The Day After Tomorrow

90

VERA HAD seen everything from the bedroom window. Immediately, she’d reached for the telephone but could get only a dial tone. Nothing she could do would clear the line or ring through to an operator.

Earlier, when François had first brought her there, she’d asked him for a pistol to protect herself in case something went wrong. Nothing could go wrong, he’d told her. The men guarding her were the finest in the French Secret Service. She’d argued that too much had already happened, that whoever these people were, they had a very definitive way of making things go wrong. François’ answer was that that was why she was here, two hundred miles from Paris, sequestered out of harm’s way and guarded by his best and most loyal men. And that had ended the discussion.

And now his best and most loyal men lay sprawled in the driveway and the woman who had killed them was almost in the house.

Avril Rocard reached the edge of the driveway and walked over a small expanse of lawn and stepped onto the front porch. So far the Organization’s intelligence had been valid. Three men had been guarding the house. It was possible, she’d been warned, that a fourth agent might have somehow been missed and could be waiting inside. It was also possible the second agent had broadcast an alert on his radio before she’d killed him. Assuming that was true, it meant the rest, fourth agent or not, had to be done swiftly.

Snapping a fresh clip into the Beretta, she stepped to the side of the front door, turned the knob with her left hand and pushed gently. The oak door swung partway open. Inside, it was silent. The only sound came from behind her, where the songbirds had started vocalizing once more, following their abrupt silence at the first gunfire.

“Vera,” she said sharply. “My name is Avril Rocard. I am a police officer. The telephones are out. françois I Christian sent me to get you. The men protecting you were criminals who had infiltrated the Secret Service.”

Silence.

“Is someone with you, Vera? Is that why you can’t speak out?”

Slowly, Avril pushed the door open enough for her to step inside. To her left was a long bench with a blank wall behind it. In front of her, through the door frame, was the living room. Beyond it, the hallway continued into -shadow and then out of sight.

“Vera?” she said again.

Still there was no answer.

Vera stood alone, just inside the hallway entrance. She’d started to go out the back door, but realized it opened to a wide lawn that ran down to a duck pond. If she Went out there, she’d be nothing but a target.

“Vera.” Avril’s voice came again and she could hear the wide plank floorboards creak beneath her feet.

“Don’t be afraid, Vera. I’m here to help you. If someone has you, don’t move. Don’t struggle. Just stay where you are. I’ll come to you.”

Vera took a deep breath and held it. A small window was to her right and she glanced out, hoping someone would be coming up the driveway. Agents sent to relieve the dead guards, a postman, anything.

“Vera.” Avril’s voice was closer now. She was coming toward her. Vera looked down. She was a doctor, trained to save lives. She had no training in taking them. Still, she wouldn’t die, not here, if she could do anything at all to prevent it. Between her hands was a length of dark blue drapery cord, pulled from the bedroom curtains.

“If you’re alone and hiding, please come out, Vera. françois is waiting for word of your safety.”

Vera cocked an ear. Avril’s voice was retreating. Perhaps she’d gone into the living room. Letting out her breath, she relaxed. As she did, the small window to her right suddenly shattered.

Avril was right there! There was a sharp report, and the wood fragments exploded everywhere. Vera screamed as splinters riddled her neck and face. Then Avril’s hand was inside the window frame, her gun looking for the final shot. Blindly, Vera’s two hands shot forward, encircling Avril’s gun hand with the dark blue cord. At the same time she jerked them tight, and pulled backward with all her strength. Caught off guard, Avril’s head shot face-first through the broken glass. There was a dull thud as the Beretta dropped at Vera’s feet.

Face cut and bleeding from the shattered glass, Avril struggled wildly to pull free. But her struggle only strengthened Vera’s resolve. Tugging backward on the cord, she extended Avril’s arm to its full length. Now, with Avril’s body pressed up against the outside of the house, Vera heaved backward with both hands. There was a pop, and Avril screamed as her shoulder dislocated. Then Vera let go, and slowly Avril slid back out the window and slumped on the ground below, crying in agony.

“Who are you?” Vera said, as she approached from outside. Avril’s Beretta was in her hand and she had it pointed directly at the long-legged figure in the dark skirt slumped on the ground, her dislocated arm twisted awkwardly under her.

“Answer me. Who are you? Who do you work for?”

Avril said nothing. Very carefully Vera moved forward. The woman on the ground was a professional. In the last five minutes she had seen her shoot three men to death and try to kill her.

“Put your good hand out and roll over where I can see both your hands,” she commanded.

Avril didn’t move. Then Vera saw a crimson ooze of blood where her breast and shoulder touched the ground. Reaching out, she kicked at Avril’s foot. Nothing happened.

Trembling, she moved closer, the gun pointed, ready to fire. Bending down carefully, she took hold of Avril’s shoulder and rolled her over on her back. Blood ran down from beneath her chin and onto her blouse. Her left fist was closed. Easing down on one knee, Vera opened it. When she did, she cried out, and moved back. In it was a single-edged razor blade. In the time it had taken Vera to pick up Avril’s gun and come out of the house, Avril Rocard had cut her own throat.