Part 5 (1/2)

There was practically nothing left. Black-smeared bones clutched a melted, U-shaped object that had once been a steering wheel.

From the waist up, most of the soft tissue of the bodies had been burned completely away. Below, the skin had been turned to something resembling black leather. Clothing had been burned to ash.

Any attempt by the forensic scientists to do dental identi?cation would be fruitless. If the doctors were able to ?nd a single tooth, they would be lucky. The explosion had hit the men from behind. Their heads had been blown from here to Belgium.

”The lorry was rented from a place in Lille,” a nearby police inspector informed Helene.

”Witnesses?” she asked sharply.

”Non, ” the inspector replied. ”It was not a ?rst-rate establishment. The transaction was completed over the phone. Local police have informed us that the owner was involved marginally in drug traf?cking. An envelope stuffed fat with franc notes, and he would not ask a question.”

Her face was stern as she eyed her subordinate. ”Bring him here,” she ordered.

In the blown-out sh.e.l.l of the truck a brittle femur snapped. Helene winced angrily.

”Are you trying to destroy evidence?” she demanded.

The MEs looked apologetic. With greater care they resumed their work.

”The rental agent is already on his way,” the inspector cut in. He looked back to his notes. ”That is all we have so far.” He stood, pen poised over paper, awaiting Helene's next orders.Helene didn't offer any. She looked back toward the building behind her, biting her cheek thoughtfully.

She was the kind of woman who inspired resentment among professional men. Beautiful, arrogant. Helene knew that she was both of these things and cared not that she was either.

Her long, thin brown hair was a perfect frame for her pale, cla.s.sically chiseled features. The designer clothing she wore clung to her every curve in the exact way it was supposed to but never seemed to do on ordinary women. She had been approached more than once by talent agents from the modeling business. Helene had laughed them all away. With her sharp mind and ?erce patriotism, she preferred her job as a spy for the French government. Except on days like today.

The American Emba.s.sy lay in ruins. The entire front had been blown apart, exposing the interior to the street. The partially furnished rooms reminded Helene of a dollhouse she had had as a child.

Most of the outer portions of the ?oors in the multistoried building had collapsed after the blast, ?lling the courtyard with debris.

Men in windbreakers were sifting carefully through the wreckage. Not one of them was French, Helene noted with agitation.

The Americans had ?own in special investigative units that morning. Simultaneously an of?cial offer had come from Was.h.i.+ngton to a.s.sist the French with their investigation of the bombing.

Of course, the French government had ?atly refused the American offer. France was perfectly capable of handling the situation and had said so quite ?rmly. Stung, the Americans had left the local constabulary to clean up the aftermath in the street.

The French of?cials had begun to do just that. But when they expressed a desire to investigate the wreckage within the emba.s.sy courtyard, they were politely yet ?rmly rebuffed. The Americans had returned the rudeness of the French government in kind.

There was nothing that they could do about the emba.s.sy. Since it was of?cially United States soil, the government of France couldn't go in unless asked. The shortsightedness of Helene's superiors had effectively locked her out of a potentially vital aspect of this investigation.

Helene, an agent for France's DGSE, had been waiting impatiently on the street corner for the past three hours while the American men in their windbreaker jackets sifted through the charred ruins in the small emba.s.sy courtyard.

”If there is nothing else...” the inspector said leadingly.

Helene had been lost in thought.

She turned back to the man, perturbed.

”No,” she sighed. ”Nothing for now. Unfortunately.” She indicated the blackened remains of the truck. ”Go and tell those fools to be more careful with the bodies. There is little enough to work with as it is. They do not need to smash the skeletons any further.”

Dutifully the inspector went off to comply with her orders.

As the man began arguing with the medical examiners, Helene stepped closer to the demolished emba.s.sy wall.

Chunks of brick lay strewed about the sidewalk and street. She picked her cautious way over these to the edge of where the emba.s.sy yard began. Yellow tape brought from America roped off the area. It ?uttered and snapped in the stiff breeze.

Hopefully the Americans would soon come to their senses and allow her inside. This inactivity was killing her.

She was peering in around a broken yet still upright section of wall when with her peripheral vision she caught sight of a pair of men stepping toward her across the rock- and metal-strewn street. They were nearly upon her when she turned.

”You may not go in there,” Helene insisted, her tone of?cial.

”By the looks of it, most of in there is out here,” said one of the men. He was looking at the rubble on the sidewalk.

”Oh. You are American,” Helene said with some distaste.”As American as apple pie and Chevrolet,” said Remo Williams proudly.

”l, on the other hand, demand an apology for your coa.r.s.e greeting,” said Chiun, Reigning Master of Sinanju.

The old Korean stood at Remo's elbow, longnailed hands drumming impatiently atop the ?apping sleeves of his ?re-engine red brocade silk kimono.

He was ?ve feet tall if he was an inch and had never seen the far side of one hundred pounds. Twin tufts of gossamer sprouted from a spot above each sh.e.l.l-like ear. The tan, taut ?esh of his aged skull was otherwise bare. A wisp of beard adorned his wrinkled chin. Two young-appearing hazel orbs peered with bland malevolence from amid the knots of crumpled vellum that surrounded the old Asian's almond-shaped eyes.

Together the two men were an odd sight indeed. Helene was certain that these two were not a.s.sociates of the Americans in windbreakers.

”I'd do it if I were you,” Remo suggested knowingly to Helene.

”What?” Helene asked. She was genuinely confused.

”Apologize. It'll make things easier for all of us in the long run.”

”Apologize?” Helene said. Her superior demeanor rea.s.serted itself. ”For what am I to apologize?”

”For a slur most base,” Chiun sniffed.

”I said nothing to you,” Helene insisted. ”Much less insult you.”

”She doesn't even know what she said, Little Father,” Remo said.

”Typical for a Gallic wench. Their mouths are occupied in other depraved ways so much of the time, speech becomes secondary.

Words of hate drip like poison from their weary tongues without even their knowledge.” A single sharpened talon raised instructively. ”Beware the daughters of Gaul, Remo. Their mouths are known for neither thoughtful consideration nor the ability to close when in the company of men, women or beasts of the ?eld.”

”I'll make a note of it,” Remo said dryly. ”Let's go.”

Jumping, Helene barred them from entering the courtyard.

”Who are you? How did you get through the police cordon?” she demanded.

”Name's Remo. You just heard that. I'm with the State Department. I was supposed to be a.s.signed here today.” He looked at the bombed-out remains of the emba.s.sy building. ”Guess I should have put in for that Bahamas a.s.signment, huh, Chiun?”

The old man merely harrumphed, stuf?ng his hands inside the voluminous sleeves of his kimono. He stared at Helene.