For Cameron the nightmare had returned. Lightning engulfed him once again as the rain and wind pounded against his exhausted body. The dense canopied jungle funneled streams of water onto him; insects fed on exposed flesh. They’d been running from the VC — just the two of them, the only survivors of a bloody ambush that had taken the lives of twenty others — for three days. Cameron and Skergan had survived by hiding under their comrades’ bodies, remaining still for hours, waiting for the VC to move out. They had escaped during the night, under the cover of darkness. For two days they had not seen the enemy; then late on the third day Skergan stepped on a VC mine. His leg was taken off at the knee. Cameron tied it off with a tourniquet and managed to bandage the leg as best he could, and they continued struggling south. But the explosion had given their position away. The VC got closer and closer. Skergan kept slowing them down. With the bottom half of his leg missing, their progress was slow. Despite the tourniquet and makeshift bandage, he continued to lose blood at a staggering rate. It was just a matter of time. They stopped and stared into each other’s eyes.
Go, Cameron… you’ll have a chance… on your own, Skergan told him, but Cameron couldn’t bring himself to leave Skergan to a certain death. The soldier persisted. You must… Cameron. You have… a chance by yourself. I’ll… hide and wait. It made sense. If he could leave him hidden and then run for help, perhaps the two of them could make it. So he did. Cameron left him hiding under a large log, and moved south for a half hour before guilt overwhelmed him. He had left a comrade in arms behind. He had committed the ultimate sin of a warrior.
Cameron turned around and headed back — too late. By the time he got there the VC had already killed Skergan. Cameron found him hanging naked from a tree. He had been emasculated. Later that same day Cameron ran into an American recon platoon and was airlifted to safety. The same day. Oh, Jesus! I could have saved him. We could have made it alive together. The guilt finally consumed him whole when he visited his friend’s family after the war. A young wife and two boys. Memories of Lan-Anh’s death flashed in his mind as he stared at the anguish in their faces. The sadness in their eyes was beyond anything he could bear. Cameron left the house minutes after he’d arrived. He had destroyed them. He was responsible. He had sinned, caused pain. He would carry that burden forever.
With rivulets of sweat rolling down his forehead and neck, Cameron woke up with the worst headache of his life. His eyes scanned the room he was in. It appeared modest but clean. A single light bulb dimly illuminated the wooden walls and ceiling.
He turned his head. A plain table bearing a large white bowl stood beside his small bed. Beside the bowl was a pitcher. Aside from a single chair next to the table, the room was empty. He managed to sit up and looked out the small window over the bed. The waters of the Seine flowed peacefully under a bright, clear sky.
How long have I been here? Hours? Days maybe?
Inexorably, his mind drifted back and relived the encounter at the Botanical Gardens. The shooters had been undoubtedly sent by Athena to prevent him from revealing the plan to destroy the new NASA orbiter. But how did they know?
His case officer was dead, and he was isolated. If his case officer had used proper CIA procedures, then Chief Europe had to be in on it since he was the only other soul that knew about the meeting… unless the call had been intercepted. Cameron knew he could not afford to gamble. Chief Europe was not an option. Who then? Who could he approach with his information? Anyone at the Paris station? How? He hardly knew them. Whom could he trust? And Marie, where was she? She was supposed to have been waiting by the Seine. Did she get captured?
The door screeched open.
“Cameron! Thank god you’re awake!”
Marie ran to him and gave him a hug. He didn’t know how to respond. He hesitated. Part of him wanted to return the hug, but the professional in him pulled him back. As much as his feelings for Marie were growing, he had to remain emotionally detached. He needed his trained, logical mind to help him survive. Feelings and emotions would only cloud his judgment. He had to remain focused.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” He gently pushed her away and saw tears in her eyes.
“Oh, my, oh, God. For a while I thought that you…”
“It was close. Too close. How did I make it here? I remember the waves. The water was cold… then everything faded away.”
She sat next to him. “I thought I heard some shots, but wasn’t sure if it was just the storm. Then I saw you running down the steps. There were two men following you. I saw you dive in the river. You drifted in my direction. I waited until you got close enough and jumped after you. I pulled you to the shore and managed to get some help from a tourist boat captain. He helped me bring you here.”
“Where is here?”
“A small hotel a few blocks away from the Botanical Gardens.”
Cameron looked at his battered body and then back at Marie.
She smiled. “Don’t worry. This place rents rooms by the day or the hour. No one cares what you do up here or what you look like. We’re safe for now.”
“You saved my life,” Cameron said without taking his eyes off her. “Thank you.”
“I’m so glad you’re all right.” She hugged him again.
This time Cameron returned the hug. “So am I.”
“What — what happened? I thought it was supposed to be a simple meeting.”
“I found Potter dead. Someone set us up.”
Marie’s face became serious. “Dead? What do we do now?”
“Where’s my coat?
Marie gave him a puzzled look, got up, and walked to the other side of the room. “Here it is. I almost threw it away. It’s nearly torn apart.”
Cameron snatched it and rubbed his right hand over the side of the coat. The waterproof pouch was still there. He looked into her eyes and smiled.
Higgins read the faxed report from his contact in the French police and smiled. The report detailed in no uncertain terms the French government’s conclusions that Stone had orchestrated the murders of Potter and three French police officers. Stone would be labeled “beyond salvage.” If he was still alive, he was as good as dead. No one would dare touch him without killing him first. No one would listen to the shallow words of a marked man, who would most likely save anything to save his skin.
He got up and headed for Pruett’s office. He had removed the last barrier for the Head of Clandestine Services. With or without motive, his boss would have to give the order. And Higgins would have more than earned what was due him.
George Pruett noticed the same CIA personnel icon turning yellow again. Just as suddenly, NASA’s icon turned red once more. He clicked his way down the CIA personnel icon and found a new entry in his list. There were no additional deaths in the operative world, but somehow Potter’s assassin had been identified. Cameron Stone had been labeled “beyond salvage.”
Shit, George thought. That guy’s as good as dead.
He went back up to the main menu and selected NASA’s icon. Again, he clicked his way down until he reached the list. It had a new entry. His eyes opened wide in surprise when he read the name Cameron Stone. He was suspected of killing, not the three Athena scientists, but three policemen at the scene. The bullets from the three slain bodies matched Stone’s handgun found near Potter’s body.
Wait a second! What’s going on? That’s not the way it happened. George tilted his head. Something didn’t seem right.
He went up the NASA list and started reading the third entry. His recollection was that there had been three Athena scientists dead and seven unidentified men. If that was the case, where did the three policemen that Stone killed come from? Did he kill them afterward?