"Wouldn't have been surprised if I had. Lambert heads a corporation dedicated to biohistorical research. They claim the DNA from famous figures and...I don't know. I can't imagine that you could clone a historical figure. But they collect the DNA anyway."

"DNA pirates? Such exotic mischief."

"Mischief? I thought it was the Brits who were masters of understatement. It is morally wrong. They've done experiments, Ascher. They've attempted to clone humans."

"You have proof?" he asked.

She didn't have tangible proof. Oh, to have pocketed one of the doc.u.ments she'd read in BHDC's files.

"Of course." Ascher nodded. "Trust yet to be earned. I will never stop trying to seduce you, Annja. But I respect you. Maybe, it is, I want you to seduce me, eh? We Frenchmen do have our own fantasies about the American woman."

Annja leaned closer to him and said, "I've never seduced a man in my life."

"Then I will be your first. You are doing an excellent job so far."

"I haven't done a thing," she said.

"The way you devoured that meal made me wish you were devouring me."

"I think I'll take you up on that offer of a shower now."

His expression changed so quickly, Annja knew she had said something wrong.

19.

Jacques had put a tail on Annja Creed, though he wasn't sure he shouldn't do the fieldwork himself after all the mishaps. He'd heard back from the crew who had followed Roux out of Paris to the old man's mansion. Four men went down, with one dead. Reports told that a woman had a.s.sisted Roux.

So Roux and Annja Creed worked together?

How, and why? Had Roux arrived in his office to distract him with the decoy coat of chain mail while Creed sneaked around BHDC? It was possible. But that would mean the mail did not belong to Joan of Arc, which disturbed him more.

If it was genuine, then he couldn't imagine why Roux would put forth something so valuable, without then expecting Annja to find something in return.

And whom was the mysterious modern sample from?

His men had allowed a woman-who had entered the facility without a weapon-to get away. Though how she'd gotten the sword she'd used to defeat Theo was another mystery. One he would solve.

And then there was Ascher Vallois. He and Creed were working together, though why why was another frustrating question. was another frustrating question.

Annja Creed certainly had her allies in Paris.

"Such an enigma, that woman."

She hosted a popular television show about monsters. Jacques had downloaded a few episodes to watch. She wasn't as voluptuous or vacuous as the blond hostess, Kristie something-or-other, but she was more credible. She worked a lot of historical detail into her stories and featured short interviews with scientists, historians, archaeologists and other experts to verify her research. The woman was no slouch.

Jacques could not figure out her interest in d'Artagnan's sword, and, ultimately, the treasure. It didn't seem a feasible show topic; there were no monsters involved in the musketeer's history. Was it merely her fascination for history?

"Idiot! Of course, anyone would have an interest in the prospect of treasure," he told himself.

BHDC thrived because of found treasure. It was their sole means of finance. And the best way to obtain it? Stalk the serious treasure hunters and swoop in when the booty was brought up. Mad b.l.o.o.d.y Jack was still riding the seas, even without the trusty Evil Gentleman Tobias at his side.

Jacques owed much to his brother's memory.

From the moment Toby had breathed his last breath, Jack had begun to dream, imagine and design his own future-a future without sickness. He took science courses and advanced biology cla.s.ses offered in high school. Then he'd met Andrew Harrison, his head geneticist, in his second year of college. Andrew had turned him on to the possibility that DNA manipulation could serve the human race.

Therapeutic cloning became his pa.s.sion, to create life for those in need. Genetic cloning had been a natural progression, a sideline to his goal. And it paid the bills. Most of them. But until BHDC could show proof they'd actually successfully cloned a human, their clients would remain the few and desperate.

So plunder was needed to finance the bulk of expenses.

And while he should step back and allow the spoils to the victors-there were bigger caches of plunder to be claimed elsewhere-Jacques Lambert could no longer risk not not following through. Both Vallois and Creed knew too much. following through. Both Vallois and Creed knew too much.

h.e.l.l, he'd spilled information when she'd been in his office. He'd come off as intelligent, in possession of knowledge very few could have. Jacques had never spent much time around an attractive woman. He never had the leisure to date or consider a relationship. Did a pretty woman so easily loosen his lips?

