She went down a long, steep flight of stairs to the basement and set the largest charges under critical walls, to make certain the destruction was complete. By the time she climbed back to the top, she was out of breath and her heart was pounding.

  She could no longer tell herself she was still recovering her strength. There was no doubt about it: any exertion made her short of breath. She couldn’t tell if the breathlessness was getting any worse, but she faced the truth: when she was able she would have to find a good cardiac specialist somewhere and see about getting that pesky valve fixed.

  A lot of what she would do next depended on Rodrigo Nervi. She would have to leave France; there was no question of that. Leave Europe, in fact. Swain hadn’t said anything about afterward, and neither had she. First they would see if there was an afterward. She tried to imagine a future by herself, and couldn’t. Whenever she saw herself now, she was with Swain.

  Where would it be safe for him to go? Not back to South America, and neither of them would be safe going back to the United States. Mexico, perhaps, or Canada. That would get them close to home. Jamaica was a possibility. Swain didn’t like cold weather, so she didn’t think he would choose Canada, though that would have been her first choice. Perhaps they could summer in Canada and spend the winter farther south.

  A harried-looking man wearing a lab coat and carrying a thick notebook went past her with only a nod. Glancing out through a window, she saw that the sun was setting; the short December day was almost over. Their timing was good; at this time of day, everyone was thinking of home.

  The charges had all been placed, with no problems or interference from anyone. It had been so easy it was almost frightening.

  She made her way back to Dr. Giordano’s office. Swain was already there, sitting on the comfortable sofa in the office and drinking a cup of coffee. Dr. Giordano indicated the carafe. “Please, help yourself,” he said. “The coffee will be good for your throat.”

  “Merci,” she said. She had coughed so much she had definitely irritated her throat. The first sip of hot coffee soothed the membranes and she almost sighed with pleasure.

  “You have a definite problem,” Swain was telling the doctor. “We planted the charges without anyone asking us what we were doing, or becoming alarmed. Awareness is your first defense, and your people are so absorbed in their work they are thinking of nothing else.”

  “But scientists are like that,” Dr. Giordano protested, lifting his hands in a very Italian gesture. “What can I do? Tell them not to think about their work?”

  Swain shook his head. “The obvious solution is to have people inside who aren’t scientists—trained security personnel—rather than relying so completely on electronics. You should have both. I’m surprised your security company didn’t suggest that.”

  “But they did. Our work here is so sensitive I elected not to have people in the complex who didn’t understand the safety measures we must take with these viruses.”

  “Then that’s a trade-off you have decided to make. It does leave a big hole in your security, but if you are aware of it—” Swain shrugged, as if to say there was nothing he could do. “I’ll have my recommendations put in a report to you. Implement the ones you want. Now, are you ready to have your people see if they can spot the charges?”

  Dr. Giordano looked at his watch. “Their time is short. I am afraid this must be a brief lesson.”

  “Of course.”

  They went to the intercom system, and Dr. Giordano pressed the switch that opened the loudspeakers. He cleared his throat, then began an explanation of what had been going on that afternoon. Lily imagined that all over the complex workers were looking at each other, then uneasily examining their surroundings.

  Dr. Giordano checked the time again. “You have five minutes in which to see if you can spot any of these mock explosives. Don’t touch them, just call me and report.”

  He clicked off the loudspeaker and asked Swain, “How many of these charges are there?”

  “Fifteen.”

  They waited, watching the time. Four calls came in during the allotted five minutes. Dr. Giordano sighed, looking sad, and announced the results over the loudspeaker. He turned back to Swain with a “what can I do?” expression on his face.

  Lily sat down and rubbed her right leg as if it were aching. She felt an unaccountable sadness, now that the time was here. Considering her earlier rage and hatred, why should she feel sad now? But she did.

  She was so tired of killing. She wondered if there would ever be an end to it. Rodrigo Nervi would search for her until the end of his days; she would have to look at every stranger as a possible threat, never relaxing in public.

  Swain got up. “You didn’t tell them about the bomb threat drill. That’s good, I think. Your people have been remarkably unaware, so let’s see if I can perhaps stir them to a little more action. May I?” He indicated the intercom system, and Dr. Giordano waved a hand in permission, smiling. Swain turned on the loudspeaker again and in his rough French said urgently, “The explosives are real! There has been a mistake! Get out, get out, get out!”

  He turned and began swiftly ushering Dr. Giordano out the door. Behind them, Lily started to retrieve her pistol from her boot, but Swain looked over his shoulder and gave a sharp shake of his head. “Move the van,” he mouthed.

  She couldn’t believe they hadn’t thought of that before. The van was parked too close to the building. If she didn’t move it to a safer distance, they wouldn’t have transportation. Swain couldn’t do it because she had the keys, and he was already busy taking the batteries for the remote control from his pocket, trying to insert them while he was moving at a fast clip.

  People were hurrying out of various rooms and laboratories, confusion on their faces. “What is it?” one woman asked. “This is a joke?”

  “No,” Lily said briefly. “Hurry!”

  As they went out the door, for Dr. Giordano’s benefit she said, “I have to get something from the van,” and ran for the vehicle.

