Coop threw up a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. We’ll let those guys take care of us for a couple of days. Now don’t let me hold you young people back. I’m fine, and I’ve got my trusty friend, Charlie, here to keep me company. Besides, I want to know if you’re right about this legend. I can’t wait to hear what you find.”
Charlie stood up, shook Tommy’s hand, and waved to Sean. “I’ll follow you into the hall,” he said, making like he wanted to leave Coop alone with the nurse.
Once he and the other three were in the hall, Charlie eased the door shut. He had a serious look on his face. Down the corridor, a doctor in a white lab coat was busy talking with a nurse, going over another patient’s chart.
“You all need to be careful,” he said in a warning, fatherly tone. He paid particular attention to Sean. “Those guys you’re up against aren’t Boy Scouts. They’re trained killers.”
“I appreciate your concern, Charlie. We’ll be careful. I promise.” Sean put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. It wasn’t like the older man to be worried like that. Maybe seeing his friend in a hospital bed changed his perspective on things.
“I know how you are, Sean. You worked for the government and did all kinds of crazy things. You might think you’re invincible, but you’re not. No one is.”
“Trust me. I know I’m not invincible. But we’ll be careful.”
Charlie stared through him for another thirty seconds as if searching for the truth. Finally, he seemed satisfied and gave a nod. “I’ll see you when you get back.”
The door to the room opened, and the nurse stepped out, a broad smile revealing pearly white teeth.
“I better get back in there,” Charlie said, twisting his head and glancing into the room through the open door. “Not sure how he’d get by without me.”
“I’m pretty sure I could manage,” Coop’s voice came from inside the room.
Sean and the others laughed. “We’ll let you know what we find when we get back.”
Chapter 28
Emily stood under the awning at the entrance to the enormous stone mansion. The gray, soupy clouds overhead spat rain from the sky, soaking the streets and sidewalks. Pedestrians shuffled along under umbrellas, trying to keep as dry as possible on their way to offices, homes, cafes, and bars. It was a terrible day for tourism, one that would keep visitors to the old city locked up in their hotel rooms, watching television they didn’t understand.
She’d only hit the button on the doorbell once before a butler arrived in a black suit and matching tie. He said something in French to the effect of asking how he could help her. Emily responded in kind, having learned enough conversational French to get along.
“I need to speak with Monsieur Dufort,” she said as politely as she could. On the rare occasion she spoke the language, she felt like she almost sounded rude.
“Please state your name and business. Monsieur Dufort is a very busy man,” he responded in almost perfect English. The butler must have assumed she was an American.
“Oh, you speak English. Good. My name is Emily Starks. I work for a branch of the United States government, Special International Division.”
The butler allowed a smug grin to creep onto his face. Though he was older, his white hair had been neatly cropped. He must have been in his sixties, but the man’s face didn’t look a day over forty. “As you can see,” he put out a hand, displaying the city behind her, “we are not in the United States, Miss Starks.”
She ignored the smart-aleck answer and pushed on. “I’m here with the authority of the French government as well.” She held out a piece of paper, which he scanned briefly. Before he could say anything else, another man’s voice drifted through the entryway.
“She may enter, Baston. I can carve out a little time to speak with the lady.” The accent carried an aristocratic tone and clearly a nasal French accent.
Baston let out a sigh and reluctantly stepped aside. “Please, do come in.” Even his invitation was lathered in resentment.
Emily passed through the doorway and into a grand foyer. A stairway to the left ascended up four steps before turning sharply to the right and climbing all the way to the second floor. Directly above, a chandelier with hundreds of gleaming crystals hung from the ceiling, illuminating the immediate area. The walls had been painted in flaked gold over a navy blue base. To the right, a bust of a Roman emperor stood on a pedestal between a painting of Napoleon Bonaparte and one of a king she didn’t immediately recognize. The walls ahead were lined with similar paintings of kings and leaders from history, along with several more busts of various people. History wasn’t exactly her area of expertise, so she only recognized a few.
“The one closest to you is Charles the First. Some called him Charles the Great. Though most of history has referred to him as Charlemagne, the last great emperor to unify nearly all of Europe.” The same voice from before came from a thin man standing at the top of the stairs. He rested both hands on the railing for a moment before letting go and making his way elegantly down the stairs.
“Baston, please take the lady’s coat. I doubt she wants to visit my home in a damp rain jacket.”
The butler begrudgingly offered a hand, which Emily accepted. She removed her wet coat and hung it over the man’s forearm. “Thank you,” she said in a mocking, cheerful tone.
Baston nearly rolled his eyes but resisted, instead taking the coat over to a hanger in an adjacent waiting room where he hung it carelessly on one of the lower rungs.
“Will there be anything else, sir?” he asked.
The other man had finished his descent down the staircase and stood on the main floor only a few feet from Emily. “No, that will be all. You may leave Miss…” he turned to her again and asked the question with his eyes.
“Starks,” she filled in the gap for him.
“You may leave Miss Starks and me alone.”
Baston gave an elaborate bow and backed out of the room.
Once he was gone, the owner of the house turned to face Emily. “I do apologize for his attitude. He has been quite the pill as of late. I believe he is growing tired of servant work.”
“I could see how it would be a drag.”
The man shrugged. “I pay him very well. He gets four weeks of vacation every year and never has to work holidays. I don’t understand what the problem might be.”
“Maybe he just wants to do something else with his life.”
“Perhaps,” the man cocked his head to the side. “My name is Gerard Dufort.” He extended his hand.
Emily grasped it firmly and shook it a few times before letting go. “Emily Starks, United States government.”
Dufort’s eyebrows peaked slightly. “Yes, I heard you mention that to Baston a few minutes ago. I was in the room to the right upstairs when you introduced yourself. You said you are also working with the French government?”
“That’s right.” She eyed him suspiciously. Emily had been in the field long enough to know when someone was full of BS. And this guy had it oozing out of his ears.
“By all means,” he said, motioning with a hand toward the vast corridor, “make yourself comfortable.”
He escorted her down the hall, past busts and elaborate paintings, and toward the dining room located through an archway at the other end.
“Who are all these people?” she asked, pointing at one of the paintings.
“Ah,” Dufort said, walking with his hands folded behind his back. “This is a collection of some of the greatest leaders in world history. At one point or another, these men had the vastest kingdoms of their time.”
“What about that one?” she asked, pointing to specific painting at the end of the wall.