And now Creed had looked upon sensitive doc.u.ments. He couldn't be sure exactly which ones she'd read, but all the papers in the locked file were for no eyes but his own and those of the research lab.

Perhaps it was time to pack up and move on. Britain's cloning laws were much more lenient than they were in France. Though there was his difficulty with Tony Blair in 2002. The former prime minister did not take kindly to biopirates. Jacques Lambert couldn't easily waltz back into England without MI-5 sniffing onto his trail.

"Jacques." He smirked at the moniker and wrapped his arms across his chest. "Jack, boy, you've come so far, don't let them bring you down now. You are so close. Toby would be proud. Father will be suitably shown up. Old b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I have what it takes to change the world. To make a difference. And I will."

But first, he had to devise a backup plan. A means to keep Annja Creed from going to the authorities. And the only plan that made sense involved shutting her up for good. It wouldn't be easy. She was a celebrity. And crafty.

The intercom buzzed and, noticing it was a line from the lab, Jacques clicked on. "Yes?"

"I've begun to synthesize the samples you sent down," Andrew Harrison said. His head genetic engineer was a keen scientist with a bold daring that Jacques appreciated. Andrew had lost a sister due to lack of donor for a heart transplant. They understood one another.

"Where you able to extract DNA from the chain mail?"

"It appears so. I won't know for another twenty-four hours. I've put a rush on the job, as you requested."

Jacques knew it took time to synthesize and isolate DNA, but the PCR process did run quite smoothly, and billions of copies of the DNA strand could be produced.

"You're doing the other sample at the same time?"

"Of course. I'll ring you as soon as I've results."

"Good. Thank you, Andrew. You are indispensable."

Jacques clicked off.

He had surrounded himself with a very small but trusted team of colleagues. Jacques needed no one else to keep BHDC running smoothly, albeit out of sight of the law. And to protect him from curious eyes. They all had lost someone to medicine's lack of concern. First do no harm? Rare was the surgeon or medical pract.i.tioner who honored that code.

On the other hand, Annja Creed was the sort of adventurous, intelligent woman he could use on his team. She could prove an a.s.set. If he could show her a reason to want to join his quest.

"Time to look up your history, Annja. Do you have relatives you'd die to protect? If you do, I will find them."

IT WAS GENEROUS of Ascher to rent her a room, and not expect that she'd want to share with him, Annja thought.

Head still spinning from the brandy, she headed immediately for the shower. After she'd soaped away the past forty-eight hours of adventure, she wrapped one of the hotel's thick terry robes around her body and made a beeline for her backpack.

The shower refreshed her, but she still felt woozy. However, there were things she needed to get processed before the alcohol completely stole her thoughts.

She tugged out her notebook and began to write down everything she could remember from the files at BHDC. There had been a lot of indecipherable medical terminology, and even the few sentences and terms she had recognized had been difficult to piece into understanding.

Yet the overall, albeit slightly blurry, picture pointed to human cloning.

It disturbed her to recall the woman she had listened to in the cafe as she'd chatted with a friend about the upcoming birth of her baby. If there was a clone in her belly, did she know? Had she freely entered into a contract with BHDC in order to gain a child she may have pined over for years because of infertility? And if so, had she ordered a little Marie Antoinette or perhaps gone the modern route and applied for a Brad Pitt?

And if the mother had knowingly gone into the process, had she been informed that cloning wasn't a mastered science? That no successful birth had survived beyond a few minutes? And should it actually survive, that the possibility of her having a baby who would grow to resemble whom she hoped, was impossible? And that she would not be getting a clone that would think and act like the original?

Annja couldn't imagine that any woman would take that risk. To volunteer to be a guinea pig for cloning? No sane woman would do such a thing, knowing the results would lead to premature delivery and/or complications leading to death.

And with the news stations occasionally reporting on how organs could be cloned-but not humans-who would believe BHDC's cloning scheme could work?

On the other hand, innocent people were duped out of thousands daily by false Nigerian widows' Internet scams.

