“No, but you will. Don’t argue with me, Solange. Take this and get out of the car. I’m going to call Will to come and get you and take you home. But first I want your word that you won’t reveal any of what we’ve shared with you to anyone. I’ve told you about the possibility of informants among the police. Lives are at risk and you have made an oath to save lives. Do I have your promise?”
She looked deeply into his eyes for a long time, then cast a glance into the back seat to make certain René was not awake. “No. For the last time, I will not let you go without me.”
Jack shook his head, willing her to understand. “He’s only one boy, Solange. Think of the people who will not receive your help in the future if you don’t survive this.”
“But I thought you agreed back there that I could come. I trust you to protect me.”
Jack peered out the window into the darkness. “I would die trying, but there are no guarantees that would help. I don’t want to risk you. Get out.”
“Do this and I will go straight to the police. There might be one among them who works for Chari, but if they all know what is happening and go in immediately, they will arrest everyone and this will be over.”
Oh, great. “That can’t happen, Solange. I need to be there for a while first, to see whether he’s already deployed any of the substance. There could be a shootout if the police burst in. If everyone there dies, we’d never know if the stuff is already out there until some terrorist uses it. Or Chari could be notified before the police arrive, move his operation where we couldn’t locate him. Will you give me your word you won’t alert anyone?”
“No,” she replied without hesitation. “You will have to take me with you.” She set the bag on the floorboard. “This is also my fight. My people are at risk if this man tests this here. And even if he does not do so, there will be others to die elsewhere if he succeeds in selling it. You must stop him, and I must help you do it. Let us go now.” She sat back, her arms folded across her chest.
He surrendered. If he left her, she would probably follow, alone or with the local police. Either could be catastrophic. “I want you to vow on whatever you hold sacred that you’ll do exactly what I tell you. Nothing more, nothing less.”
To her credit, she thought about it before answering. “I will do as you say.”
Jack cranked the car and rolled on, leaving the village of Tournade behind. “Be sure, Doctor, because we have less than fifteen kilometers to go. Then you’ll be committed for good.”
“You must trust me.”
“After you have just blackmailed me the way you did?”
“Even so,” she replied.
Solange worried more about Mercier’s survival than about René’s. There was no way for her to know how well equipped he was to handle this intrigue. He must be good at what he did or his government would never have sent him to do this. At least they had chosen one proficient in the language. And as stubborn as any man she’d ever met. She couldn’t deny he knew how to fight. The guard he had overpowered could attest to that.
This man needed her. He had admitted as much. Why had he changed his mind about that? she wondered. Had she seemed too weak and helpless to be of any use? That made her all the more determined to prove him wrong.
She felt terrible that René must soon undergo a shock when he learned about his father’s treachery. Who was to say what sort of father Chari was? If what he had chosen to become involved with was any indication, he could not possess a shred of compassion.
The boy was barely seventeen. He had passed his recent birthday locked away. Had any visitor come to see him? She doubted it, because those with someone on the outside who furnished the inmates with money and things to trade usually fared better than René had done.
France’s prisons were a disgrace. Her brother had died in LaTerre, innocent of embezzlement and awaiting the trial that had never come to pass. Solange’s father had worked hard since then, trying to ameliorate some of the damage done in those hellholes. Solange was helping to carry on that mission.
There were times when they had no patients at Baumettes. Guards would lock everyone down and refuse them treatment. Some days after bandaging knife wounds, treating drug overdoses and the various illnesses caused by overcrowding, malnutrition and nonexistent hygiene, both she and her father despaired of making any difference at all.
Then they had come upon René, a boy so like Gerard had been. Young, weak of body, beautiful in appearance and fair game for the bullies of the world. Perhaps he was not innocent of the robbery they said he committed—she might never know the truth of that—but she did know that he did not deserve to be beaten half to death. She wanted to get him released, make him well again and help him get on with his life. To save one. Just one would make it all worth doing.
Now perhaps she could save not only René, but other people who had no clue yet that they were even in peril. Solange had never seen firsthand results of biological warfare, but she could well imagine how dire they would be. There would be little or maybe nothing she could do after the fact if it occurred, so she simply must prevent it by whatever means she could.
They turned onto a road leading through a stand of poplars and wound their way for several miles to a huge, rambling old manor house. The farmland around it lay fallow for the most part. Someone had planted what appeared to be oats in one of the fields adjacent to the main road.
“Well, here we are,” Mercier said as they stopped at the front entrance. Two dark-skinned men approached, armed with automatic weapons and menacing looks. The larger of the two ordered them out of the car.
Solange obeyed immediately. Jack did so a bit more languidly, gesturing as he explained in perfect colloquial French that they had brought Mr. Chari’s son to him, along with the doctor who had saved his life. He told them that the boy was unconscious and needed a litter.
Solange had thought it best that René not be conscious when they arrived. As in the prison, the worse his health seemed, the better it would be for him. At least for now.
One of the men disappeared inside and returned shortly with a distinguished-looking man of around forty. He was dark-haired, black-eyed and his skin color—as did his given name—suggested Mediterranean blood. He was slight of build, though possessing a sort of wiry strength his son had not yet acquired. Solange knew simply by the resemblance in their features that this had to be Ahmed Chari.
The guard with him aimed his weapon directly at Solange’s head as Chari approached the car’s back door and opened it. His sharp, assessing gaze traveled over his son. Then he asked her, “What has happened to him?”
“He was beaten by the guards at Baumettes Prison. For insolence, so they said when I arrived to treat him. They realized he was of some importance when advised of his identity, and so they brought him to the infirmary to be treated.” Solange knew the majority of the prisoners in French jails were Islamic. The places were terrorist breeding grounds these days. Perhaps Chari had some influence in those circles. His current activities certainly made that probable. Why had he not used it?
“Will he recover?” Chari asked, hiding his concern as a father rather well, if indeed he had any. Though he was quite handsome, she had never seen a colder countenance on anyone. Merely looking at him gave her a chill.
“Yes, I believe he will eventually,” she answered truthfully, “but
