The Nostradamus File

CHAPTER EIGHT

They flew into Paris and on to Avignon. Harker had called in a favor so they could carry their pistols. They rented a white Renault and headed for the vacation retreat of Jean-Paul Bertrand.

The first part of the drive passed in silence.

The melody of a folk song was stuck in Nick's head.

"Damn song is driving me crazy," he said.

"What song?"

"The one about Joshua and the battle of Jericho."

She hummed a few bars. "All I can remember is the chorus."

"Yeah. It wouldn't be so bad if I could think of the rest of the words."

"Something about Joshua and the trumpets blowing, I think."

"The Ark was at the battle of Jericho," Nick said. "That's what made me think of the song. I wonder how Joshua knocked down those walls? Jericho was impregnable, the ultimate fortress of its time."

"All that history is lost, except for Bible stories."

Nick scratched his ear. "You think God knocked the walls down to help Joshua out?"

"I believe in God. I don't believe God intervenes like that. I think it's a teaching story based on the actual battle. But those walls were real. I don't think Joshua's army could have smashed through them without something we don't understand."

"Like a secret weapon."

"Yes. The Bible says the priests carried the Ark around the walls blowing horns for six days and on the seventh day the wall came down. Maybe they had something that amplified those horns."

"In the Ark?"

"Sound at the right frequency will shatter stone. In terms of modern technology, that would make sense."

"3000 years ago isn't modern."

"No one will ever know how they did it." Selena had her GPS out. "Take the next right, up ahead."

The road became a narrow lane between low stone walls covered with vines.

"Slow down," she said. "The entrance is coming up on the left."

They turned onto a long, straight drive of crushed rock lined with trees. Stunted oaks and juniper and grass fanned out on both sides. The grass was green and tall, dotted with yellow and blue flowers.

The house was a single story made of stone, washed white in the afternoon sunlight, with a tiled roof and covered porch. It seemed like part of the natural landscape, a house out of another time. Nick could imagine Cezanne or Van Gogh painting in the back yard.

"Nice," he said.

"It was a farmer's cottage in the old days. Jean-Paul renovated it. I've never been here, but he talked about it a lot. He loved it."

"I can see why."

Nick parked. They got out and walked to the porch.

"The door's open," he said.

Both reached for their pistols at the same time. Nick nudged the door with his foot. It swung inward. He couldn't see anyone inside, but he could see the mess.

It only took a minute to clear the house. There was a bathroom, a bedroom and a combined kitchen and living area. A back porch looked out over a garden and a small, natural pool shaded by oaks. No one was there.

Books and papers were scattered about the living area. Drawers had been pulled out and dumped on the floor. There was a broken vase by the door, knocked off a side table.

"Seems like someone is always one step ahead of us," Nick said.

Selena looked out the window. "There's a car coming."

An old Citroen 2CV came up the drive, trailing blue smoke. The wheels crunched on the rock. They watched it from the living room.

"Maybe the bad guys missed something," Nick said.

"I don't think the Mafia would drive around in something like that," she said.

"You're a car snob. Maybe it's all they could find."

The Citroen parked next to their rented Renault. A woman got out of the car. She was dressed in a purple, flowery print dress that bagged loosely around her body. A bandana was wrapped around hennaed hair damaged by too many trips to the beauty parlor. She was around fifty, plump, with swarthy skin. She wore white plastic sandals. She reached inside the car and brought out a basket. Nick could see spray bottles sticking out and a roll of paper towels. He put his pistol away.

"Cleaning lady, looks like." He stepped out on the porch with Selena.

"Bonjour, Madame," Selena said.

"Bonjour." The woman reached inside the basket and took out a Swedish machine pistol and pointed it at them. "Get on your knees," she said in English. "Now."

Selena looked at Nick. "I don't think she's here to clean."

Another car pulled into the drive, this one a black Mercedes. "That the right kind of car?" Nick said to Selena.

"Shut up," the cleaning lady said. "Put your hands up. Get on your knees or I shoot."

They got on their knees, hands in the air. The Mercedes stopped. Two men got out of the car. One was tall and thin, one short and squat. They wore casual clothes that looked expensive. Guns came out, pointed at Nick and Selena.

"They're armed," the woman said. "The man has a shoulder holster."

The tall one spoke. "Take out your weapons and put them on the ground. Be very careful. Do it slowly."

He's American, Nick thought. From somewhere on the East Coast.

"Selena, do as he says. Remember how we did it in Mali."

"Shut up. Take out the guns. Two fingers."

Nick took out his new SIG-Sauer, holding it by the butt between his thumb and finger. He laid it on the porch. Selena did the same.

"Very good. Get up. Keep your hands in the air."

They stood, slowly.

"Kick the guns away."

They kicked them off the porch. The cleaning lady lowered the barrel of her gun and moved behind the others. The two men stepped onto the porch. Short Man had plastic ties in one hand, his pistol in the other.

"Turn around," the tall one said. "Put your hands behind you."

They turned. Short Man stepped close.

Selena moved first. She whirled and knocked the gun from his hand. It went off, sending a flock of birds shrieking into the sky. She slammed the edge of her rigid palm against his neck, harder than she'd meant. Something broke.

Tall Man hadn't expected trouble. He froze for an instant. It was enough.

Nick swept the gun away with a quick crossing motion of his hands and moved in. The pistol fired into the ground. He drove his knuckled fist into Tall Man's throat, a killing blow to the larynx. The cleaning lady brought up her gun. The man clutched at his throat, trying to breathe. His face went purple. Nick pushed him off the porch into the cleaning lady as she fired, using him for a shield. The bullets hit him in the back. The woman fell backward with both men on top of her. Nick reached past the dead man and slammed his fist into her face, brought his hand up and struck down across the bridge of her nose. It shattered. She screamed curses at him, trying to bring her gun to bear, firing into the air. He hit her again, a hammer blow. She fell silent.

On the porch, the second man lay dead. Nick got to his feet.

"Mali?" Selena said.

"Maybe not exactly the same. But you knew what I meant."

In Mali, they'd been attacked on the street. Selena's martial arts had kept them alive.

"Yes. I did."

"Did you mean to kill him?" he asked.

"No. But he asked for it."

She'd changed a lot since Nick had met her. Two years with the Project had stripped away most of her hesitation about hurting people who tried to hurt her. It was a question of survival. You couldn't hesitate. The second man had hesitated, which was why he was dead.

Nick said, "We'd better get out of here."

"Shouldn't we keep searching?"

"If anything was here, they've already got it."

"What about her?"

The cleaning lady was unconscious. Her face was covered in blood.

"She can clean up after herself."

They got in the car and drove away.