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  Too soon the hold echoed with shouts and movements. Reluctantly Jake released her and rose to his feet, pulling Sally along with him. They walked up to where the others gathered at the back of the cockpit. “What’s up?”

  Towers turned from his controls and grinned. “You remember that part I said you didn’t want to know about? Well, it’s done arrived.”

  “Here, sir,” Akers said, thrusting a bulky knapsack toward Jake. “You need to put this on.”

  Jake looked down at the bundle. “What is this?”

  “Showtime, old son,” Towers said gaily.

  “This is a parachute,” Jake said. “What do I need a parachute for?”

  “Makes the drop a lot easier to take,” Towers replied. “Especially the last part.”

  Sally moved up close to him. “You wouldn’t make me go out there by myself, now would you? Not in the dark.”

  He looked down at her. “You knew about this?”

  “Right from the start, sir,” Akers confirmed. “The brass spent a good half hour describing a night drop to her, trying to convince her to give them something they could use to confirm that you were who you said you were. But she wouldn’t budge.” He looked at Sally and shook his head. “Looks like you and Major Servais both got more than your share of luck in the dame category.”

  “It wasn’t luck,” Sally said, her eyes resting on Jake.

  “Anything you say, ma’am.” Akers adjusted his own chute and said, “Better get a move on, sir. We’re at two minutes and counting.”

  A creak and roar and rush of wind announced the winching down of the back ramp. Pierre moved up to Jake and shouted, “Have you ever jumped before?”

  “Not since basic training.”

  “That’s more than I have had. Any advice?”

  “Bend your knees before you hit, and stay out of the trees.”

  “How am I to see trees at night?”

  “That’s the part I never figured out.” Jake turned toward the grinning Towers. “I suppose I should thank you.”

  “Wait until you’re safe and sound and send me a postcard.” Towers stuck out his hand. “Good luck, old son.”

  “You’re a true friend, Frank.”

  “I suppose somebody’s paid me a nicer compliment somewhere along the line, but I don’t remember when.” Towers had a grip as hard as iron. “I’ll be praying for you, Jake.”

  “One minute, sir,” Akers pressed. “Chute up.”

  Jake’s fingers fumbled with unfamiliar straps and catches. He watched Akers tighten Sally’s rig and followed his example. Together with the others he walked back toward the cold clear night that shone through the aft opening and felt his heart rate surge. He found Sally’s hand nestling in his own, glanced at Pierre, found himself trading an idiot’s grin.

  “Hook on, everybody!” Akers called and connected Sally’s clip to the overhead wire. As Jake followed suit, Akers yelled above the roaring slipstream, “Slade goes first, I go last. Five seconds between each person. Ready?”

  Sally reached up and planted a final kiss firmly on Jake’s lips. She shouted something that the wind whipped away. But the look in her eyes was crystal clear.

  “Go! Go!”

  Chapter Twenty

  The instant of free-fall before his chute opened seemed to go on and on forever. Then there was a great whomping tug on his shoulders, and his view of the stars was suddenly cut off by a huge circular envelope that glowed pale and beautiful in the faint illumination. Jake took a look around, spotted two other chutes within range, hoped one of them was Sally, resisted the urge to call to her.

  The ground rushed up impossibly fast, dark and foreboding. Jake found his heart rate surging to an impossibly high pace, his breath coming in explosive little gasps. Shreds of distant training echoed around in his panicking brain. Choose a point, bleed air, stay loose, try to take up a coiled position like a spring ready to bounce.

  Then all thought froze, the ground charged up, his feet struck, and he rolled and rolled and bumped and finally stopped. Jake lay completely wrapped up in the cords and the silk, gasping hard, his heart thundering in his ears. He took stock. Everything hurt. His feet and legs and back and arms and shoulders and head. Everything. But he could feel his toes; he had read somewhere that was a good sign. And his fingers moved. He checked his thighs, found nothing out of the ordinary. And then his breathing eased, and suddenly he found himself laughing.