Annja sighed. People were that gullible, and always would be.

She had to believe the pregnant woman was being used by Jacques Lambert to further his experiments without without knowledge of the risks. knowledge of the risks.

"Poor girl," she murmured. "Can't imagine what it must be like to want a baby so badly."

Doing a quick sketch, Annja worked the woman's face onto a page in her notebook. She should have followed her from the cafe, gotten some solid information, like a license plate number or even a name.

This had become too big, Annja realized. When innocent humans were involved, she had to seek help from authorities. But without a name of the mother or a shred of tangible evidence against BHDC she felt lost.

Roux had been no help whatsoever.

Pressing her fingers to her temples, she winced at the pounding ache that only increased in volume. "No more Armagnac for this girl."

ANNJA WOKE when she heard a rap at her door. The indomitable Frenchman must be standing outside. For a moment she considered ignoring him, but she really didn't have the time to waste.

Yet she already had. Realizing she'd fallen asleep, Annja glanced to the window. Daylight shone in.

She opened the door.

"Come in, Ascher. Why didn't you wake me?"

"It was almost two when we finished talking last night. And you looked as though you needed to sleep off the brandy." He entered, holding the laminated map before him as a sort of peace offering. She took it from him and spread it upon her notebook.

"It's only seven now," he offered. "You haven't lost much time."

"With Lambert's goons lurking about every corner, I think time is irrelevant. It's stealth we need. And a new perspective," she said.

"You have the navigational device?" Ascher sat on the chair near the window and crossed an ankle over his opposite knee. He was wearing jeans and leather jacket today. And rubber boots that climbed past his knees. Interesting fashion statement.

"I do." She dug in her backpack for the pommel.

"Ah! I knew it!" he declared triumphantly. "You've had it all along, since last night. You didn't want to tell me, but it slipped out now when I casually mentioned it."

Caught. But not sorry for the deception. Though she was feeling the ache of her drinking binge. Not a binge, just a few swallows. She was definitely a lightweight.

Annja shoved the backpack away on the bed. "Just for that, I'm going to keep you in the dark a bit longer. You dressed for some mucking about?"

"If we go underground, boots are necessary. You can purchase some down the street at the supermarche. supermarche."

A visit to a French supermarket was always a treat. They stocked everything from food and clothing to housewares and pharmaceuticals. Sort of like a Kmart, but with cool things like wine and cigars. A few aspirins were all she really craved.

And some wisdom.

"Ascher, what would you do if you knew a woman was in trouble, but hadn't proof of it, and weren't sure which authorities to contact?"

"I'm a.s.suming we're not discussing Annja Creed," he said with a grin behind his steepled fingers.

"I followed a pregnant woman from BHDC. If she's carrying a clone, she, well...does she need to know? If I'm wrong, it would be ridiculous to say as much to her. But even if I'm not wrong, what could she do about it? She was huge. Probably ready to give birth any day now."

"You are positive they are cloning?"

"I read the files. Here are my notes."

She pushed the notebook toward him, but he remained in the chair.

"I believe you, Annja. I've been stabbed and swabbed, in proof. I would only try to keep close watch on the woman. Ensure she receives the best medical care. And...try to keep Lambert from her."

"I'm surprised she's not under some kind of BHDC house arrest, lock and key, as it is. Course, that would alert her that not all was as a normal birth should be. She must be completely oblivious. And in a short time, she'll give birth, and when the baby dies, they'll probably make up some excuse. Complications of some sort. She'll never know she was being used as an experiment. G.o.d, I feel so helpless."

"Not a common feeling for you, I imagine," Ascher said.

"No, it's not." Annja tossed the pommel once and caught it. Helpless for now. But she would keep the woman's welfare in mind. Maybe Bart would have some ideas for her. "So let's see if this works."

"The pommel?" Ascher looked confused.

"The key," she said, savoring the reveal when she saw his surprise.

"That's it? We had it all along?" Ascher joined her on the bed and observed as she laid the sword pommel over the missing corner of the map. She rotated it, not sure which way was correct.