CHAPTER 60
E
arlier, as the assault teams moved through the main level of the chateau, Lynch had been startled in his bedroom by the commotion. He ran to the top of the main staircase in the entrance hall and saw the killing of his guards as they tried to hold their positions in the face of intense gunfire.
He spun on his heels and returned to his bedroom.
Quickly getting dressed he stepped over to a row of built-in bookcases and placed his hand atop a rosette. As he turned it, a section of bookcases slid back into the wall, revealing a secret passage.
Entering the cramped space, Lynch pulled a lever and the bookcase moved back to its original position. He turned on a flashlight and began moving along a narrow, circular staircase.
He bypassed the basement level and entered the cellar where he started down a long passageway, the ceiling and walls of the secret tunnel constructed of stone from a nearby quarry during the seventeenth century.
He moved quickly along the passage beneath the rear lawn, covering a hundred yards in the tomblike shaft.
Then he came to what appeared to be a blank wall.
He pulled on another lever and a door sprung open.
The camouflaged portal blended in with the surrounding vegetation. Outside the door a landing sat atop a narrow set of steps down to the adjacent forest and a footpath along the river’s edge.
When Lynch came out of the murky passage, he paused as his pupils adjusted.
His eyes focused and he was startled.
It was Kate Webb.
She was holding a gun.
He struggled for words.
Then she said, “You rotten bastard.”
“But, how did you …”
He looked back at the passage and wondered how Kate knew about it.
Then the answer came.
“Olga!”
Lynch went silent.
Kate pointed the gun at him.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you.”
He smirked at her.
“I’ll bet it came as a shock when you saw me at the Musée d'Orsay.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Don’t say that, Kate.”
He inched closer, staring at the gun.
“I don’t suppose you’d grant me a reprieve?”
Her eyes narrowed.
“How about a one-way ticket to Hell?”
“Please don’t say that. Put the gun down.”
She shook her head.
No.
“You don’t really want to shoot me.”
Yes, I do.
He inched closer still.
“Stay back!”
Consumed by rage, she squeezed the trigger.
Lynch spun around as the bullet tore flesh near his ribcage.
“You bastard!”
Bleeding from the flesh wound, Lynch suddenly raised his hand and a razor-sharp spur flew past her head. She ducked and pitched to the side.
The spur missed its mark, but in the evasive maneuver she slipped and lost her balance.
She tumbled backward, the gun slipped from her hand and went over the cliff.
Frantically, she grabbed with both hands at a row of stones at the top of the rock face.
She dangled forty feet above the craggy rocks along the river.
Lynch loomed over her and she looked up.
A sadistic grin crossed his face.
He stepped on her hand, increasing the force as her free hand gripped tenuously to the ledge.
Then it slipped.
Her mind raced with hysteria and she saw his eyes glazing over in a madly perverse indulgence.
She could feel her strength draining away.
Then out of nowhere a falcon swooped in behind Lynch.
Kate turned away in horror as the predator sank its razor sharp talons into Thomas Lynch.
The falcon released its hold and Lynch staggered and collapsed to the ground.
He lay on his back, screaming in agonizing pain.
Kate grasped the ledge with both hands and pulled herself up.
Just as she got on firm ground, a pair of hands clamped at her neck.
Lynch gripped her throat like a vice.
She struggled for air.
He rolled on top of her and blood flowed from his head wounds, covering her face and shirt.
Desperate and fighting to avoid passing out, Kate jammed her thumbs into the puncture holes in Lynch’s head, pressing down hard with all her strength and rolling his head to the side.
His body followed as he reeled in pain.
She made a sharp thrust with her leg and broke free.
Choking and gasping she scrambled up to the rear lawn.
In the chateau, James asked where Kate was and when Nicolas told him, he was livid.
“You let her go alone?”
“You know Kate.”
Yes, I do.
James clenched his fists.
“Shit!”
He bolted through a pair of French doors and sprinted across the lawn.
When he saw Kate he was horrified.