  “Colonel Burnes, is that you, sir?”

  “That was great,” Jake said. “Just don’t ask me to do it again, okay?”

  “Anything you say, sir. Hang on and let me cut you loose.”

  “Where’s Sally?”

  “Slade’s seeing to her.”

  “And Pierre?”

  “Landed like a pro, sir,” Akers replied, his voice registering both shock and approval. “By the time I got to him he was already stowing his chute.”

  Another set of footsteps approached, and Pierre said, “Is that a shroud for the dearly departed colonel, or is he merely having a rest, I wonder.”

  “Show-off,” Jake muttered.

  “Perhaps you and I could get together again when this is over,” Pierre offered, “and I could give you a few lessons.”

  “Not on your life.” The ropes loosened, and Jake managed to clear the chute from his face. He looked up at a broadly smiling Pierre and asked, “How did you do it?”

  “To be perfectly honest, I have no idea. One minute I was up and flying, the next I was standing in this glorious field under this beautiful sky.”

  “Beginner’s luck,” Akers said, sawing through the final rope. “Okay, sir. You’re clear.”

  Jake kicked his legs free, scrambled to his feet, and looked over to where another chute lay spread out in the moonlight about a hundred feet away. Something about the scene caught in his throat. He raced over.

  Jake fell to his knees beside where Sally sat, with Slade crouching by her legs. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” Sally snapped, but even in the dim light he could see she was in pain.

  “Ankle,” Slade said. “Doesn’t appear too serious, though. Just a twist or maybe a minor sprain.”

  “Maybe we should leave you here with the others, ma’am,” Akers said, coming up alongside.

  “Not a chance,” Sally said. “Jake, make them listen to reason. I didn’t come this far to miss out on the grand finale.”

  Jake looked up at Akers. “What others?”

  Pierre hissed, crouched, and pointed at the trees bordering their field. Jake squinted, saw a series of shadows separate and begin walking toward them. He was reaching to scoop up Sally when Akers stopped him with, “It’s okay, sir. They’re some of ours.” He straightened and whistled softly. Again.

  A slender figure broke away and raced ahead of the others. A familiar voice called out, “Pierre?”

  “Jasmyn!” Pierre leapt to his feet and bolted toward her. They came together and embraced and their two shadows became one.

  “Like I said, sir,” Akers said approvingly. “That’s some dame.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  We did not fight and sacrifice for our freedom to see it taken away from within.”

  The gruff-voiced elder was the only one of the group crammed into the back of the ancient transport van who spoke any English. Yet the intensity with which the others listened to his words left no room for doubt that they all felt the same.

  “We have always known there were those among us who would climb upon the backs of their countrymen, ever hungry for more land, more money, more titles, more power.” The elder passed on the flagon without even seeing what moved through his hands. “The tradition of La Résistance is as old as France herself. We have ever had to fight the forces of greed and tyranny. It is the way.”

  The way. Jake fed hungrily on the fresh-baked bread and crumbly farmer’s cheese and ripe early summer apples, taking great bites from each in turn while he pondered what the old man was sayin
g. The way. He listened and heard not only the words, but the same connecting thread he had found in the desert reaches, a world and more away from this rattling van rumbling through the night toward Paris.

  Men and women would be ever faced with choices. Their values and actions formed both who they were and the world in which they lived. And those who chose the path of honor would ever be challenged by the fierce crosswinds of those who sought to live for self alone.

  Jake suddenly saw that he would be called to stand and defend all he saw as precious—his faith, his land, his way of life. But all he said was, “It is good of you to help us.”

  “It is an honor to serve with Mademoiselle Coltrane and the brother of Patrique Servais. Even here in the north we have heard of their work. Friends of theirs are friends of ours.” Dark eyes glinted beneath brows frosted with the winter winds of age. “And while there is still strength left in this old body, ever will I stand ready to do battle for my beloved country.”

