Sidney Sheldon (23 page)

D
IANE AND KELLY
were at Barajas, the Madrid airport. They had their choice of renting a car from Hertz, Europe Car, Avis, and others, but they chose Alesa, a more obscure rental agency.

“What is the quickest way to get to San Sebastián?” Diane asked.

“It is very simple,
señora
. Take the N-1 to the French border at Hondarribia, then right to San Sebastián. It is just a four- or five-hour drive.”

“Gracias.”

And Kelly and Diane were on their way.

W
HEN THE KIG
private jet arrived in Madrid, one hour later, Harry Flint hurried from one rental car booth to another.

“I was supposed to meet my sister and her girlfriend here—the girlfriend is a stunning African-American—and I missed them. They arrived on the Delta nine-twenty from New York. Did they rent a car here?”

“No, señor….”

“No, señor….”

“No, señor….”

At the Alesa booth, Flint was in luck.

“Oh, yes, señor. I remember them well. They—”

“Do you remember what they rented?”

“It was a Peugeot.”

“What color?”

“Red. It was our only—”

“Do you have the number of the license plate?”

“Of course. Just a moment.”

Flint watched the clerk open a book to look it up.

He gave Flint the number. “I hope you find them.”

“I will.”

Ten minutes later, Flint was flying back to Barcelona. He would rent a car, watch for their red Peugeot, follow them to a place in the road where there was no traffic, run them off the road, and make certain that they were dead.

D
IANE AND KELLY
were only thirty minutes away from San Sebastián, driving along in a comfortable silence. The highway was un-crowded, and they were making good time. The countryside was beautiful. Ripe fields and orchards filled the air with the smells of pomegranate, apricot, and orange trees, and off the road were old houses, with walls covered with jasmine vines. A few minutes out of the little medieval town of Burgos, the scenery began to erupt into the foothills of the Pyrenees.

“We’re almost there,” Diane said. She looked ahead, frowned, and started to slam on the brakes. Two hundred feet in front of them was a burning car with a crowd gathered around it. The highway was blocked off by men in uniform.

Diane was puzzled. “What’s going on?”

“We’re in Basque country,” Kelly said. “It’s a war. The Basques have been fighting the Spanish government for the last fifty years.”

A man in a green uniform with gold and red trim and a black belt, black shoes, and black beret stepped onto the highway in front of the car and held up his hand. He pointed to the side of the road.

Kelly said under her breath, “It’s the ETA. We can’t stop, because God knows how long they’ll keep us here.”

The officer walked to the side of the car and approached them. “I am Captain Iradi. You will please get out of the car.”

Diane looked at him and smiled. “I really would love to help you with your war, but we’re busy fighting our own war.” She slammed her foot down on the accelerator, drove around the burning car, and sped ahead, the car weaving through the screaming crowd.

Kelly’s eyes were closed. “Did we hit anybody yet?”

“We’re fine.”

As Kelly opened her eyes, she looked in the side-view mirror and froze. A black Citroën Berlingo was behind them and she could see the man behind the wheel.

“It’s Godzilla!” Kelly gasped. “He’s following us.”

“
What?
How could he have found us so quickly?” Diane pressed the accelerator all the way to the floor. The Citroën was gaining on them. Diane looked at the double-faced speedometer. One dial read: 175 kilometers an hour. The other dial read: 110 miles an hour.

Nervously, Kelly said, “I’ll bet you’re too fast to drive at the Indianapolis racetrack.”

A mile ahead Diane saw the customs checkpoint between Spain and France.

“Hit me,” Diane said.

Kelly laughed. “I was only kidding, I just—”

“Hit me.” Diane’s voice was urgent.

The Citroën was getting closer.

“What are you—?”

“Do it
now
!”

Reluctantly, Kelly slapped Diane across the face.

“No. Punch me
hard
.”

There were now only two cars between them and the Citroën.

“Hurry,” Diane shouted.