Her face and hands were soaked in blood.
She collapsed in his arms and grasped at her throat.
He lifted her shirt and searched for wounds.
“Kate! Are you hurt?”
“He tried to kill me,” she gasped.
“Are you injured? Please tell me.”
“It’s his blood,” she finally said.
James saw no injuries except for the bruising on her neck.
“Thank God you’re alright.”
Suddenly Nicolas and O’Malley came running up.
They heard Lynch’s cries and looked over to see him in the throes of an agonizing death.
Kate put her hands over her ears, trying to block out the tortuous screams.
They could only watch as Lynch continued to suffer.
He stared into Kate’s eyes, a crazy stare that shook her badly.
She turned away, burying her head in James’ chest.
“Come on,” he finally said, walking her up to the chateau and away from Lynch’s screams.
A few minutes later O’Malley came inside.
James and Kate looked at him.
“He’s dead,” O’Malley said.
Desperately needing a shower and a change of clothes, Kate and James went into the servants’ wing.
As they got cleaned up, James embraced her.
“I was so afraid you were hurt. I love you so much, Kate.”
She held him tightly.
“I can’t believe it. I was thinking the worst. I love you too.”
They found some clothes and got dressed.
Then James said, “This place gives me the creeps. I want to finish this now.”
With the help of the others, he began rounding up the bodies and loading them into a van.
Charlie Watson and Natalie Lopez were taken to a hotel, no doubt grateful to be sleeping in a regular bed and relieved that the nightmare was over.
The household staff, except for Alfred, were put into a bus and taken to a CIA safe house on the outskirts of the city. Once there, they would sign confidentiality agreements prohibiting them from discussing Falcon Lair and its former owner.
As for the remaining mercenaries, they were flown back to Ukraine and dealt with accordingly.
Then James and Nicolas set out to investigate the secret passageway. After crossing the rear lawn they entered the portal and began along the dark, narrow tunnel.
Soon they began to make out a circular staircase in the distance, but before reaching it they came to a heavy steel door.
“Where do you suppose this goes?” James asked.
“There’s one way to find out,” replied Nicolas as he looked at the door. “It’s some kind of biometric lock.”
“To hell with it. Give me some C-4.”
Nicolas reached inside a pocket.
James pressed the wad of plastic explosive against the lock and they moved back as the charge detonated.
The door blasted inward.
As they entered James turned on the lights.
What they discovered shocked them.
A climate controlled, ultra clean workspace—essentially a modern-day war room. The space contained an elaborate workstation brimming with an array of sophisticated electronics equipment. A conduit extended into the ceiling and up through the chateau’s interior walls, carrying communication and data signals back and forth from the rooftop. A massive tabletop sat in the center of the room, and across its surface lay an astonishing cache of documents, notes, photographs and assorted papers.
“Take a look at this,” Nicolas said, plucking a photo from the table.
Snapped from a distance with a telephoto lens, the image obviously was connected to a surveillance operation.
The person in the photo was Senator Natalie Lopez.
“Unbelievable,” James replied, looking at one item after another, each reflecting an individual piece of the puzzle in the conspiracy.
At the workstation, James tapped his fingers on a laptop.
“I’ll bet there’s a mother lode of incriminating evidence on this hard drive.”
He was right.
The data stored on the laptop’s hard disk and the collection of documents amounted to a treasure trove for law enforcement.
“This will make some people jump for joy,” Nicolas said.
“And others to sing the blues,” replied James, referring to the delicate task that lay ahead for bureaucrats in D.C.
Nicolas felt a chill along his spine. He headed for the door. “I’ve seen all I need to.”
“You’re right, let’s move on.”
They climbed the circular staircase to the library and then came to the passageway into Lynch’s bedroom.
“This is some setup,” Nicolas said. “I’ve seen my share of hideouts and escape routes, but this is definitely at the top of the list.”
James turned and started for the door.
“It’s time we spoke to our butler friend.”