  Evidently taking her action as something they themselves were supposed to do, those lab workers who drove instead of taking the train began running for their own vehicles. The guards at the gate, seeing this unusual activity, stepped out of their little building with their hands on the butts of their weapons, leaving them still holstered but ready to draw on a second’s notice.

  Lily started the van and rapidly backed it out of the parking space. Dr. Giordano gave her a startled look, but Swain said something and distracted him by pointing at what the workers were doing, at the same time walking at a fast clip to a safer distance and urging Dr. Giordano along with him.

  She pulled the van between Swain and the guards, blocking their view but also positioned in such a way that it gave them some protection from the coming blast. As she got out, she heard Swain say, “Is that everyone, do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” Dr. Giordano replied. “Not many were working today, but as to how many—?” He shrugged.

  “You should always know, otherwise how can you get a head count?” Swain asked reasonably, and, to Lily’s surprise, turned and handed the remote control to her.

  “You do the honors,” he said.

  She had watched him test the device, and he’d explained to her how it worked, but why was he deviating from the plan? She didn’t have time to ask, because Dr. Giordano was already looking puzzled. Before he could ask questions or become alarmed, she activated the device. A little green light glowed, showing it was on, and she pressed the button that sent the radio signal to the detonators.

  There was a sort of deep, muffled whoomph; then all hell broke loose.

  Parts of the complex blew up and out, the percussion of the blast hitting them like a blow. Black smoke and fire billowed, and a dark cloud of debris arced overhead. People screamed, ducking and protecting themselves as best they could. Flying glass pierced several people like arrows. One man went down under a chunk of the debris that rained down on them like rocks thrown by a giant.

  Dr. Giordano turned to Swain with an expression of horor on his face. Lily reached down for her weapon, but Swain already had his hand inside his coveralls. He pulled out the big H & K, shoved it directly against Dr. Giordano’s chest, and pulled the trigger twice. Dr. Giordano slumped to the ground, already dead.

  Moving swiftly, Swain pushed Lily toward the van. She climbed into the driver’s seat, but he kept pushing, so she clambered over into the passenger’s seat, and he took the place behind the wheel. The engine was still running. He slammed the door, put the vehicle in gear, and started it rolling forward as one of the guards ran past them. The other was on the phone in their little building, shouting frantically into the receiver. He was still on the phone when they went out the gate.

  Damone was in Rodrigo’s office when the phone rang. Rodrigo answered it, and his olive complexion turned a strange ashen color.

  Damone got to his feet. “What is it?” he asked when Rodrigo hung up.

  Rodrigo’s head was bowed, his shoulders slumped. “The laboratory has been destroyed,” he said hoarsely. “Explosives. Vincenzo is dead.” Slowly he raised his head, horror dawning in his eyes. “He was killed by the security consultants you took into the complex.”

  Damone took several deep breaths. Then, very quietly, he said, “I couldn’t let you release that virus.”

  “ ‘couldn’t’—?” Rodrigo blinked rapidly, trying to make the words mean something else. But they remained the same, and Damone stood there with a very calm expression. “You—you knew what they were going to do?”

  “I paid them to do it.”

  Rodrigo felt as if the world had shifted on its axis, that nothing he had thought was real had any substance. In a blinding moment of clarity, he knew. “You were behind the first explosion. You hired the Joubrans!”

  “Unfortunately, Vincenzo was able to duplicate his work, so I had to take more drastic measures.”

  “Because of you, Papa is dead!” Rodrigo roared, surging to his feet and reaching for the weapon that was always in the desk drawer.

  Damone was faster, his own weapon much closer to hand. He didn’t hesitate. He pulled the trigger three times, putting two holes in Rodrigo’s chest and an insurance shot to the head. His brother sprawled over the desk, then crashed to the floor, overturning the wastebasket.

  Damone let his hand drop to his side, and a tear rolled down his face.

  It had come to this, from events he had set in motion back in August. He sucked in a deep breath and wiped his eyes. The road to hell was truly paved with good intentions. All he had wanted was for that virus to be destroyed. He couldn’t let his father go through with his plans to release it.

  Giselle, his wonderful, brave, fragile Giselle, would never have survived if she had contracted the influenza. She had had a kidney transplant just the year before, and had to take drugs that suppressed her immune system, and even the vaccine could not have saved her. She had been reluctant to accept his proposal because she couldn’t give him children, and she knew how important family was to Italians in general, but he had eventually convinced her. He loved her more than he could express, more than he could explain even to himself. For her, he had taken steps to destroy the virus.

  He had never thought his father would discover who had set the first explosion, and he’d been heartsick when he learned the Joubrans and their daughter had been executed, as a lesson to those who would cross Salvatore Nervi.

  But the Joubrans had had a friend, this Lily Mansfield, and their deaths had sent her on a quest for vengeance that put his papa in the grave.

  She had been the perfect choice to complete the Joubrans’ mission. With George Blanc’s help—Damone had almost panicked when she demanded a meeting, but an urgent call to Blanc had persuaded him to appear in Damone’s place—he had devised a plan to get her and her friend inside the complex.

