Unintended Consequences

secure there for as long as you like.”
    “That is very kind of you, Stone.”
    “And there is room for others, if you wish to take some staff along.”
    “I usually travel alone,” Marcel said.
    “And I’ll arrange for you to meet with Mike Freeman. I’m sure Bill Eggers would like to see you, as well. He should be back shortly from his hunting trip in Maine.”
    “Then I will collect you at your hotel at ten tomorrow morning,” Marcel said, “and we will drive to Le Bourget together. The storm will pass through tonight, and although the airline schedules may still be affected, we need not let that concern us.”
    •   •   •
    W hen Stone left an hour and a half later his suit had been pressed and his shoes dried, and so were his trench coat and his hat. He entered Marcel’s car under shelter and drove to his hotel. As he returned the doorman’s umbrella, the man seemed surprised to see him perfectly warm and dry.
    As he walked into the hotel something caused him to turn and look back into the street. A black Mercedes sat, idling, and Stone had the odd feeling that it had followed him from Marcel’s building. He went upstairs to phone New York and make arrangements to receive Marcel duBois, thinking he was glad to be leaving Paris.

31
    S tone stood in front of the Plaza Athénée, having paid his bill with Marcel’s expense money, and watched the Maybach glide to a stop a yard away. He made sure that all his bags and his briefcase were put into the trunk and had a look at the street before sliding into the rear seat next to Marcel. He saw two vehicles, a black Mercedes sedan and a gray van, double-parked across the street. The van had steel beams where the bumpers usually were.
    “Good morning, Stone.”
    “Good morning, Marcel. I see from the weather report that we have a good day for flying.”
    “Yes, the storm has moved off to the south. I believe that Lyon is feeling it by now.” The car pulled away.
    “I spoke to Rick LaRose last night,” Stone said, “and told him of our conversation regarding communication with our friend in Virginia.”
    “Ah, good. I suppose when I return I will have to communicate through Mr. LaRose.”
    “You may if you wish, but if you phone me on the cell phone that Lance gave you, our conversations will be scrambled, since I have the same phone.” He wrote the number on his business card and gave Marcel his personal card, as well. “This is my address and various phone numbers in New York. Please feel free to give them to anyone who wishes to contact you while you’re with us.”
    “Thank you,” Marcel said, and tucked the card into his wallet.
    They drove north along the Seine for a time, chatting idly. Marcel was making a phone call when Stone looked across the car and out the window to see a black Mercedes drawing up beside them and a rear window coming down. The morning sun glinted on the barrel of an automatic weapon as it was pointed through the open window by a man wearing a dark balaclava helmet, obscuring his face. Stone was about to pull Marcel onto the floor of the car when there was a loud crash, and the Mercedes rocketed forward.
    The gray van was behind the black car, and it accelerated again, slamming its bolted-on steel beam against the rear bumper of the Mercedes. Marcel’s driver had slowed to remain clear of the two vehicles, and they watched as the van continued to assault the car. Then the van moved alongside the Mercedes and slammed, broadside, into the vehicle. The car hit the low railing and tipped over the edge, falling off the elevated roadway.
    Stone looked over his shoulder in time to see the Mercedes ricochet off the lower level, ten feet down, then topple into the Seine. “Let’s get out of here,” he said to the driver.
    Marcel sat rigid in his seat, his face drained of color, staring straight ahead. He said something in French that sounded to Stone like an oath, then he switched to English. “What happened?” he asked.
    “Someone was about to fire a weapon at us from the black Mercedes, but a van struck it from behind repeatedly and dumped it into the Seine.” He patted Marcel’s arm. “It’s all right now. Rick LaRose is driving the van, and he is behind us.”
    “How did someone know where to find us?” Marcel asked.
    “The Mercedes followed me from your building to the hotel yesterday afternoon. Rick and I had a conversation about it last evening, and he told me he would take precautions for our