Private Monaco

Chapter 81

I started up the gangway toward Kendrick but was surprised by a man who thrust a pistol in my face. It was Michel, the man I’d chased from the Automobile Club. His face was twisted into a vicious snarl.

“Up,” he said. “Slowly.”

He stepped back and allowed me to climb the narrow steps that led to the pilot’s deck. I moved at a deliberate, steady pace.

“Up,” he said, gesturing at another short run of steps that would take me to Kendrick Stamp.

I did as Michel said. As I reached the upper deck, Stamp looked around. He seemed haunted and I could sense the conflict within him. He didn’t want to be there, and his eyes blazed with hatred when Michel climbed the stairs to join us, his gun on me the whole time.

We had a clear line of sight to the Monte Carlo Casino grandstand from up here, and I watched the crowd rise from their seats as a qualifying car sped round the Louis Chiron bend.

Michel approached me, brandishing his gun. “You’ve caused nothing but trouble.”

“You don’t have to do this, Kendrick,” I said to Stamp. My attempted intervention earned me a smack from the gun, which made the world turn white with pain and set my ears ringing.

Once the pain had subsided, I stood tall and glared at Michel.

“Take the shot,” he ordered Stamp. “Or your wife dies.”

He produced a cell phone.

“One call from me and you’ll never see her again,” Michel said. “You want to live with the guilt of knowing you could have saved her?”

Kendrick looked at me and his eyes welled with tears. I could see the turmoil within him. Like me, this man had devoted his life to protecting and serving others. His record in the Marine Corps and FBI suggested someone with a strong sense of right and wrong. Being faced with this choice must have been tearing at his soul.

“Don’t take the shot,” I said. “We can find Angie and get her back.”

Kendrick frowned at my use of his wife’s name, and Michel hit me again. This time he opened up a nasty gash on my forehead and, as blood ran into my right eye, I felt the pull of unconsciousness. I fell to my knees and put out a hand to steady myself. The world swam and the pain was excruciating, but I rode the waves of agony until they settled.

Kendrick Stamp looked down at me. I saw nothing but conflict in his eyes. This was a good man torn between doing what was right and what was necessary.

I locked eyes with him and shook my head slowly. Tears overflowed and wet his cheeks as he turned to face the shore. He wiped his face, before pressing his right eye to the scope.

“You can watch your friend, the Secretary of Defense, die,” Michel said to me. “And then I’ll send you to Hell to join him.”

He pressed the muzzle of the pistol to my temple. He would kill me the moment Kendrick hit the target.