  He hadn’t been prepared for how he would feel when he actually saw her, the woman who had killed his father. For a moment he had wanted to kill her, punish her for his anguish at what he himself had caused. He was certain that “Charles Fournier” was this woman in disguise, though it was such a good disguise he’d been taken aback and unsure that there wasn’t a third person involved. But he had deliberately forced her to shake hands with him, and the feel of that slender, feminine hand in his had convinced him.

  So. She had accomplished the mission—and forced him to pay her a million American dollars to do it. He hadn’t intended to follow through on the payment, but she had outsmarted him by insisting on payment in advance.

  He wished she had died in the explosion. Perhaps she had; he didn’t know yet if there were any fatalities other than Vincenzo. But if she had escaped alive, he would call a truce. Lily Mansfield was safe from the Nervi organization. She had reacted to an event he had caused, and in the same way that a snowball rolling downhill becomes an avalanche, so things had proceeded to this point.

  He had murdered his brother. His immortal soul was perhaps damned for this, but he thought the lives he had saved by destroying the virus would be weighed in the balance. And he had saved Giselle.

  Damone stepped to the door. The sound of the shots had of course been heard, but no one had entered. He opened the door and saw several nervous men standing just outside, wearing uncertain expressions. He looked over the faces and picked out that of Tadeo, Rodrigo’s man. “Rodrigo is dead,” he said gently. “I have assumed control of all operations. Tadeo, would you please make certain my brother’s body is treated with all due respect? I will take him home, bury him next to Papa.”

  His face pale, Tadeo nodded. He knew the way things worked. He could become Damone’s man, or he could die.

  He chose to live. He murmured some quiet words to the other men, and they went inside the office to take care of Rodrigo’s body.

  Damone went into another room and placed a call. “Monsieur Blanc. It is over. Your service to me has ended.”

  32

  “Why Greece?” Lily asked as she swiftly gathered her things in Swain’s hotel room.

  “Because it’s warm, and because it’s the first flight out that I could get us on. Do you have your passport?”

  “Several.”

  He stopped what he was doing and gave her an oddly tender smile. “The one in your real name. That’s what I booked your ticket under.”

  She winced. “That might cause problems.” She hadn’t forgotten that she had to be on guard against the CIA, too, though so far she seemed to have gone in under the radar on that one. After what had happened today, whether that would remain true was anyone’s guess. “Turn on the television. Let’s see if anything is being reported on the news.”

  Either the explosion was being kept quiet or they had missed the story in the news item rotation, and they didn’t have time to wait through another segment. Rather than call a bellman, Swain carried their luggage down himself, then checked them out of the hotel.

  “We have to go to my apartment,” Lily said when they were in the car. They had ditched the van several blocks away from the hotel, and walked the rest of the way.

  Swain gave her a disbelieving look. “Do you know how long that will take us?”

  “I have to get my pictures of Zia. I don’t know when or if I’ll be able to come back, so I’m not leaving them behind. If I see we’re going to miss our flight, I’ll call and cancel the reservations and book us on the next one.”

  “Maybe we can make it,” he said, a devilish grin on his face, and Lily braced herself for the ride of a lifetime.

  They did make it to her apartment building in one piece, but Lily kept her eyes closed most of the way and didn’t open them no matter how close the screeching brakes and blasting horns were. “I won’t be a minute,” she said when he pulled to a stop.

  “I’m coming up with you.”

  She gave him an incredulous look as he climbed out of the car and locked it. “But you’re blocking the street. What if someone wants to get by?”

  “Then they can damn well wait.”

  He climbed the stairs with her, his left hand on the small of her back and his right hand on his pistol butt. Lily unlocked the door, and Swain went in first as she reached in and flipped on the light switch, sweeping right to left with his pistol until he was certain no one was waiting for them.

  Lily stepped inside and closed the door. “We can leave our weapons here.” She dragged a lockbox out of a cabinet. “This is sublet for a year, and I have eight months left.”

  They both put their weapons in the box, and she locked it, then put it back into the cabinet. They could have put the weapons in their checked luggage, disassembled and in a lockbox, declared them to the airline, and perhaps had no trouble collecting them on the other end, but she doubted things would go that smoothly. It was always easier to acquire weapons once she got to where she was going than to try to take one with her. Besides, they didn’t want the airline personnel paying any particular attention to them.

  She got Zia’s photographs and added them to her tote bag, and they were out the door. As they were going down the stairs, Swain said, grinning, “Was that the bed you bought from a nun?”

  Lily snickered. “No, it came with the apartment.”

  “I didn’t buy the nun story for a minute.”

  Though he drove like a demented bat out of hell, it became obvious they weren’t going to make it to the airport in time to catch the flight. Lily called and canceled their reservations and made new ones for another flight, and after that he actually took his foot off the gas pedal occasionally, so she dared to keep her eyes open.

  “Why did you shoot Dr. Giordano?” she asked, watching the traffic instead of him, because the fact that he’d deviated from the plan bothered her. Had he noticed that moment when she’d become emotional, and been afraid she might botch the shot?