Marcus wrapped his right arm around Alicia’s shoulders. She adjusted her body to meet his, the warmth immediate. He could smell the scent of lilac soap on her neck, the heat from her back warm against him. Then there was the first soft sob, the deep inhalation and erratic shudder of muscles as she tried to hide her crying.
“I rarely cry. Believe me. I miss my dad so much…and I’m so afraid for Brandi. I don’t want her to die in that hellhole, Paul.”
Marcus held her closer and said nothing. She gently sobbed, her body radiating heat, her fists clutching the sheets. Within a few minutes her breathing became regular, her trembling gone. She turned to face Marcus. “I’m sorry. You learned your grandmother had a stroke, and I’m the one crying.”
“It’s okay.”
She reached out and touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers, tracing the structure of his face. “Paul, all of these revelations you’ve uncovered…the same group that killed Patton probably killed Kennedy Junior, maybe his father. Do they really have roots going back to the Nazis? Is Jonathon Carlson part of it? What else have they done? Who else have they killed? What do you know from Newton and those Bible codes? What have you found that you aren’t telling me?”
“I’m still trying to understand them. I think finding the Spear of Destiny will be key. Maybe I’ll never understand this stuff. Maybe Newton never did.”
“But you know something. I can feel it somehow. You knew the prime minister was going to be assassinated. You’ve uncovered this connection with the Circle of 13 back to 1933. You peeled back the information from the Nuremberg trials to David Marcus and Philippe Fournier. Isaac Newton fought William Chaloner three centuries ago. Now we have a great, great, great grandson, Jonathon Carlson, connected by his grandfather to the atrocities of World War II; and Carlson’s company is one of America’s biggest defense contractors today. Where is it all heading?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that more than six million people died as slaves and prisoners under the Nazi Germany regime. What if some American companies and the people who ran them were complicit in that? They may not have turned on the gas in those death chambers, but they financed the people who did. After the horror of it all, what if they helped them escape and with the money they looted from the afflicted people and nations?”
Alicia used two fingers to gently press against Marcus’s lips. She touched her fingers to her lips. The flicker of bluish light from the silent television screen danced in her eyes. She inched her body closer to Marcus, reached for his hand and leaned in to kiss him. Her lips were soft, searching. Marcus could feel the pulse rise in her hand.
She kissed him again, her lips hot, searching. He returned her kiss, the taste of her mouth, sensual like honey on his tongue. They kissed slowly, probing. Alicia moaned softly. Marcus used his thumb to push a strand of her dark hair away from her eyes. “I’m not sure if this is the right thing at this time…”
Alicia sat up quickly, and walked to the window, her back to Marcus as she stared at the traffic below. She turned to him and said, “You’re right. I don’t want to make love with you just because I’m feeling vulnerable. I want it to be for the right reasons.”
Marcus stood and kissed her softly. “Would you like some water?” he asked.
Alicia sat back on the bed, stacking the pillows behind her. “That’d be good, thanks.”
A few hours later, Marcus sat up in bed. He reached for the lamp in the semi-dark room, the only light in the room coming from a small opening in the curtains. He felt for the switch under the lampshade, his fingers touching something that seemed out of place. Marcus found the lamp chain and pulled it. Light filled the room, waking up Alicia. He leaned down and looked under the lampshade. His eyes narrowed, staring at the object, no larger than a thimble, stuck at the base of the brass socket.
Marcus straightened and held a finger to his lips. Alicia’s eyes opened wide. She got out of bed and stepped up to the lamp table. Marcus pointed to the bug and then took Alicia’s hand. He picked up the TV remote and turned on the volume and then led her toward the bathroom. He whispered in her ear. “I don’t know who planted it or what they’ve heard. When we talk now, speak at a normal level. Keep any sign of stress or awareness of the bug out of your voice.”
“I am so glad we didn’t make love, it—”
“It’s okay. I’m going to check the entire room for additional bugs. We have to get out of here.” Marcus walked back to the lamp and turned off the light. He stepped to the curtains and looked through the slight opening to the street below the hotel. A lone taxi lumbered by, its exhaust puffing smoke on the chilly and damp night. Marcus scanned the line of cars parked across the street. All looked unoccupied. All but one.
He spotted the tiny glow of a cigarette on the driver’s side of a parked Peugeot.
SEVENTY-EIGHT
At 5:00 a.m., Marcus placed a call to the Mayflower Assisted Living center in Virginia, apologizing for calling so late. The night nurse on duty was empathic and said, “Your grandmother had a severe stroke. We did all we could before transporting her to Georgetown University Hospital for further treatment.”
“What’s the prognosis?”
“I’m not a doctor, but her age, it doesn’t look good. I’m so sorry. She is one of the most delightful residents we have, a real pleasure.” Marcus thanked the woman, disconnected, and called the hospital. He was told his grandmother was resting but unresponsive. He was asked if she had a living will. “No,” Marcus answered. “At least she never spoke of one.”
“Do you have power-of-attorney over her affairs?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Marcus, I hope I don’t sound callous when I suggest that we need to have you make arrangements in the event of your grandmother’s death. If you choose to remove her from life support, please transmit a signed authorization form to us. You can download one from our website. I’m sorry you’re faced with this. Please let us know your decision as soon as possible.”
Marcus held the phone in his hand for a moment, not sure what to do. He glanced over at Alicia and used a hand signal to indicate they were leaving the room. They turned up the television volume and quietly left.
Ten minutes later, they were exiting the hotel building from a side entrance. Marcus flagged down a taxi, and the two of them climbed into the back seat. “Bonjour, parlez-vous anglais?” Marcus asked.
The taxi driver looked in his rearview mirror at them. His eyes were puffy, a long, thin face, mid-fifties. “Of course, I drive a taxi. Where can I take you?”
“Chartres. Do you go there?”
“Yes, but not often. It is about a one hour drive.” He pulled away from the curb.
Marcus glanced out the back window. A car was following in the distance. “At the second traffic light take a right.”
“No problem, however, that is not the way to Chartres.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
The driver signaled and turned right entering the intersection. After a block, Marcus looked out the window again. The car made the turn. “I’ll add a two hundred dollar tip if you can lose that car behind us.”
The driver glanced in his rearview mirror. “There are two men in the car.”
“Can you lose them?”
“It is no problem. I was one of the drivers with Team Porsche at Le Mans in 1977. But that was another time. Before two divorces, a broken leg…Mais c’était il ya une éternité — a life time ago, yes. Hold on.” He floored the accelerator, raced down Rue Poliveau, made a sharp left turn and sped down an alley. He cut to the right and went up a second alley, knocking over a garbage can and accelerating. Alicia squeezed Marcus’s arm. After a block, the driver pulled onto Rue de Tolbiac. He sped into the commuter traffic, pulling in and out of the cars and trucks, heading south on A10. “We have lost the car you didn’t care to have following us.”