Unintended Consequences - By Stuart Woods

21





Incredibly, the truck’s engine continued to roar. The car began to move again and rolled onto its back.

“Out!” Lance shouted again.

With the car on its top, Stone’s door was now free. He got it open, but now his door faced the truck and was pressed against it. Then the truck’s engine abruptly stopped, and there was shouting from outside the car.

“We’re trapped in here,” Stone said. “Lance, can you get your door open?”

“I’m working on it,” Lance said. He grabbed Rick’s briefcase and used it to batter the remaining glass from his window, then he crawled out into the street. Rick followed, then Stone. Stone noticed that they both held themselves low, looking around. Rick had a gun in his hand.

“I smell gasoline,” Stone said. “We’ve got to get the driver out.” He managed to get the front door open, and they dragged the man into the street. He had not been wearing a seat belt. Stone had hold of his jacket, and he could see the butt of a gun in a shoulder holster, so he grabbed it and tucked it into his belt.

Lance was on his phone, shouting the name of the intersection. “Chopper now!” he yelled. “And an ambulance!” He put the phone away and resumed watching the perimeter of people who stood gawking.

“Who are you looking for?” Stone asked.

“I don’t know,” Lance said. “Anybody with a weapon will do.”

The sound of police cars could be heard in the distance, and, incredibly, a helicopter appeared, flying down the Seine, then hovered over the intersection.

Lance turned to Rick. “Deal with this,” he said. “I’ve got to get to Le Bourget.” He slapped Rick on the back, shook Stone’s hand, and ran toward the descending chopper.

“Central Paris is a no-fly zone,” Rick said. “Only Lance could manage that.”

“Rick, do you have any idea what’s going on?”

“Assassination attempt, I should think,” Rick said.

“On whom?”

Rick chuckled. “You and I aren’t worth bothering with.”

The helicopter rose, turned 180 degrees, and headed back up the Seine.

Police were running toward them. “I hope you’ve got your diplomatic passport,” Rick said, reaching for his and holding it up. “Diplomate américain!” he shouted.

Stone held up his passport, too. Rick entered into conversation in rapid French with the police, while Stone turned to the driver. He had a massive head wound, but there wasn’t much blood. Stone felt the man’s neck for a pulse but couldn’t find one.

“This man needs . . .” he started to say, but he was pushed out of the way by a uniformed medical attendant.

Stone looked at the truck; the cab was empty.

• • •

An hour later Stone and Rick were in Stone’s suite at the Plaza Athénée, having been given a lift there by the police. Rick was on the phone and had made half a dozen calls. Finally, he hung up. “Mind if I stay here for a while? Doug Hobbs thinks this is the safest spot, for the moment.”

“Sure.” Stone handed Rick the driver’s gun. “You’d better have this,” he said. “I don’t need it.”

“You don’t?” Rick asked. “Oh, that’s right, Lance armed you, didn’t he?”

“Do you have any idea what happened back there?”

“I told you what I thought. Do you doubt it?”

“They were after Lance, then?”

“Who?”

“How the hell should I know? I’m the civilian here.”

“They could have been after all three of us. I mean, it wasn’t exactly a surgical attack, was it? Our driver is dead, and we could have been, too, if the car hadn’t been armored. I don’t know if you noticed, but the truck that hit us was a mixer truck, carrying a full load of concrete. That’s quite a lot of mass.”

“It’s hard to know how it could have been heavier,” Stone said. “Did you see what happened to the truck’s driver?”

“There was no driver to be found,” Rick replied. “I expect there’s one in a ditch somewhere with a bullet in his head. Something else interesting: the station checked, and the truck belongs to a construction company owned by—guess who? Marcel duBois.”

“You don’t really think . . .”

“Who else knew we were in that car and where we were headed? Not even the station knew—the driver didn’t call in.”

“I think that’s a bit fanciful, Rick.”

“Let me ask you something,” Rick said. “Did you buy your own air ticket for Paris?”

“No, it was delivered to my office, along with an envelope of expense money.”

“Who sent it?”

“DuBois, I guess,” Stone admitted.

“Did you choose your seat on the airplane?”

“It was already on the boarding pass that came with the ticket.”

“So duBois knew what flight you were on and what seat you were in?”

“I suppose he did,” Stone said slowly.

“What business were you here to discuss with duBois?”

“He made me an offer for a hotel in Los Angeles that I’m a partner in.”

“The Arrington?”

“Yes.”

“Did you accept his offer?”

“No, but we agreed in principle that he could build a number of Arringtons in Europe with our investment and cooperation.”

“Why didn’t you want to sell it to him?”

Stone told him what he had told duBois.

“One more question: Do you think duBois might have a better chance of buying The Arrington with you out of the way?”

“Possibly. It was a very good offer.”

“One last point: the drug you were given was pulled off the market years ago by the FDA. Do you know where it’s still available?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “France. And guess who owns a big chunk of the French manufacturer?”

Stone held up a hand. “Stop, you’ve made your point.”

Rick’s cell phone buzzed. “Yes? I’ll be right down.” He hung up. “They’ve sent a car for me.”

“An armored one, I hope.”

“Oh, nobody’s after me, that would be you or Lance, or both. See you tomorrow at ten.”

“You still want to go to the auto show, after all you’ve just told me?”

“Sure, we’re not going to find out anything locked in this suite. Would you rather just get a plane home?”

Stone shook his head. “No, I want to get to the bottom of this.”

“Yeah? Well, that’s the difference between us,” Rick replied. “I want to get on top of it.” He walked out of the suite.