story short, it's a very distinctive tune, played on the village church in Sainte-Maxime. That's a small coastal village about 100 miles from Ma.r.s.eille. It has a harbor. I'm e-mailing you a map of the area as we speak, and a few pertinent facts about the place."

"Good job, Reno. I mean that. I'm about to catch a flight to Ma.r.s.eille. Have a rental car waiting. And send the info to Landis.

She hasn't left Beijing yet, so she should be rebooked to Ma.r.s.eille."

"You got it. Good luck. You want me to contact Allegro?"

"Not yet. I'll head down there and scout around until Landis arrives. We have time until the meeting, and I doubt Dario's people know what we know about where Rozsa was calling from. Thanks." She disconnected and downloaded his e-mail, saving it to her phone so she could study it during the flight. Her plane was boarding, so she picked up her bag and got in line.

I'm coming, Ca.s.s. Don't worry. I'll find you. If I have to move heaven and earth, I'll find you.

* 282 *

ChaPter thirty.

Sainte-Maxime, France 2 p.m.

Jack drove slowly through the Old Town section of the harbor city, scoping out the place. Though a city of less than fifteen thousand people, Sainte-Maxime relied on tourism, so this area, which faced the harbor, was busy on this mild November day. Pedestrians packed the sidewalks, visiting the numerous shops, bars, and restaurants, and the parking lot outside the casino was full. It wouldn't be easy to find Rozsa. The info Reno sent her indicated twenty-seven hotels and a dozen B&Bs here, not to mention apartment rentals and campsites.

And several companies rented out sailboats and powerboats with sleeping compartments.

When she landed in Ma.r.s.eille, she'd had another text waiting from Reno, with her car-rental info and a confirmed booking at the Hotel Martinengo, a four-star beachfront inn with only ten rooms.

When she spotted it, she checked in and quickly changed clothes.

Reno had done his homework well-the place was in the busiest part of the Old Town, so she could leave the car and go everywhere on foot.

Jack jogged toward the nearest cafe, crowded with a wide mix of tourists in jeans and sweatshirts or expensive resort wear.

A half-dozen languages a.s.sailed her as she walked to the bar, where she caught the eye of the oldest bartender-a relaxed, forty-something guy who looked like he'd been doing this a long time.

* 283 *

"Johnny Walker, Black Label," she said. As he poured, she pulled two pictures from her wallet. The first was Andor Rozsa's pa.s.sport photo. "Seen this guy? Probably within the last couple of weeks," she asked in perfect French.

He shook his head, and she could see no hint of recognition in his eyes.

"How about her?" She held up a picture of Ca.s.s. One she herself had taken, just a week before Ca.s.sady had left for Europe to a.s.sist in tracking down Rozsa.

Again the man shook his head.

"Merci," she said.

She repeated the routine with anyone else in the bar who stuck out as a local, before moving on to the next establishment and doing the same. No one had seen him. At five p.m., she positioned herself outside the employee entrance at the Casino Barriere and caught workers coming off shift.

She was showing the pictures to a pair of blackjack dealers when a middle-aged woman emerged in a maid's uniform. She did a double take when she saw Jack and stopped where she stood to stare, her eyes wide in recognition. As soon as the two guys left, Jack approached her.

"Good afternoon, or evening," Jack said in French. "Pardon me, but you seem to know me, I wonder if-"

"I'm sorry to stare. You look so much like a dear friend of mine, I thought almost I'd seen a ghost. But of course, you are much younger. Still, it's almost uncanny, the resemblance."

"They say we all have a double somewhere," Jack said. "I wonder if you might look at some pictures for me." She took them out of her pocket. "Have you seen this man?" Though the woman took her time studying Rozsa's face, she seemed more interested in Jack's. "I'm sorry, no."

"How about her?" Jack showed her Ca.s.sady's photo.

The woman shook her head. "Again, no, I'm afraid."

"Well, thank you for your time. I won't keep you further."

"You know," the woman said, pursing her lips, "the friend I was talking about-who looks like you-she has lived here all her life * 284 *

and knows everyone in town. She may be able to help you. Come with me, and I'll introduce you."

"Now? I'd appreciate the help, but I'm hesitant to walk in on someone unannounced."

"Celeste won't mind. I often stop for coffee or tea on my way home."

"If you're sure. Lead the way, ma'am."

"Call me Brigitte."

"I'm Jack."

"What a strange name for a woman."

"My given name is Jaclyn."

"Much better. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Celeste won't believe it." The woman took her on a fifteen-minute walk through the streets of a residential area adjacent to Old Town, making small talk about the city, her work, and her dream of visiting the US one day. Shortly before they arrived at their destination, she told Jack a little more about the woman she was taking her to meet.

Celeste Bastien was retired now but had worked at a number of the establishments in town.

"We're here." The woman stopped in front of a small, humble house. The garden in the front was well trimmed, and roses and other flowers nearly covered the path to the door. Her guide didn't bother to knock; she opened the door and gestured for Jack to enter first. "Celeste, I have a visitor for you," Brigitte called out.

