Private Monaco

Chapter 82

Secret Service agent Greg Campbell made good on his word and led Justine back to the entrance to the stand.

“She’s good,” he said to the two agents posted by the stairs, and they nodded him and Justine through.

“Thank you for doing this,” she said, as they started up the steps.

“You’d better be on the level,” Greg replied.

“I am,” Justine assured him.

They went up and over the rear of the stand, and when they reached the top of a run of steps on the other side, Justine got a proper view of the Louis Chiron chicane and the port beyond. It was a magnificent spot from which to watch the race, which was also broadcast on two big screens set a short distance away from either side of the stand.

“He’s down at the front,” Greg said. He took hold of Justine’s arm, gently this time. “You’d better not be a nut.”

“I’m not,” she replied, and he released her and followed as she started down the steps.

She saw Eli Carver in the very first row, glancing around excitedly. The next car was approaching the bend and Justine felt the phenomenal vibration of its engine as it neared. There was a roar as the car changed gears, and a magnificent Formula One car entered the Louis Chiron chicane in front of the grandstand. For a moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist as the sound and presence of the supercar cast everything else into shadow and silence. Reality returned only when it growled by, shifting gears as it sped out of the turn.

Justine’s eyes flicked from the fast-disappearing car to Eli Carver, but she caught someone else looking directly at her: Henry Wilson, sitting two seats away from his boss.

“What’s she doing here?” he yelled. “Get her away from the Secretary.”

The sound of the cheering crowd died away and Henry’s voice seemed loud in the lull that followed.

“I said get her out of here!”

Carver turned and was initially puzzled to see Henry shouting at Justine. He looked from one to the other, bemused. “What’s going on?”

“Mr. Secretary, this person is a threat to your—” Henry began, but Justine cut him off.

“Eli,” she said, making a conscious decision to use familiarity to remind him of their friendship, “we have reason to believe there is an imminent threat on your life. Jack is—”

Justine didn’t get the chance to complete her sentence.

There were two loud cracks as a pair of bullets struck the grandstand directly below where Carver was sitting. Justine only recognized them as gunshots because she was expecting violence, but most of the nearby spectators looked around in confusion, and people a few rows away from Carver didn’t even register what had happened because of the general noise and commotion.

Carver’s Secret Service detail knew exactly what had happened. The agent nearest the Defense Secretary leaped to protect him and yelled, “Shots fired! Shots fired!”

Another agent shouted, “We gotta get Apollo to the secondary location.”

Justine felt Greg’s hands on her arms. He steered her toward the guard that had suddenly formed around Carver. She felt herself being swept away, following the phalanx out of the stand through a side exit at the end of the front row.

Events had moved beyond her control, but at least Carver was safe for now. She hoped the same was true of Jack.