  “Let us hope it does not come to that,” Pierre murmured, his eyes resting upon Jasmyn.

  They were all dressed in worker’s blue denim, the traditional uniform of the countless denizens who labored at menial tasks throughout all France. Sally and Jake sat squeezed together at the back of the jouncing wheezing van, one of many bringing day laborers into early-morning Paris.

  A hiss of warning from the front seat silenced further conversation as they approached the police checkpoint marking the city’s outskirts. A pair of blue-caped men opened the back doors, requested papers, inspected each face in turn. Jake glanced at Sally and saw a face smudged and lined with exhaustion and pain, her hair tucked up into her denim cap. Indeed they all looked exhausted, their features matching those of people bored and sleepy and disgruntled over an uncomfortable daily routine.

  The policemen handed back their papers, slammed the rear doors, and with a belch of smoke the ancient van trundled on toward Paris.

  When the city finally came into view, Pierre wrenched his gaze from Jasmyn’s face to watch the skyline through the smudged back windows. “It seems as though my Paris has returned to an earlier age.”

  “Your Paris?” Jake looked at him. “I thought your family was from Marseille.”

  Pierre cast him a haughty glance. “All Frenchmen may claim Paris as their own. It is part of our birthright.”

  The city did appear to have slipped back into a bygone era. Many of the buses and transports were horse-drawn affairs, rattling along on rickety wooden spindle-wheels and being chased by high-backed jalopies that passed with bleats from side-mounted brass horns and winks from the polished lanterns serving as headlights. There were so many of these dilapidated vehicles that the occasional modern car seemed out of place.

  “Paris belongs not just to the Parisians,” Pierre went on. “Paris belongs to all France. Paris is the crown worn by all Frenchmen. One comes to Paris to escape from the provincial life. One returns to the provinces to escape from Paris.”

  “You realize,” Jake said, exhilarated by the feeling that it was all drawing down to the wire, “you’re making absolutely no sense whatsoever.”

  “That’s because you’re not French,” Pierre said smugly. “There are some things that can be understood only by one of our—”

  “Persuasion?” Jake offered.

  “Sensibilities,” Pierre corrected.

  “You’re saying I don’t belong?”

  “Oh no,” Pierre replied, only half mocking. “The fact that you are in love, my friend, makes you welcome here. For all those who love, Paris is their second home. Even when they are not here, Paris remains their second home.”

  Jake turned his gaze back to the window. The River Seine sparkled and beckoned in the early-morning sunlight. Elms and chestnuts lining the riverbanks spread banners of leafy welcome over their passage. In the distance, the Eiffel Tower rose straight and proud into the glorious blue sky.

  “Paris is an enormous experience,” Pierre said to the window. Jasmyn watched him with a fond smile of approval brightening her tired features. “It is a city to be seen and touched and tasted and breathed. It is a city made for sunlight, for walking, for laughing, for love.”

  “I’m all for that.” Jake looked down at Sally and felt his heart grow wings at the joy of it all. “You doing okay?”

  “You don’t need to keep asking me that every five minutes,” she replied, but she graced him with a from-the-heart look.

  “Heads up, everybody,” warned Akers from his seat at the front. “We’re beginning the final approach.”

  They joined the hodgepodge of bicycles and trucks and horse-drawn wagons and buses and cars jamming into a great circular plaza adorned by a lofty Egyptian monolith. “Place de la Concorde,” Pierre said. “The new American Embassy is just ahead of us, beside the Hotel du Crillon.”

  A hiss from the front seat silenced them as the van rumbled around the square and pulled up in front of great iron gates. A cordon of blue-caped policemen flanked a pair of striped barriers. Together with the others, Jake climbed from the van and handed his papers over for a second inspection. He watched the policeman examine the forged documents with his head down and his heart in his throat. But the policeman was tired and bored and had no interest in harassing the morning cleaning crew, especially when their papers bore the official embassy stamp. He shoved the papers back into Jake’s hands and waved for the barrier to be raised. Jake walked forward, resisting the urge to offer Sally a helping hand. She walked on beside him with a barely discernible limp, her face set in grimly determined lines.

