“Thank you, no,” Lance replied. “I’m staying for a little while to have a brandy with the ambassador.”

“Watch yourself,” Stone said.

“I intend to,” Lance said with his little smile.

“What was that brief conversation with Lance about?” Holly asked, when they were safely in the van.

“I’m not sure,” Stone replied, “but Lance is either very innocent or very knowing—I’m not sure which.”

“Probably both,” Holly said.

35

The van hummed along for a while then made a turn, heading for a bridge over the Seine. “Oh, God,” Stone said, rubbing his face vigorously.

“What’s wrong?” Holly asked.

“I’m having a very intense déjà vu,” he said.

“What’s it about?”

“I’m driving along like this, Lance and Rick and me, and as we enter this intersection ahead, we’re broadsided by a concrete-mixer truck. That actually happened last year, and I’m reliving it.”

“Do you survive?” Holly said.

“Of course, I’m here, right?”

“It could never happen twice,” she said.

They stopped for a traffic light. Stone was perspiring and wiping his face with a handkerchief.

“You don’t look well,” Holly said.

“I’ll be all right when we’re across the bridge.”

The light changed, and they entered the intersection with the other traffic and headed for the bridge. Stone quickly looked both ways.

“All clear,” Holly said. “I checked, and we’re safe on the bridge.”

“Thank God,” Stone said. “I thought I was going to throw up.”

The van left the Pont Royal and started across the wide intersection where the Quai Voltaire met the Quai Anatole France. Stone heard an engine revving, and he looked up to see a large mass emblazoned with the name “Aveco” rushing at the van. Then there was an incredibly loud noise and his world turned upside down, then right-side up again, and the van was sliding sideways toward the parapet between the street and the Seine while the vehicle seemed to be peppered with silent fire. The truck was still revving, and the now upright van traveled across the sidewalk, struck the parapet, breaking it, and when it finally came to rest, Stone was staring forward through the windshield into the River Seine, perhaps twenty feet below.

Holly had been thrown onto the van’s floor, and she struggled back to her feet with a Glock in her hand. “So much for déjà vu!” she shouted. “Let’s get out of here!”

“No!” came a shout from the driver. “If you get out we’ll go into the river!”

“Then you get out first!” Holly shouted back. “And be quick about it!”

The two men up front struggled with their doors. “They’re jammed!” one of them yelled.

“Then come back here!” Stone shouted.

The two men climbed uphill into the passenger compartment and Stone began yanking on the sliding door. “Need some help, here!”

One of the men started kicking the door, and it flew open. The four of them spilled out of the van into a sea of gravel, on the opposite side from the well-aimed truck. Three of them had weapons in their hands and were pointing them in all directions. There was the sound of running boots striking the pavement, away from them, then the sound of approaching sirens. All this seemed to Stone to have happened in seconds.

“Let’s get out of here,” the driver said, sticking his submachine gun under his coat. “I don’t want to have to explain this to the police.”

“Which way?” Holly asked.

“Back across the bridge, away from this mess. Don’t run, walk. Try not to attract attention.”

“Maybe you should return the Glock to wherever it came from,” Stone suggested.

Holly shoved it back into her handbag but kept looking around for hostiles. They hurried across the bridge as a group, looking in all directions, while the driver muttered into a handheld radio. He took it away from his lips for a moment. “Check yourselves. Anybody hurt? Any blood? Any broken limbs?”

“All right here,” Holly said, and Stone said the same.

“We’ve got a car five minutes out,” the driver said. “Let’s stand behind that bus shelter.” They crossed the Quai des Tuileries and huddled behind the shelter.

“What’s happening across the river?” Holly asked. “I can’t see a thing.”

“It was a big dump truck loaded with gravel. That was the noise like bullets striking the van—there’s gravel everywhere.”

“What the hell would a dump truck be doing out at this time of night?” Holly asked.

“Looking for us,” Stone said. “Or rather, for me.”

“Did anybody see the driver?”

“I saw a man running,” the driver’s companion said. “Big guy, black or dark clothes, heavy boots.”

“Like the French assault-team cops wear?” Stone asked.

“Exactly like that,” the man said.

They continued to huddle behind the bus shelter, waiting for rescue. Holly had the Glock in her hand again.

36

The car came, and Stone’s guards shoved him and Holly into the rear seat, while they flagged a cab. “We’ll catch up with you,” his driver said, “but in a new vehicle.”

—

HALF AN HOUR LATER, Stone and Holly sat in their suite with brandy glasses in hand, trying to come down. There was a hammering on the door, and when Stone answered it, Rick LaRose walked in and locked the door behind him.

“Everybody okay?” he asked.

“Just as soon as we get the brandy down,” Stone said. “Pour yourself one.”

“I can’t find Lance,” Rick said, “and he’s not answering his phone.”

Stone and Holly exchanged a glance. “Lance just needs a little downtime,” Holly said. “He’ll turn up.”

“I even called the ambassador’s residence,” Rick said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Stone replied.

“One good thing, though—that van took a beating and came out whole, not even a broken window. It’ll see service again.”

“I’m so happy for it,” Stone said.

“Don’t worry, there’s a new one downstairs.”

“Aren’t you running out of them yet?” Holly asked.

“Soon, but not yet. Lance has the authority to requisition replacements.”

“Swell,” Stone said.

“Did anybody see anything?”

“One of the drivers said the truck driver was dressed in black clothes and wearing heavy boots, like those the police assault teams wear.”

“Yeah, Lance told me his theory about Jacques Chance.”

“I don’t think it’s a theory anymore,” Stone said.

Stone took a swig of his brandy and sighed.

“What?” Holly asked.

“I was just thinking how nice home would feel at this point.”

“Not before we’ve neutralized Jacques Chance,” Rick said.

Holly looked up. “Not before I’ve worn my new dress to the l’Arrington grand opening.”

Stone’s phone rang. “Yes?”

“Are you children well?” Lance asked.

“We’re still breathing, and nothing is broken.”

“Quite a lot like last year’s incident, don’t you think?”

“Much too much like it.”

“The van justified its existence, I’m told.”

“It did indeed. How was the rest of your evening, Lance?”

“Stimulating,” Lance replied. “And we’ll say no more about it.”

“As you wish.”

“Rick will be there soon with a new one.”

“He’s already here.”

“I’ve briefed him on the situation with Jacques Chance.”

“We’ve been discussing it.”

“Quite soon, now, M’sieur Chance will have his hands full with new problems, and he will be unlikely to be further concerned with you.”

“That would be a welcome relief,” Stone said.

“And you may get some good news from home. Good night. Read the papers tomorrow morning.”

“After I’ve slept for twelve hours,” Stone said, but Lance was already gone. He hung up. “Well, Rick, Lance seems as pleased as punch about how things have gone.”

“Lance is a little twisted that way,” Rick replied. “I’ll say good night. It’s unlikely that you two will be assaulted again before morning.”