First Thrills - Lee Child [73]
Matosian leaned over her and rasped out, “Don’t touch that. Don’t take another bite.”
“But monsieur . . .” the waiter demurred.
Matosian straightened to his full height. “Non, monsieur. Pourquoi pas vous même le mangez?”—“Why don’t you eat it yourself?”
The waiter went white.
“Je suis sérieux,” Matosian said. “I’m serious. Just take that little bite.” Then, suddenly, the tension and danger of the past few days took over and Matosian took the little proffered spoon and in one fluid and lightning motion forced the waiter’s hand up to his mouth, where he stuffed the little ball of dough and held the man’s jaw shut for another couple of seconds.
As soon as he let go, the waiter spit the dough out and grabbed for one of the glasses of water on the table. At the same instant, Matosian grabbed Chloe’s hand and forcibly lifted her out of her seat. “We’re out of time here,” he told her.
Behind her, the waiter had taken one step back toward the kitchen before his knees seem to give out from under him and he fell headlong into the spirits tray.
“Now! Now! Now!” Matosian pulled Chloe along behind him as the crowd in the restaurant rose almost as a single unit to see what had caused the disturbance. They were both walking double-time, holding hands, past the standing, sometimes screaming, panicking patrons and toward the exit and the long elevator ride down. But then Matosian, thinking better of using the elevator, led her back even farther to the little-used stairway with its three hundred or so steps to the ground.
When that door had closed behind them, Chloe pulled her hand away, stopping him. “What was that about?”
“This is about believing the warning I got over the phone. And, by the way,” he added, “I’ve got my instructions now, or as good as I’m going to get them.”
“What are they?”
“It’s still not completely clear. But one thing is.”
“What’s that?”
“We’ve got to get to the hotel. Like yesterday.”
And taking her hand again, he led her down the clanging and darkened stairway and out at the base of the Eiffel Tower.
L’Hotel George V—Paris
“Something’s changed,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“This isn’t the way we left this room,” Matosian said as soon as they’d come through the door and double-locked it behind them.
“What’s different?” Chloe said. “I don’t see . . .”
But he had already crossed to the table in front of the couch. It held a variety of magazines and travel guides fanned out artistically. But within the fan, two of the magazines were folded open rather than to their covers. Matosian picked up the first one, glanced at its description of fine hotels in Washington, D.C., and then immediately grabbed the second, opened to an article on Abraham Lincoln called “The Great Emancipator.”
He stood stock-still for a long moment. Chloe came up behind him and put her arms around him. “What is it?” she said.
But, his heart breaking, Matosian kept his face straight as he turned to her. “I’ve got to go now,” he said. “You’ll be safe here.”
“But . . . .” Her doe eyes filled with tears. “I thought that you and I . . .”
“We will,” he said. “But I’ve got to finish this. And it won’t be safe for you where I have to go. If the warning we got in the restaurant meant anything, that much was clear. I’ve got to do this alone.”
And so saying, he kissed her one last time and strode for the door. “What ever you do,” he said as he turned at the door, “lock this behind me and don’t let anyone in, not even hotel staff. I’ve paid for your room for a week, and I’ll be back to you before then.”
“Don!” She ran across to him. “I’m afraid. I don’t know . . .”
He quieted her with a last kiss. “Wait for me,” he said. “Trust me.”
And with that, he was gone.
The Lincoln Memorial—Washington, D.C.
It was close to 4:00 A.M. when Matosian mounted the steps at the end of the Capitol Mall. When he got near to the top, he moved into the shadow of the imposing structure