  Once through the first barrier, they came face-to-face with a phalanx of Marines, backed up by a master sergeant with the jaw of an ox and eyes of agate. He cast one lightning glance at Akers and gave the soft order, “Pass ’em all. Now.”

  They were in.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The embassy still bore remnants of elegance from its former existence as a ducal residence. They walked up the cobblestone path, through the great double doors, and were immediately surrounded by shouting, scurrying activity.

  “Colonel Burnes. Here, sir, over this way. You too, Major Servais.”

  Jake struggled against the arms pulling him forward. “But Sally—”

  The young staffer wore a severe dark suit and a white shirt so starched it looked almost blue. “Sir, there’s no time. The minister is due here in less than twenty minutes.”

  Jake wrenched his arm free and halted traffic by simply refusing to budge. “You just hold your horses, mister.”

  “But sir—”

  “Quiet,” Jake snapped. He turned back to the denim-clad group standing in the foyer. He searched out the old man who spoke English and told him, “We could not have done this without you.”

  “Is it true what Mademoiselle Coltrane says?” the elder demanded. “Your evidence will be enough to end this traitor’s quest for power?”

  Pierre stepped forward and promised solemnly, “We are going to bury him. Just as he has tried to do to me, my friends, my fiancee, and my brother. His name will be wiped from the pages of history.”

  “Then it was our duty to help.” The elder straightened as much as his years would allow. He raised his work-hardened hand into a salute. Jake and Pierre came to attention and snapped off a reply. “Go with God, messieurs.”

  Jake turned back to the gaping official and stated flatly, “Miss Anders and Miss Coltrane are to accompany us wherever we are going.”

  The young man sputtered, “But the ambassador explicitly said—”

  “That is an order, mister,” Jake snapped.

  The young man wilted. “Yessir. This way, gentlemen, ladies.”

  They were led down a series of halls, up stairs, down another hall, past doorways and empty offices. Jake supported Sally with one arm around her waist and kept his pace to a comfortable speed.

  Pierre asked, “Is it not a bit early in the day for you to be having official visitors from the president’s cabinet?”


  “It was the only time he had available.” The staffer was gradually recovering his poise. “The ambassador had to personally request this meeting to get him to come at all. We, ah, that is, the ambassador—”

  “I told Clairmont I had news of the greatest importance in regards to two renegade officers,” finished a craggy man of strength and height and distinguished features. He walked forward with arm outstretched. “John Halley, United States Ambassador to France.”

  “Jake Burnes,” he said, releasing Sally in order to accept the firm handshake.

  “A pleasure, Colonel, and I mean that sincerely.” He turned to Sally and said, “Have you hurt yourself, Miss Anders?”

  “It’s nothing,” Sally replied.

  “Ankle,” Lieutenant Akers said from behind them. “Twisted it on landing, sir.”

  “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Shall I help you to a chair?”

  “I can manage, Mister Ambassador. But thank you.”

  “Not at all. Welcome back.” He turned on a courtly smile and finished, “And good work.”

  He turned to Pierre and extended his hand once more. “And you must be Major Servais.”

  “Yes, Mister Ambassador. May I present—”

  “Miss Coltrane needs no introduction.” The dark-suited gentleman possessed a lofty charm. He gave a stiff little bow and said, “It is seldom that my day is graced by two such beautiful and courageous women. Your country owes you a great deal, Miss Coltrane.”

  “Thank you, Mister Ambassador,” Jasmyn said quietly, her regal air only slightly diminished by the denim work suit she was wearing. “But it is these two officers who are the real heroes.”

  A second gray-haired gentleman appeared in the doorway and stated in a clipped British accent, “Yes, well, now that the niceties have been observed, perhaps we can get down to business.”