“Don’t do it, Tom.” He felt Jennifer’s gentle touch on his shoulder. “He’s not worth it.”
He held Corbett still, his mind on fire, the pounding in his head drowning everything out. Again her voice came, gentle and calm.
“Let him go. Don’t prove him right.”
Slowly Tom loosened his grip, until he suddenly snatched his arm away and jumped up, leaving Corbett writhing on the floor, coughing and gasping. Jennifer smiled at him.
“Well done.”
“Right, nobody move.” Clarke emerged from behind the altar and walked toward them, Corbett’s gun in his hand. “Nobody’s going anywhere until I find out exactly what’s going on here.” He was rubbing the back of his head and still looked dazed.
“It’s very simple,” said Jennifer, stepping toward him and then stopping when Clarke waggled the gun at her. “Bob Corbett is suspected of complicity in a criminal conspiracy. I have just placed him under arrest.”
Clarke raised his eyebrows.
“What, one of your own bloody agents? What are you Yanks playing at?”
“It’s complicated,” said Jennifer, throwing him a quick smile.
“It’s a bloody shambles, that’s what it is. Normally is with you lot. Anyway, that’s your business. I’m here for him.” He turned to face Tom, his voice unsteady but strengthening. “I told you I’d catch up with you eventually.” He gave a thin smile.
“I hate to disappoint you, but Tom has been working for us,” said Jennifer gently, taking another step toward him.
“Kirk? Working for the FBI? Pull the other one. He’s a killer.”
“You mean Harry Renwick?”
Clarke nodded. “Too bloody right I do.”
Jennifer took another step forward and was now standing just a few feet from Clarke.
“Harry Renwick’s still alive and I can prove it.”
Clarke looked at each of them disbelievingly, the color rising in his face, a muscle in his neck throbbing violently under his pale skin.
“Bollocks. You’re protecting him. You think I was born yesterday?” There was a desperate tone to his voice now.
“I’m not and the Bureau will back me up.”
“Oh, I get it!” Clarke’s worried face lifted into a triumphant sneer. “You’re working with him, aren’t you? You’re both in this together. It’s some sort of scam. Well, I’ll have you both.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny set of handcuffs.
“Tom Kirk,” he began. “I’m arresting you for the murder of… ”
Tom shot a glance at Jennifer.
“Do you mind?” he asked.
“Let me.”
“… Henry Julius Renwick,” Clarke continued. “Anything you say—”
Jennifer drew her right hand back and punched Clarke on the point of his chin. He gave a wheezy cough and then collapsed onto the floor like a puppet that had had its strings cut.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
The announcer’s tinny voice echoed through the departure lounge, first in French, then in English.
“Final call for Air France flight number 9074 for Washington, D.C. Would all remaining passengers please make their way immediately to gate number five.”
“I guess that’s my flight,” sighed Jennifer.
“I guess it is,” said Tom.
“Listen. I want to say thank you,” Jennifer said awkwardly. “You know, for everything.”
“No, thank you. For trusting me. It meant a lot. Still does.”
Jennifer blushed and looked down at her feet.
“Well, if you’re ever in the States….”
Tom smiled. “Don’t worry, I will. If you have time; now you’re so important.”
“Oh, you heard about that.” She blushed again.
“You deserve it. I’m sure Corbett would have approved. How is he, by the way?”
“Jean-Pierre smoothed things over with the local authorities here. Now he’s under military escort until he gets back to D.C. Then we’ll see. Like he told me, the Bureau has a thing about rogue agents. My guess is it’ll be a long, long time before they’ll let him out.”
“Good. He’s earned it.”
“And what about you? What will you do now?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve got my shop opening soon. There’s still a lot to do for that. I guess I haven’t really thought about it. I’ve never had time to think about it before.”
“And you’re sure that you don’t want any protection in case Renwick makes a move.”
“Oh, no, I’ll be fine. I have a feeling I’ll see him again one day, but I’ll be ready.”
“Well, we’ll be looking for him, too.” Jennifer picked her bag up. “I’ll let you know if we find him.” A pause. “I’d better go.”
“I know,” said Tom. He kissed her on the forehead, then the lips, and they hugged each other tightly.
“Take care,” she whispered into his ear as they parted.
“Oh, and by the way,” she said as she turned toward the gate. “Your friend Piper has resigned. The treasury secretary didn’t take too kindly to being lied to about what happened. And as long as you keep quiet about Centaur, our deal stands. When you get home, your friend Clarke will give you the full red-carpet treatment.”
“That’s great.” Somehow Tom doubted it.
“The secretary even suggested some sort of reward or something for you, but then I remembered that you didn’t really like working for the government, so probably wouldn’t want anything.”
Tom smiled.
“Just the memories.”
“Bye, Tom,” she said, her eyes twinkling.
“Don’t you mean au revoir?” he whispered to himself as she disappeared through the gate.
CHAPTER NINETY
“So that’s put the kibosh on that then?” Archie’s familiar voice broke into Tom’s thoughts. “Thank God.”
Tom shook his head in smiling disbelief.
“Just happened to be passing, did you?” He kept his eyes fixed on the spot where he had last seen Jennifer. Archie stepped forward and rested his back against the low steel rail that Tom was leaning on. He wore a suit and tie, a briefcase in one hand and the Financial Times under the other arm, blending in seamlessly with the hordes of businessmen making their way through the terminal.
“Someone’s got to watch your back.” His words were muffled as he took another bite of the sandwich that he was clutching in his right hand. The yellow wrapper matched his Ferragamo tie.
“Last time you were watching my back, you signed me up to do a job for Cassius and nearly got me shot,” Tom said sarcastically.
Archie looked mortified.
“Oh, that hurts, mate, that really hurts.”
“What are you really doing here?”
“Making sure you didn’t do something you might regret. Like get on that plane.”
“Would that have been such a bad idea?” asked Tom thoughtfully.
“Er… yes!” Archie slurped on his drink. “First, she’s a fed. That’s generally bad news if you’re a thief. Second, she lives in America. That’s a long way from home. Third, she’s far too hot for the likes of you.”
“You’re probably right,” said Tom, laughing.
He stood up straight and turned around, leaning against the rail next to Archie, and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. Nestling at the bottom of his left-hand pocket, he felt an unfamiliar shape. He slipped it out into the open.
It was a stainless-steel 1934 Rolex Prince, its case glinting in the sunlight. The one Jennifer had pointed out to him on the morning they had first met. The one she must have slipped into his pocket when they had hugged good-bye. A little trick she seemed to have picked up from Amin Madhavy back in Istanbul.