Page 53 of Circle of Death
Maddy clears her mind, then brings her focus to the first day of May, sixteen years ago. Forget the dangers of chuanghu. She’d risk anything for this. And with her grandmother’s hand on her arm, she somehow feels safe.
One second later, she’s there—in a tiny living room in a small apartment. From somewhere, music is playing. A woman with long hair is leaning down, holding the hands of a small girl with blond hair. The woman moves gracefully, hips swinging to the rhythm. The child does her best to follow her steps.
The smells are familiar and comforting. Cooking oil. Roasting vegetables. Soap. Tobacco. Perfume. There’s a small birthday cake on the table and a few colored balloons resting against the ceiling. Maddy watches from a corner as the woman picks the girl up and holds her in her arms, spinning her around the room in time with the music. The girl giggles with delight, her blond hair flying with each turn.
Maddy can’t tell whose eyes she’s seeing through. Maybe her grandmother’s.
Doesn’t matter. All she knows is that the little girl loves being held, and that she wants to be held this way forever.
Bando yips. The vision evaporates. Maddy comes back to the present, startled and gasping. Jessica wraps her in her arms. “Did it work?” she asks. “Did you see her?”
Maddy can’t speak. She can only nod as she hugs her grandmother tight, clinging to the feeling she just experienced.
The last time she was truly happy.
CHAPTER 64
I HAVE TO say I’m impressed. Our landing is a lot smoother than the takeoff, and Tapper’s time estimate was right on the money. Just two hours in the air and now we’re taxiing down a runway somewhere in France. At least Ithinkit’s France.
I crane my head from side to side. No other planes in sight. No people or vehicles, either. Just a rusted metal hangar in the distance. The whole airfield is overgrown with stubby brown grass. Looks like it hasn’t been used in years. When the plane comes to a stop at the end of the runway, there’s a hiss from the ventilation system and then a rubbery pop. The canopies release and lift open over our heads.
I smell country air mixed with jet fuel.
“Lamont! For God’s sake, pry me out this thing!” Margo was quiet for most of the flight, but now she’s clearly out of patience. I climb out of my seat and offer my arm for a handle as she pulls herself up.
“Frankly,” she says, “I preferred theQueen Mary.”
I help her step out of the fuselage onto the cracked tarmac. Tapper is already on the ground, running his hand back and forth under the fuselage.
“Looks good,” he says. “Nothing fell off.”
“You’re surprised?” I ask.
“Maybe a little.”
“Where in God’s namearewe?” asks Margo. “I thought we were landing in Paris.” She gazes around at the bleak landscape, then grabs my forearm. “Lamont. Please tell me this is not Paris!”
Tapper laughs. “Don’t worry. Paris is still Paris. But this is as close as I’m comfortable getting.”
“So where do we go from here?” asks Margo. “I’m not wearing my hiking boots.”
“There’s a train station about a half mile that way,” says Tapper, pointing past the hangar. “And the villa is about two hours north.” He reaches into his pocket and hands me a wad of currency. “Here. Take some euros.”
“Wait,” says Margo. “You’re not coming?”
“I’m a wanted man over here,” says Tapper. “If they got to your friend Moe, they’ve probably figured out that me and Hawkeye were spies on the inside.” He pauses. “And we all know what happens to spies.”
I glance at Margo. “Tapper’s right. We don’t need a fugitive slowing us down.”
“Also, I can’t leave the aircraft here,” says Tapper. “Too much of a target. I need to fly it somewhere safe. Burbank will figure out how to contact me when you’re ready for pickup.”
Margo doesn’t look happy. I think she expected to have Tapper’s muscle along on the mission. “Fine,” she says. “Take your toy and go.”
“Good hunting,” says Tapper, stepping back into the cockpit. He waves us off to the side. “Watch out for the blast.”
I pull Margo back onto the grass alongside the runway. Tapper settles into his seat and lowers the front and rear canopies. The plane makes a slow turn at the near end of the runway until it’s pointed back in the direction we came from. Margo and I press our hands against our ears. The main engine starts up—like a cannon firing.
In two seconds, the plane is shooting down the runway. When it’s just about at the end, it tilts up and spears into the sky at a forty-five-degree angle. We watch it disappear into the clouds, like it was never even here.