The hour was nearing five o’clock and the operatives had finished tying up loose ends.
Except one.
When James entered the kitchen he found Alfred standing in his customarily erect posture.
“So, you’re the house boy,” he said, making no effort to disguise the contempt in his voice.
“I prefer manservant.”
“Not any more. You work for us now.”
“Pardon me?”
“Thomas Lynch is dead.”
Alfred struggled to process the words.
Dead?
“Who will I answer to?”
“The United States government.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you’ll be cleaning toilets for the rest of your life.”
Alfred recoiled, regarding himself as someone above such things. He could think of no crueler punishment.
“If I comply?”
“There’s a chance you’ll avoid the slammer if you play along with us.”
James stepped forward, their faces now inches apart.
“It’s important that you understand something. If you cross us, there is no place for you to hide where we can’t find you. Am I making myself clear?”
“Crystal.”
CHAPTER 61
C
aptain Benoit Roche drew closer to the gatehouse at Falcon Lair as the small town of Louveciennes was asleep. Just after the break of dawn local police officers had responded to a distress call at the Versailles station.
It had come from Falcon Lair.
Following the Captain’s instructions the officers waited for him to arrive, having been told not to take action themselves.
Aware of something in the air and given the chain of events in recent days, Roche wasn’t surprised. He and his team raced from Paris along the motorway and arrived at the chateau.
“Why is the gate open?” he demanded, speaking to the officer in charge.
“It was in this position when we arrived, sir.”
“And the gatehouse?”
“Empty.”
The Captain told the officer and his men to guard the entrance as his SWAT team began advancing on the chateau in an armored vehicle.
“No one is to pass this point without my consent. Understood?”
“Yes sir.”
As he drove behind the SWAT truck, Roche was unable to shake a feeling that it was eerily quiet.
Moments later in the forecourt men emerged from the armored vehicle. In a flanking formation they split into separate units and circled the chateau’s perimeter.
Meanwhile Roche sat in his car and waited.
Sometime later the SWAT leader conveyed an all-clear signal.
When Roche approached him he seemed puzzled.
“There’s nobody here, sir.”
A silence.
Roche had been to parties at Falcon Lair before and the presence of security personnel had always been on conspicuous display.
He was skeptical to say the least.
A robbery allegedly occurred here but there isn’t a guard anywhere?
“Show me,” he demanded, gesturing toward the front doors.
Roche was walking up the limestone steps when his cell phone rang.
“Yes.”
“Sir,” the officer at the gatehouse said, “There’s a man here. Special Agent Carter with the FBI.”
“And?”
“He wants to enter. He’s insistent.”
Roche decided to cooperate. In light of the circumstances, he could hardly refuse.
“Let him pass,” he said, and turned back to the forecourt.
Roche hadn’t been the only person to see the handwriting on the wall. Carter had sensed something brewing. He had directed the FBI’s Paris office to closely monitor the situation. When the distress call came in to the Versailles station from Falcon Lair the bureau caught wind of it through its communications network.
The police officer allowed Carter to pass and he drove through the grounds before arriving in the motor court. When he got out of his car Roche approached him.
“My men have cleared the interior. I’m told there isn’t a soul on the premises.”
“Besides the man who made the distress call,” Carter said.
They stepped inside the entrance hall and Roche gave Carter a skeptical look.
“This way,” Roche said, gesturing toward a passageway into the kitchen. They climbed a stairway and entering an apartment heard a voice from behind a wall.
“Come out of there,” commanded Roche.
“The code first. I need to know you’re the police.”
The Captain rolled his eyes, called the Versailles police station and got the security code for Falcon Lair.
Moments later the raised paneling in the wall pivoted and revealed a hidden room.
Alfred stepped out.
“Good morning, gentlemen.”
“I presume you are Alfred?” Roche said. “And that you placed the distress call?”
“That’s correct.”
“I’m Captain Roche, Prefect of Police, and this is Agent Carter.”
“How can I help you?”
