Curse of the Pharaoh: A Brock Stone Adventure

Interlude 1

Brock Stone stepped off the train and into the sparkling new Pont Neuf Station in the heart of Paris. Weary from lack of sleep, he let the sea of passengers break around him as he made his slow way out to the street. Traffic was heavy on the Quai de Louvre, the thoroughfare that ran along the Right Bank of the Seine. Horns blared as bicycles and horse-drawn carriages weaved their way through a steady stream of automobiles.

To his right stood the Louvre, the medieval palace that had been converted into a museum in the late 1700s. The sight made his heart sink. Trinity had always wanted to visit Paris, and the Louvre was at the top of her list. He had long dreamed of visiting the city, but not without her.

He crossed the street and headed east to the Pont Neuf, the three-hundred-year-old stone bridge that joined the Left and Right banks of the Seine. He strolled across the old bridge flanked by a group of young ladies carrying parasols, and gentlemen clad in three-piece suits and bowler hats. Stone was similarly dressed, and he felt like a fool. Give him fatigues or dungarees any day.

“Quel est ton nom?” A girl with big blue eyes peered up at him from underneath the wide brim of her picture hat.

“Sorry, I don’t speak French.” That wasn’t true, but Stone was here on business. Making new acquaintances was not part of the mission.

“What is your name?”

“Smith.”

“Is that your first name or your given name?” She batted her lashes at him.

“I’m Brock…” Cripes! He had used his real name. Lying didn’t come easy to him, which made this cloak-and-dagger assignment a challenge. “Brock Smith.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Brock. My name is Marianne, but if you are nice to me, you can call me Manon.”

Stone couldn’t deny her beauty, and there was a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. Give her an independent spirit and a stubborn streak a mile wide and she would be exactly his type.

“Nice to meet you.” He lengthened his stride, but Manon matched his pace with ease.

They walked along in silence as they crossed the western point of Île de la Cité, or City Island. Situated in the middle of the river Seine, the island was home to Notre Dame Cathedral.

“The Romans built a fortress on the island in the fourth century,” Manon said unprompted. “In 508, Clovis, the first King of the Franks, built his palace here.”

Stone nodded. In other circumstances, he would have enjoyed the history lesson.

“Are you impolite or are you merely con comme un balai?”

Stone cocked his head. “Am I stupid as a broomstick?”

Manon giggled. “I thought you did not speak French.”

“I understand it better than I speak it.” Why wouldn’t this woman go away?

“You are a terrible liar, Brock ‘Smith’.”

“The only thing I am is late for a meeting. Good evening.” He tipped his boater and made to walk away but Manon grabbed him by the arm.

“Un moment, s'il vous plaît.” Manon’s sly wink said she knew full well he understood her. “You interest me, Brock. I do not know what your business is in Paris, but I sense you will get yourself into trouble before it is through. If you need help, come to the Boulangerie Dantes. My appartement is above it.”

“Won’t it upset your husband if I show up unannounced?” Stone deadpanned.

“I am my own woman. I understand that is unpopular with American men. It is much the same in France.”

“I like a strong woman.” Stone wanted to kick himself. Why was he engaging with her, much less revealing anything at all about his real self?

Manon flashed a pitying smile and gave him a gentle, condescending pat on the cheek. “I find you charmant in a clumsy way. I think I will see you soon. I have a sense about these things.” She swept away with a confident grace and melted back in with her group.

“Am I really that transparent?” Stone muttered. “If she sees through me, what chance do I have?”