Wincing, Kelly punched Diane on the cheek.

“Harder.”

Kelly hit her again. This time, her diamond wedding ring made a gash in Diane’s cheek, and blood started flowing.

Kelly was looking at Diane, horrified. “I’m so sorry, Diane. I didn’t mean to—”

They had reached the customs checkpoint. Diane braked to a stop.

The border guard approached the car. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

“Good afternoon.” Diane turned her head so that the guard could see the blood running down her cheek.

He looked at it, aghast. “Señora, what happened?”

Diane bit her lip. “It’s my ex-husband. He enjoys hitting me. I got a restraining order against him, but I—I can’t stop him. He keeps following me. He’s back there now. I know there’s no use asking for your help. No one can stop him.”

When the guard turned around to scan the line of approaching cars, his face was grim. “Which car is he in?”

“The black Citroën, two cars back. I think he plans to kill me.”

“He does, does he?” the guard growled. “You ladies go on. You won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Diane looked at him tearfully and said, “Oh, thank you. Thank you.”

A moment later, they had crossed the border and were driving into France.

“Diane—”

“Yes?”

Kelly put her hand on Diane’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry about—” She pointed to Diane’s cheek.

Diane grinned. “It got rid of Godzilla, didn’t it?” She glanced at Kelly. “You’re crying.”

“No, I’m not.” Kelly sniffed. “It’s the damn mascara. What you did was—you’re not just a pretty face, are you?” Kelly asked as she dabbed at Diane’s wound with a tissue.

Diane looked in the rearview mirror and grimaced. “Not anymore, I’m not.”

W
HEN HARRY FLINT
reached the border checkpoint, the patrol guard was waiting. “Step out of the car, please.”

“I haven’t time for that,” Flint said. “I’m in a hurry. I have to—”

“Step out of the car.”

Flint looked at him. “Why? What’s the problem?”

“We have a report that a car with this license number has been smuggling drugs. We’re going to have to take the car apart.”

Flint glared at him. “Are you crazy? I told you, I’m in a hurry. Drugs were never smuggled—?” He stopped and smiled. “I get it.” He reached in his pocket and handed the guard a hundred-dollar bill. “Here you are. Take this and forget about it.”

The border guard called out, “José!”

A uniformed captain approached. The border guard handed him the hundred-dollar bill. “This is an attempted bribe.”

The captain said to Flint, “Remove yourself from the car. You are under arrest for bribery. Pull over to that lot—”

“No. You can’t arrest me now. I’m in the middle of—”

“And resisting arrest.” He turned to the guard. “Call for a backup.”

Flint looked ahead at the highway and took a deep breath. The Peugeot was out of sight.

Flint turned to the captain. “I have to make a phone call.”

A
S DIANE AND
Kelly sped through the French countryside, the flat central plateau of the Castilian
meseta
began to break up into the foothills of the Pyrenees and the Sierra de Urbasa.

Diane spoke. “You said you had a friend in Paris?”

“Yes. Sam Meadows. He worked with Mark. I have a feeling he can help us.” Kelly reached into her purse, took out her new cell phone, and dialed a number in Paris.

An operator said, “KIG.”

“Could I speak to Sam Meadows, please?”

A minute later, Kelly heard his voice.

“Hello.”

“Sam, it’s Kelly. I’m on my way to Paris.”

“My God! I’ve been worried sick about you. Are you all right?”

Kelly hesitated. “I think so.”

“This is a nightmare,” Sam Meadows said. “I still can’t believe it.”

Neither can I,
Kelly thought. “Sam, I have to tell you something. I believe Mark was murdered.”

Sam Meadows’s answer sent a chill through her. “So do I.”

Kelly was finding it difficult to speak. “I have to know what happened. Can you help me?”

“I don’t think it’s something we should discuss on the phone, Kelly.” He was trying to make his voice sound very casual.

“I—I understand.”

“Why don’t we talk about it tonight? We can have dinner at my place.”