“You can start by telling us what happened,” replied Roche.
“Certainly, after hearing explosions and gunfire I hid inside this panic room,” he said, motioning to the opening in the wall. “Then I phoned the police.”
Roche was incredulous.
“That’s it?”
“I don’t understand your question, sir,” Alfred said, his expression blank as he played dumb.
“Where is Mr. Lynch?”
“I don’t know. I entered the hidden compartment following the security breach.”
“Is Mr. Lynch in residence?”
“Yes. At least he was when I served his brandy at bedside.”
“When?”
“Eleven thirty last night.”
“Does Mr. Lynch have a panic room?”
“He’s told me as much but I haven’t seen it.”
“Follow me,” the Captain said and spun on his heels.
Roche led them downstairs into the kitchen, stopped and turned to Alfred.
“Where are the servants?”
“Dismissed for a weekend holiday.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“Who sent them away?”
“Mr. Lynch, of course.”
Roche turned to the exterior wall and pointed to bullet holes.
“This is strange. These holes are not from someone shooting his way in, but
out
. And there are no guards or security personnel on the premises.”
Roche fixed his gaze on Alfred.
“Can you explain this?”
“No, I cannot,” Alfred said, his face like stone. “Security arrangements are made by Mr. Lynch and no one else.”
Roche turned to Carter.
“This door was breached with explosives,” he observed, referring to the kitchen’s outer door.
Carter was silent.
Then the SWAT leader came in.
“Sir,” he said to Roche. “We found something downstairs. I think you’ll want to see it.”
With Carter behind him, Roche followed the SWAT leader into the basement and down the steps into the dungeon. He stepped over to a cell door and inspected the lock which had been sheared by an explosive charge.
James Webb could have been confined here as his wife claimed.
“Interesting,” Carter observed.
“There’s more,” announced the SWAT leader.
“More?”
“Yes sir. Follow me.”
They returned to the main level and in the library found a retracted bookcase revealing the secret passage.
“Right through here,” the SWAT leader said.
At the bottom of the stairs he stood outside the door as Roche and Carter entered the high-tech war room where Thomas Lynch had planned his scheme against the Senate.
They were astonished by the sheer volume of evidence. Carter was about to say something when the SWAT leader entered.
“Sir, there’s a man and a woman at the entrance gate. They’ve asked to enter.”
“What are their names?” demanded Roche.
“James and Kate Webb.”
He paused.
“Let them pass.”
Returning to the main level, Roche and Carter stood on the landing outside the entry doors. Concerned about the explosive nature of the evidence they had found, Carter thought about how to broach the subject with Roche.
His apprehension was not misplaced. The evidence recovered in the cellar would send a truckload of people to prison. Carter tried not to think about the increase in the bureau’s workload stemming from the conspiracy.
And there was the delicate process for decision-makers who would decide what information to disclosed, and what to cover up.
Carter found comfort in the fact that such decisions were above his pay grade.
Roche finally spoke.
“I must say, this is a very peculiar situation.”
“I understand,” Carter replied. “We’ll have to concoct a cover story.”
Roche turned to Carter.
“You mean something like the plan that was ‘concocted’ for the assault on this chateau?”
Carter stonewalled.
“I caution you to tread lightly. There’s no proof of an assault.”
“That may be true, but your government has a lot of explaining to do, nonetheless.”
After the police officer at the gate allowed James and Kate to enter they continued along the driveway and entered the forecourt.
As they got out of the car, Kate said, “Mr. Roche, this is my husband James.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Webb. This is Agent Carter with the FBI.”
Carter turned to James.
“So, you ditched us in Georgetown.”
“Nothing personal, just business.”
“I can live with that.”
They shook hands.
“I’d like to apologize, Mrs. Webb,” Roche said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you before.”
“It’s alright,” she replied, placing an arm around James. “The important thing is that my husband is safe.”
James and Kate bid farewell to Roche and Carter.
They walked to the motor court and shared a kiss.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”