Chapter 2 Paul The Chalet
TWO
Paul: The Chalet
I expect trouble during the loading of Dr. Gachet into my Mercedes. Fortunately, the painting is small—just under two feet by two feet—and, with packing and crating materials, it easily fits inside the generous trunk of my car.
But where to?
Do I go to the chalet like Nicholas ordered? Would I be walking into a trap? Or do I stay in Lac Léman and secure the painting at the Russian consulate?
That is the wisest choice, but that painting is my bargaining chip. Whoever hired Nicholas will expect my brother to complete the transaction. For the moment, the painting stays with me.
After a quick discussion with Urakov, the Russian agrees with the plan. If he genuinely cares about the stash of anthrax hidden inside, he should argue more strongly to secure it at the consulate, but Urakov's jaw twitches every time I mention Vivianne.
I don't head to the chalet alone. Urakov and his men follow me back up the winding mountain roads. Urakov refuses to leave my side, muttering more about how we're going to get Vivianne back than what we're going to do with the painting.
The company is welcome. It gives me time to plan.
The drive down took just under two hours. I make it back in less than ninety minutes. Not caring about the winding road and hairpin curves, the Mercedes navigates the challenging terrain with the roar of its V12 bi-turbo engine.
Urakov's men try to keep up but lag in the curves. They can't match the precision of German engineering.
Still no response from Nicholas.
My brother is likely conferring with those who hired him. If this job is like any of the others we did together in the past, Nicholas didn't fulfill his commitment when he delivered the painting to the auction house.
For Nicholas's business to be concluded, it has to reach the buyer.
I robbed Nicholas of that.
My stomach turns at the thought of transporting anthrax in the back of my car, but Urakov assures me the people who smuggled it aren't keen on exposing themselves to the deadly spores.
Protective measures are in place, he insists.
I take faith in their desire for self-preservation because my life hinges on it.
What I don't know—and what Urakov ponders as well—is how to remove the anthrax from the painting without damaging the protective coating.
Urakov knows the two will be together, but not how the anthrax is stored. It could be in the frame, inserted inside a hollowed-out compartment, or sandwiched between the canvas and protective backing.
"And you expect him to accept this trade?" Urakov drags his finger up the seam of his dark suit. "He won't hurt your woman?"
"I'm counting on whoever hired him calling him out."
"How's that?"
"He was hired to procure the weapon and orchestrate a sale that can't be traced. That didn't happen. The buyers have nothing. That means Nicholas failed."
"They paid for nothing. Wouldn't they start over?"
"Are you saying it's that easy to get more anthrax?" I glance at him. "One would hope your people secured that area, moved the remaining supply, or destroyed it completely."
Using DNA analysis, once the spores are released, the outbreak will be traced back to Russia, which will then be tasked with admitting that they not only never destroyed their war stock but also lost control of their supply. There's always the possibility they orchestrated the whole thing.
From my conversations with Urakov, however, the Russian government doesn't care about the loss of life. It's the humiliation and international debacle that must be avoided at all costs.
"That is... complicated."
I text Merlin and fill my father in. His replies are brief and terser than Nicholas's texts.
"We're almost there." A glance in the rearview mirror reveals no sign of Urakov's men.
I have to slow down. They know where to go, but they need access through the gates. I shake my head and ease off the gas.
By the time twin headlights flash in the rearview mirror, I pull into the drive leading to the chalet.
I stop at the iron gates and wait for Urakov's men to join us.
Once they're close, I open the gates and roll forward.
They follow behind, the gates closing silently as our tires crunch over the fallen snow.
The snow glows under the moon's pale light, casting gray shadows across the land.
Light spills from the chalet, tumbling outward to spread across a lawn slumbering beneath the snow.
Smoke drifts up from two of the ten chimneys, and I can imagine Merlin pacing before a raging fire burning in the library hearth.
The conversation we will soon have will tear my heart out.
As I drive up the circular drive, a slice of light catches my eye where there should be none. The front door is open, exposing the chalet to the frigid night air. My pulse leaps.
I slam on the brakes, jerking the car to a sudden halt.
"Something's wrong." I turn to Urakov. "Stay with the painting."
The massive wrought-iron doors stand ajar. I sprint up the stone steps, racing to get inside. Urakov's men pull to a stop beside my car, and the thudding of feet pounds behind me.
Inside, set upon an easel, a blank canvas points toward the door. Scrawled across it is a message.
HIM or HER?
I stumble to a stop, press both hands to my temples, and dig my fingers into my hair.
"Nicholas!" My roar shakes the foundations of my home.
A piece of paper is pinned to the canvas.
"What is this?" Urakov thunders into the entrance and pulls to a stop.
"A message." I approach the canvas and remove the hastily written letter. Not Nicholas's hand, but the shaky tremors of Merlin's elegant script.
You may save only one. This is not a time for fun and games. Father or the girl. You choose. Old or new?
A phone number is scrawled at the bottom, and smudges of ink dot the page.
A code.
Merlin left a message.
Fly, my son.
No. I won't choose. Quick taps on my cell phone tell Nicholas precisely what I think of the choice given to me. This time, the reply comes lightning quick.
CHOOSE!
I read the message and grip the phone.
"What does he say?"
"He demands an exchange. He has my father, and I must choose between him or Vivianne."
"That man has no soul." Urakov follows his outburst with a string of curse words in Russian, then stamps his feet. "We can't let him have the anthrax, the girl, or your father."
"I know my brother. He'll know if we've tampered with the painting. I'm afraid we have little choice."
"There are always choices." Urakov levels his gaze at me. "It's your job to make good use of them."
And that is the truth.
"What will you do?"
"My goals haven't changed."
"Are we going to have an issue over this painting, my friend?"
"I know what you're capable of." Urakov steps closer. "And there is no honor in what this man has done or intends to do. Tell me how I might help."
The tension drains from my shoulders. Urakov will help—at least for now.
"First, I need to secure the chalet." I have to ensure that the cave isn't compromised. "Then, we need to make sure the painting is safe."
"You want to store it here?" Urakov arches a brow, glancing at the open door.
I don't blame him. Keeping a painting safe in a home that's recently been the site of a kidnapping might not make much sense, but I don't trust anyplace else.
"Have your men bring the painting inside. I have a vault, and you can leave them to guard it while I deal with Nicholas."
"I'll do one better than that." Urakov pulls out his cell phone.
While Urakov speaks to his contact, I debate where to store Dr. Gachet. Nicholas demands an exchange, but I have no intention of handing over the painting.
I won't take it to the cave.
Urakov and his men don't need to know about the cave's existence, but I have several other vaults on the premises. Nicholas knows about the cave, but we've changed the security system since his arrest a decade ago. Vivianne found her way in only because I left the door unsecured.
Dr. Gachet won't be left alone. Urakov will see to that.
He's gathering reinforcements. Between the three of us, Nicholas was always the savviest with technology.
I have the artistic touch, but Nicholas can ferret himself into and out of any vault.
And Catherine, sweet Catherine, she was a beguiling angel.
Going up against my brother will take everything I have.