Tess Gerritsen - In Their Footsteps

“That’s what Nina meant, of course. All that talk about Philippe’s responsibilities. She meant Anthony.” She paused. “Art school must be very expensive.”

“And Philippe must’ve paid a pretty bundle over the years, supporting the boy. Not to mention Nina, whose tastes are extravagant, to say the least. Her widow’s pension couldn’t have been enough to-”

“What is it?” asked Beryl.

“I just had a flash of insight about her husband, Stephen Sutherland. He committed suicide a month after your parents died-jumped off a bridge.”

“Yes, you told me that.”

“All these years, I’ve thought his death was related to the Delphi case. I suspected he was the mole, that he killed himself when he thought he was about to be discovered. But what if his reasons for jumping off that bridge were entirely personal?”

“His marriage.”

“And young Anthony. The boy he discovered wasn’t his son at all.”

“But if Stephen Sutherland wasn’t Delphi…”

“Then we’re back to a person or persons unknown.”

Persons unknown. Meaning someone who could still be alive. And afraid of discovery.

Instinctively she glanced over her shoulder, checking to see if they were being followed. Just behind them was the Peugeot with the two French agents; beyond that she saw only a stream of anonymous headlights. Richard was right, she thought. She should have stayed in the flat. She should have kept her head low, her face out of sight. Anyone could have spotted her this afternoon. Or they could be following her right this moment, could be watching her from somewhere in that sea of headlights.

Suddenly she longed to be back in the flat, safely surrounded by four walls. It began to seem endless, this drive to Passy, a journey through a darkness full of perils.

When at last they pulled up in front of the building, she was so anxious to get inside that she quickly started to climb out of the car. Richard pulled her back in.

“Don’t get out yet,” he said. “Let the men check it first.”

“You don’t really think-”

“It’s a precaution. Standard operating procedure.”

Beryl watched the two French agents climb the steps and unlock the front door. While one man stood watch on the steps, the other vanished inside.

“But how could anyone find out about the flat?” she asked.

“Payoffs. Leaks.”

“You don’t think Claude Daumier-”

“I’m not trying to scare you, Beryl. I just believe in being careful.”

She watched as the lights came on inside the flat. First the living room, then the bedroom. At last, the man on the steps gave them the all-clear signal.

“Okay, it must be clean,” said Richard, climbing out of the car. “Let’s go.”

Beryl stepped out onto the curb. She turned toward the building and took one step up the sidewalk-

– and was slammed backward against the car as an explosion rocked the earth. Shattered glass flew from the building and rained onto the street. Seconds later, the sky lit up with the hellish glow of flames shooting through the broken windows. Beryl sank to the ground, her ears still ringing from the blast. She stared numbly as tongues of flame slashed the darkness.

She couldn’t hear Richard’s shouts, didn’t realize he was crouched right beside her until she felt his hands on her face. “Are you all right?” he cried. “Beryl, look at me!”

Weakly she nodded. Then her gaze traveled to the front walkway, to the body of the French agent lying sprawled near the steps.

“Stay put!” yelled Richard as he pivoted away from her. He dashed over to the fallen man and knelt beside him just long enough to feel for a pulse. At once he was back at Beryl’s side. “Get in the car,” he said.

“But what about the men?”

“That one’s dead. The other one didn’t stand a chance.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Just get in the car!” ordered Richard. He opened the door and practically shoved her inside. Then he scrambled around to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel.

“We can’t just leave them there!” cried Beryl.

“We’ll have to.” He started the engine and sent the car screeching away from the curb.

Beryl watched as a succession of streets blurred past. Richard drove like a madman, but she was too stunned to feel afraid, too bewildered to focus on anything but the river of red taillights stretching ahead of them.

“ Jordan,” she whispered. “What about Jordan?”

“Right now I have to think about you.”

“They found the flat. They can get to him!”

“I’ll take care of it later. First we get you to a safe place.”

“Where?”

He swerved across two lanes and shot onto an off ramp. “I’ll come up with one. Somewhere.”

Somewhere. She stared out at the night glow of Paris. A sprawling city, an ocean of light. A million different places to hide.

To die.

She shivered and shrank deep into the seat. “And then what?” she whispered. “What happens next?”

He looked at her. “We get out of Paris. Out of the country.”

“You mean-go home?”

“No. It won’t be safe in England, either.” He turned his gaze back to the road. The car seemed to leap through the darkness. “We’re going to Greece.”

Daumier answered the phone on the second ring. “All?”

A familiar voice growled at him from the receiver. “What the hell is going on?”

“Richard?” said Daumier. “Where are you?”

“A safe place. You’ll understand if I don’t reveal it to you.”

“And Beryl?”

“She’s unhurt. Though I can’t say the same for your two men. Who knew about the flat, Claude?”

“Only my people.”

“Who else?”

“I told no one else. It should have been a safe enough place.”

“Apparently you were wrong. Someone found out.”

“You were both out of the flat earlier today. One of you could have been followed.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Beryl, then. You should not have allowed her out of the building. She could’ve been spotted at Galerie Annika this afternoon and followed back to the flat.”

“My mistake. You’re right, I shouldn’t have left her alone. I can’t afford to make any more mistakes.”

Daumier sighed. “You and I, Richard, we have known each other too long. This is not the time to stop trusting each other.”

There was a brief silence on the other end. Then Richard said, “I’m sorry, but I have no choice, Claude. We’re going under.”

“Then I will not be able to help you.”

“We’ll go it alone. Without your help.”

“Wait, Richard-”

But the line had already gone dead. Daumier stared at the receiver, then slowly laid it back in the cradle. There was no point in trying to trace the call; Richard would have used a pay phone-and it would be in a different neighborhood from where he’d be staying. The man was once a professional; he knew the tricks of the trade.

Maybe-just maybe-it would keep them both alive.

“Good luck, my friend,” murmured Daumier. “I am afraid you will need it.”

Richard risked one more call from the pay phone, this one to Washington, D.C.

His business partner answered with his usual charmless growl. “Sakaroff here.”

“Niki, it’s me.”

“Richard? How is beautiful Paris? Having a good time?”

“A lousy time. Look, I can’t talk long. I’m in trouble.”

Niki sighed. “Why am I not surprised?”

“It’s the old Delphi case. You remember? Paris, ’73. The NATO mole.”

“Ah, yes.”

“ Delphi ’s come back to life. I need your help to identify him.”

“I was KGB, Richard. Not Stasi.”

“But you had connections to the East Germans.”