may even be a synergistic effect.”

“Sounds as though I should get out of town,” Stone said.

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t help, Stone. My psychiatric colleague believes that Jacques is now so fixated upon your removal from the corporeal plane that he would likely pursue you to the proverbial ends of the earth.”

“Lance,” Stone said, “do you have a resolution to this situation in mind, or should I just offer myself up for sacrifice?”

“Well, the easy way out would be just to make Jacques disappear—ironically the sort of job for which Mr. Simpson would have been so well suited. That sort of action, however, is fraught with peril—legal, political, congressional, et cetera, et cetera. I think a better course might be to simply expose the prefect for what he is: a hater of his father and the authority over him that the old man represents. That, incidentally, is his motive for selling out to the Russians.”

“And how would that be accomplished?” Stone asked.

“I had at first thought that a word in the shell-like ear of a well-placed French journalist might do, but the libel laws in Europe are so much more difficult to deal with than back home, and of course, there would be the fear of personal retaliation from Jacques, who is fully capable of that.”

“So?”

“I think the answer might lie with the peculiar gifts of one Howard Axelrod.”

Stone made a groaning noise.

“There, there, Stone,” Lance said, reaching over and patting his hand, “I know your experience with Mr. Axelrod—that is not his real name, of course—has not been favorable, but you are, unfortunately, living evidence of the power the man wields. A couple of days ago you were a semi-anonymous New York lawyer. Now half the world believes you to be the sire of the child now carried by the putative Next President of the United States. Need I say more?”

“You need not,” Stone admitted.

Holly leaned in. “What is Howard Axelrod’s real name, Lance?”

“Now, now, Holly, if that were revealed, then I would not have the leverage with Mr. Axelrod that I need to ensure his cooperation in this noble effort.”

“You have a point,” Holly admitted. “But later, I’m going to make you tell me.”

“Certainly exposing Howard Axelrod for who he is would be great fun,” Lance said, “but not until I have persuaded him to expose Jacques Chance for who he is. Which brings me to a point: Stone, between the time the first story about Jacques begins to circulate, and the time at which the facts have made him harmless to you, there lies a period of as yet undetermined length when Jacques will be made more dangerous than ever to your continued existence. There will come a moment, though, when it will be propitious for you to flee Paris and Europe. I will get word to you when that moment arrives. In the meantime, however, do not travel except in the coach and six provided for you, and make arrangements for an instantaneous departure when the word comes.”

“You bet your ass,” Stone said with conviction.

“One thing, Lance,” Holly said.

“Yes, Holly?”

“Do not spring Stone from Paris until after the grand opening of l’Arrington.”

“Why not?”

“Because Stone is taking me, and I have spent a month’s salary on a gown for the occasion. If Stone vanishes, then I will get you.”

Lance laughed uproariously. “And that would be a fate worse than Stone’s at the hands of Jacques Chance! All right, Holly, I’ll see that you get to wear your gown.”

33

Stone got into bed, exhausted, longing for sleep.

Holly, on the other hand, was brightly awake, sitting up in bed with a book on her lap. She was not reading it. “Stone!” she exploded.

“Mmmf? What is it?”

“Who do you think Howard Axelrod really is?”

Stone turned over, presenting his back to her. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“Surely you must be curious. He’s supposed to be a well-known journalist.”

“I’m not curious, I’m tired.” Stone pulled the covers half over his head.

“Well, it’s somebody with a bit of wit, anyway. He always makes me laugh. Somehow, I think he’d like me, too.”

“I hope the two of you will be very happy.” Stone turned onto his back. Then he lifted his head. “Wait a minute,” he said, “you’re talking about the son of a bitch who has besmirched my good name and called Kate’s character into question?”

“Your name wasn’t all that good before, not with regard to women, anyway, and Kate’s character is beyond reproach. This will pass in a day or two, wait and see.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“I think Howard Axelrod is in Paris,” Holly said.

That got Stone’s attention. “Why do you think that?”

“Well, Lance is awfully sure of his ability to manipulate Axelrod, and that would be easier to do if they’re both in the same city.”

“Well, if you find out who and where he is, let me know—I’d like to take a swing at the bastard, and no judge would punish me for it.”

“The gathering of top policemen has drawn top journalists from everywhere to Paris. I’ll bet Howard is among them.”

“I haven’t heard anything about that.”

“It was in this morning’s International New York Times.”

“I didn’t see it.”

“Would you really take a swing at him?”

“You bet your sweet ass I would.” Stone was wide awake now.