Chapter 13: Paris

“Madam Rappeneau, thank you for seeing us on such short notice. I would never dream of bothering you at home, except, it seems there is some rather ugly business going on, and we have information we think might be helpful to you.”

“And you are?” Cynthiana asked.

“Please forgive me. I am Ambassador Boris Chortkoff, and this is my Chief of Embassy Security, Meryl Rhyner.

“I am Mrs. Rappeneau, and this is my Chief of Security, Reginald De’bushe and my guest, Mr. Alex Masters. What brings you gentlemen out on such a cold Thursday evening?” she asked politely.

“As I said, I appreciate you seeing us without an appointment, but felt the situation dictated such a meeting. I’d like Mr. Rhyner to explain, Ja?”

“Please do,” Cynthiana said.

“Thank you,” Mr. Rhyner said. “Last night, three men arrived at the Zurich Airport on a Turkish Airlines flight that originated in Islamabad. While unknown to us at the time, we later discovered they are on Interpol’s Watch List. I notified Interpol and then told our people to be on watch for them as well.

“Earlier this afternoon, my people were downtown and spotted Mr. Masters and the two ladies arrive at the car park near the old church. While two of my people followed Mr. Masters, the other two continued to observe the area around the church. Shortly after Mr. Masters and company left the car park, the three men on the watch list appeared and began doing something to Mr. Masters’ car. My people immediately notified me and I decided that Mr. Masters should be warned, so I had Savon intercept Mr. Masters and warn him.”

“We have heard many things about Mr. Masters and his rumored clash with the US Navy and have no desire to incur his wrath against the Motherland,” explained the Ambassador. “So I came here personally to assure you that the Russian government has no desire to interfere in Mr. Masters life or in the Rappeneau Foundation’s business.”

“Do you know what happened to the three men?” Reggie asked.

“They were last seen at the train station in Zurich about an hour ago, getting on the train to Paris.”

“Thank you both for your thoughtfulness,” Cynthiana said. “Is there anything else?”

“Well...” Ambassador stammered, his face turning red. “I saw the replay on the Golf Channel of Alex playing in the golf tournament and I wanted to meet him in person and invite him to play a round of golf with me at my country club one day soon.”

“Why, thank you,” I said in surprise. “I do not know exactly what my schedule is, for Cynthiana has me up to my eyeballs in classes and training, however, I will work something out for one day real soon. May we call you?”

“Of course,” he said as he offered me his card.

“I look forward to playing with you,” I told him as I shook his hand.

“Reggie, call Paris and let them know. Everything there goes to code red immediately,” Cynthiana instructed.

“What just happened?” I asked aloud.

“Not now, Alex.”

Then Cynthiana picked up the phone and said, “Isabella get everyone ready, we’re going to Paris. Now.”

Then she made two more quick calls. One about the plane and the other for the car to be brought around. Finally, turning to me, she said, “Roland, Carina, and all of your family are scheduled to arrive in Paris in the morning. We need to get there as soon as we can. Now go pack your bag, and hurry.”

We were airborne in the Foundation’s private jet forty-five minutes later. And while nobody said anything directly, the tension inside the plane was noticeable.

Three hours ago, Isabella, Sofía, and I had avoided being killed by a hidden canister of gas. Fortunately, the Russians stumbled across the plot and warned us. Then later they showed up at the house and told us that the three assassins were heading to Paris, which is exactly where the rest of our families were headed.

“The next train from Zurich is scheduled to arrive in Paris at eleven-forty tonight. We’ll have two details watching for them and Kemp’s group in reserve,” Reggie told Cynthiana.

Isabella and I were seated near the back of the plane trying to stay out of their way. Sofía had gone to the small bedroom to lay down.

“But who sent them?” Isabella asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Can I borrow a phone?” I asked Isabella, ignoring her question. I had a pretty good idea who sent them. The same person who sent the Navy after me.

“Who are you calling?” she asked as she handed me the phone.

“Hopefully, the president,” I replied.

Fishing the card from my wallet, I calculated the difference in time zones and then dialed the number.

“My name is Alex Masters. May I speak with Dr. Griswold?”

After a wait of only a few minutes, she came back. “My husband asked if he could call you back,” she said pleasantly.

“He could, but this may be a matter of life or death. Someone just tried to kill me and I need to ask him a question quickly. I won’t take but a minute of his time,” I pleaded in my teenage voice.

“Just a minute, Alex,” she said and then, instead of putting me on hold, she just laid the phone down. Less than a minute later, a voice I recognized picked up the phone.