“Fine.”

“Seven o’clock?”

“I’ll be there,” Kelly said.

Kelly ended the call. “I’m going to get some answers tonight.”

“While you’re doing that, I’m going to fly to Berlin and talk to people who worked with Franz Verbrugge.”

Kelly was suddenly silent.

Diane glanced at her. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. It’s just that we’re—we’re such a great team. I hate for us to split up. Why don’t we go to Paris together and then—?”

Diane smiled. “We’re not splitting up, Kelly. When you’re through talking to Sam Meadows, you call me. We can meet in Berlin. I should have some information by then. We have our cell phones. We can stay in touch. I’m eager to hear what you’re going to learn tonight.”

T
HEY HAD REACHED
Paris.

Diane glanced in the rearview mirror. “No Citroën. We’ve finally lost him. Where do you want me to take you?”

Kelly looked out the window. They were nearing la Place de la Concorde.

“Diane, why don’t you turn the car in and be on your way? I can get a taxi here.”

“Are you sure, partner?”

“I’m sure, partner.”

“Be careful.”

“You, too.”

T
WO MINUTES LATER
,
Kelly was in a taxi, on the way to her apartment, eagerly looking forward to going home again. In a short while, she would meet Sam Meadows at his apartment for dinner.

When the taxi pulled up in front of Kelly’s apartment building,
she felt a deep sense of relief. She was home. The doorman opened the door.

Kelly looked up and started to say, “I’m back, Martin—” and stopped. The doorman was a complete stranger.

“Good evening, madame.”

“Good evening. Where is Martin?”

“Martin no longer works here. He quit.”

Kelly was taken aback. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Please, madame, allow me to introduce myself. I am Jérôme Malo.”

Kelly nodded.

She walked into the lobby. A tall, thin stranger was standing behind the reception desk, next to Nicole Paradis.

The stranger smiled. “Good evening, Madame Harris. We have been expecting you. I am Alphonse Girouard, the concierge.”

Kelly looked around, puzzled. “Where’s Philippe Cendre?”

“Ah. Philippe and his family moved to somewhere in Spain.” He shrugged. “Some business deal, I believe.”

Kelly felt a growing sudden sense of alarm. “And their daughter?”

“She left with them.”

Did I tell you that my daughter has been accepted at the Sorbonne? It’s a dream come true.

Kelly tried to keep her voice steady. “When did they leave?”

“A few days ago, but please, do not worry, madame. You will be taken good care of. Your apartment is all ready for you.”

Nicole Paradis, sitting at her desk, looked up. “Welcome home.” But her eyes were saying something else.

“Where is Angel?”

“Oh, your little dog? Philippe took her with him.”

Kelly was fighting a wave of panic. She was having trouble breathing.

“Shall we go now, madame? We have a little surprise for you in your apartment.”

I’ll bet you have.
Kelly’s mind was racing. “Yes, just one minute,” Kelly said. “There’s something I forgot to pick up.”

Before Girouard could say anything, Kelly was outside, hurrying down the street.

Jérôme Malo and Alphonse Girouard stood on the sidewalk, looking after her. Caught off guard, it was too late to stop her. They watched her get into a taxi.

My God! What have they done with Philippe and his family, and with Angel?
Kelly wondered.

“Where to, mademoiselle?”

“Just drive!”
Tonight I’m going to find out what’s behind all this,
Kelly thought.

I
N HIS APARTMENT
,
Sam Meadows was finishing a phone conversation. “Yes, I understand how important it is. It will be taken care of…. I’m expecting her in a few minutes for dinner…. Yes…. I’ve already arranged for someone to dispose of her body…. Thank you. That’s very generous of you, Mr. Kingsley.”

As Sam Meadows replaced the receiver, he looked at his watch. His dinner guest was due to arrive any minute.

