no credit, so Peter Lyon brokered a partnership."
"I want to understand the purpose of this partnership."
He sighed. "Can't you decipher it? France is in the middle of a demographic shift. Those Algerian and Moroccan immigrants are becoming a problem. They are now far more French than African, but the xenophobic right and the secularist left hate them. If birthrates continue as they are, within two decades those immigrants will outnumber the native French."
"And what does blowing up the Invalides have to do with that inevitability?"
"It's all a symbol. Those immigrants resent their second-class status. They want their mosques. Their freedom. Political expression. Influence. Power. What everyone else has. But the native French don't want them to have those. I'm told a great many laws have been passed trying to keep these people at a distance." He paused. "And anti-Semitism is also on a sharp rise throughout France. Jews are becoming afraid once again."
"And those immigrants are to blame for that?"
He shrugged. "Perhaps some. To me, if the truth be told, the radical French are more responsible. But the political right and the extreme left have done a good job blaming those immigrants for all the ills that befall the country."
"I'm still waiting for my answer."
The tour stopped at another point of interest, and the guide droned on.
"Eliza is conducting a test," he said. "A way to channel French national aggression onto something other than war. An attack by some perceived radical element against a French national monument, the grave of its beloved Napoleon-whom she despises, by the way-would, to her way of thinking, channel that collective aggression. At least that's her way of explaining it."
"Why does she hate Napoleon?"
He shrugged. "How would I know? Family tradition, I assume. One of her ancestors carried on a Corsican vendetta against Napoleon. I've never really understood."
"Does the Paris Club meet tomorrow at the Eiffel Tower?"
He nodded his head in appreciation. "You've been busy. Would it not have been more prudent to ask me a direct question to see if I would be truthful?"
"I'm in a hurry, and I don't necessarily believe a word you say anyway."
He shook his head. "Impertinent. And arrogant. Why? I've cooperated with your people-"
"When you wanted to. You deliberately held back this information on an attack."
"As you would have done, if in my place. But you now know, in plenty of time, so prepare accordingly."
"I don't know anything. How is it going to be done?"
"Good heavens, why would I be privy to that information?"
"You're the one who made the deal with Lyon."
"Believe me, that devil offers precious little in the way of details. He just wants to know when and if his money has been wired. Beyond that, he explains nothing."
"Is that all?"
"The Invalides is closed for Christmas Day. At least there will be no people to worry about."
She did not appear comforted. "You still haven't answered my question about the Paris Club."
"We meet tomorrow morning at the Eiffel Tower. Eliza has rented the banquet room on level one and plans to take everyone to the top around noon. As I said, Lyon likes timelines. Noon is when the explosion will occur, and the club will have the perfect vantage point."
"Do the members know what's going to happen?"
He shook his head. "Heavens, no. Only she and I, and our South African. I would assume most of them would be appalled."
"Though they won't mind profiting from it."
The tour headed farther into the bowels of London's darkened east side.
"Morality rarely plays into the quest for profit," he said.
"So tell me what I really want to know. How do we finally connect with Lyon?" she asked.
"The same way I did."
"Not good enough. I want him delivered."
He stopped walking. "How do you propose I do that? I've only seen him once, and he was totally disguised. He communicates with me at his choosing."
They were keeping their voices down, walking behind the main group. Even though he'd worn his thickest wool coat and fur-lined gloves, he was cold. Each exhale vaporized before his eyes.
"Surely you can arrange something," she said. "Considering we won't be prosecuting you."
He caught the unspoken threat. "Is that why I'm honored tonight with your presence? You came to deliver an ultimatum? Your representative wasn't authoritative enough?"
"Game's over, Ashby. Your usefulness is rapidly diminishing. I'd suggest you do something to increase your value."
He'd actually already done just that, but he wasn't about to tell this woman anything. So he asked, "Why did your people take the book in the Invalides?"
She chuckled.