W
HEN DIANE ARRIVED
in Berlin at the Tempelhof airport, there was a fifteen-minute waiting line for a taxi. Finally, it was Diane’s turn.

The driver smiled.
“Wohin.”

“Do you speak English?”

“Of course, fräulein.”

“Kempinski Hotel, please.”

“Ja wohl.”

T
WENTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER
,
Diane was checking into the hotel.

“I would like to hire a car and driver.”

“Certainly, fräulein.” He looked down. “Your baggage?”

“It’s coming.”

W
HEN THE CAR
arrived, the driver asked, “Where do you wish to go, fräulein?”

She needed time to think. “Just drive around for a while, please.”

“
Gut
. There is much to see in Berlin.”

B
ERLIN WAS A
surprise to Diane. She knew that it had been bombed almost out of existence in World War II, but what she saw now was a bustling city with attractive, modern buildings and a brisk air of success.

The street names seemed so odd to her: Windscheidstrasse, Regensburgerstrasse, Lützowufer…

As they drove, the driver explained the history of the parks and buildings, but Diane was not listening. She had to speak to the people where Frau Verbrugge had worked and find out what they knew. According to the Internet, Franz Verbrugge’s wife had been murdered and Franz had disappeared.

Diane leaned forward and said to the driver, “Do you know where a computer café is?”

“Certainly, fräulein.”

“Would you take me there, please?”

“It is excellent. Very popular. You can get any information you want there.”

I hope so,
Diane thought.

T
HE CYBERLIN CAFÉ
was not as large as its counterpart in Manhattan, but it seemed just as busy.

As Diane walked in the door, a woman came from behind the desk. “We will have a computer available in ten minutes.”

“I want to speak to the manager,” Diane said.

“I am the manager.”

“Oh.”

“And what did you want to see me about?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Sonja Verbrugge.”

The woman shook her head. “Frau Verbrugge is not here.”

“I know,” Diane said. “She’s dead. I’m trying to find out how she died.”

The woman was regarding Diane intently. “It was an accident. When the police confiscated her computer, they found—” A sly expression came over her face. “If you will wait right here, fräulein, I will call someone who can help you. I will return quickly.”

As Diane watched her hurry around the back, she was filled with a sudden sense of unease. When the woman was out of sight, Diane rushed outside and got into the car. There was going to be no help there.
I have to talk to Franz Verbrugge’s secretary
.

At a telephone kiosk, Diane got the number of KIG and dialed.

“KIG Berlin.”

Diane said, “Could I speak to Franz Verbrugge’s secretary, please?”

“Who is calling?”

“This is Susan Stratford.”

“One moment, please.”

In Tanner’s office, the blue light had flashed on. Tanner smiled at his brother. “That’s Diane Stevens calling. Let’s see if we can help her.” He put the call on speakerphone.

The voice of the KIG operator said, “His secretary is not here. Would you like to speak to his assistant?”

“Yes, please.”

“Just a moment.”

A female voice came on. “This is Heidi Fronk. May I help you?”

Diane’s heart began to beat faster. “This is Susan Stratford. I’m a reporter with the
Wall Street Journal.
We’re doing a story on the recent
tragedies that have happened to some employees at KIG. I wonder if I could have an interview with you?”

“I don’t know—”

“Just for some background information.”

Tanner was listening intently.

“What about lunch? Are you free today?”

“I’m sorry, no.”

“Dinner, then.”

There was hesitation in her voice. “Yes, I suppose I could do that.”

“Where would you like to meet?”

“There is a fine restaurant called Rockendorf’s. We could meet there.”

“Thank you.”

“Eight-thirty?”

“Eight-thirty.”

Diane replaced the receiver, smiling.

Tanner turned to Andrew. “I’ve decided to do what I should have done in the first place. I’m calling Greg Holliday to handle the matter. He’s never failed me.” He looked at Andrew. “He has an inflated ego. He charges an arm and a leg, but”—he smiled thinly—“he’ll deliver an arm and a leg.”