"Take a seat in the parlor. I'll be right down," a deep but feminine voice answered. "I'll bring the coffee." Brigitte led Jack to the cozy parlor where they took seats on opposite ends of the couch.

Jack got out her picture of Ca.s.s and stared down at it for several seconds before shoving it back into the rear pocket of her jeans.

She hoped this woman would be able to help. They were running out of time, and joining a stranger for coffee right now seemed so incredibly wrong. She heard footsteps approach and looked up as a tall, proud-looking woman in her sixties entered the room, her attention focused on the tray in her hands. She had gray hair and wore a muted floor-length caftan that clung to her slim figure.

* 285 *

"And who is this visitor you brought, Brigitte?" the woman asked as she approached the coffee table.

"Jaclyn is looking for a lost friend." Brigitte's eyes were intent on her friend. "I thought you might be able to help her."

"Jaclyn. What a beautiful name," Celeste said almost wistfully.

"My name's Jack Harding. Please, call me Jack." Celeste was almost to the table when she looked at her visitor for the first time.

Jack gazed straight into the most penetrating green eyes she'd ever seen. The woman's short hair matched her own, and the smile was identical to hers. Her whole face, for that matter, was a complete replica of her own before she'd had it surgically altered. Suddenly the woman dropped the tray, sending coffee cups, spoons, milk, and sugar across the table and floor.

"Jaclyn," Celeste muttered as she grasped the table to steady herself. "It can't be."

Jack immediately shot up and went to her side. "Are you all right?" She placed her hands on the woman's back. "Are you ill?" she asked, feeling a bit off balance herself.

Celeste stood straight and simply stared at her, and she stared right back. A mixture of strange emotions ran through her head.

"You look so...familiar?" Jack finally said.

"Why are you here?" the woman whispered.

"I'm looking for..."

"Who sent you?" Celeste's eyes narrowed.

"No one sent me."

"How did you find me?"

"Brigitte brought me here."

Celeste glanced about, almost as though she expected Jack hadn't arrived alone. "Does he know?"

"Does who know what?" Jack asked with a mixture of aggravation and confusion, still mesmerized by the strange emotions and spooky resemblance.

"I need to sit." Celeste pulled away from her.

"Let me help you." Jack started to reach for her waist, but Celeste waved her off.

* 286 *

"I can manage on my own."

She waited for Celeste to settle into one of the armchairs before she retook her seat on the couch across from her. The sudden tension in the room was palpable.

Brigitte broke the silence. "I thought you might want to see her for yourself. The two of you are just alike." Celeste looked from Jack to her friend. "Brigitte, thank you for bringing Jaclyn here, but if you don't mind, could you leave us alone for a while?"

"What's going on, Celeste?" Brigitte asked, worry knotting her features. "You don't look well, and...why do you want me to leave?"

"I want to talk to Jaclyn alone."

"But you don't even know if you can help her yet," Brigitte said."Not now, Brigitte."

"Do you know her?"

"Yes. Now, please, leave us alone. I'll call you later." Brigitte frowned, obviously irked she wasn't going to witness the rest of Celeste's story unfold. "Let me clean up the coffee before I go.""Don't bother. I'll take care of it later." Reluctantly, Brigitte got up and looked from Jack to Celeste.

"She could be your-"

"Leave," Celeste said sternly, and Brigitte left without another word.Left alone with the lookalike stranger, Jack didn't know what to say. She couldn't make sense of whatever Celeste was referring to. So she kept quiet as they studied each other, and, finally, Celeste broke the silence.

"Your French is fluent. Not a trace of an accent."

"Why would I have an accent?" She a.s.sumed everyone would think her local, since her French was indeed fluent.

"Because you are not from here."

"How do you know me?"

"You look different," Celeste replied.

* 287 *

"Different?"

Celeste was studying her so intently she fought the urge to squirm under the scrutiny. "Your face. You have changed it." She actually felt her jaw drop. She sat forward and grasped the seat cushion beneath her. "How do you know about my face? Who are you?"

Celeste's expression changed to one of suspicious disbelief.

"You mean you don't know?"

"I have no idea."

Celeste sighed and leaned back in her chair.

Beijing, China 1:15 p.m.

The drop-off lanes outside the Beijing Capital International Airport were crowded with cars, buses, and motorbikes when Chase and Dario pulled up in their taxi some ten minutes before Heather's scheduled arrival. As much as she hated to touch him, she had to lift him from the cab into his wheelchair, because all the curbside baggage clerks and other personnel were busy.

Dario was cooperating-he'd instructed his goons to stay behind to deal with Jules's body and they'd had no problems getting safely out of the hotel-but she wouldn't relax until Heather was with them and they left China. Dario hadn't seemed concerned as to how his men would dispose of a dead man, which was probably due to his connections, but he did seem unnerved by the prospect of having to travel with a complete stranger and Heather. He'd said little during the journey here and was sweating despite the cool temperatures.

While they waited for Heather to arrive, Chase moved a few steps away from Dario to call headquarters without him overhearing.

She briefed Pierce and made sure a military jet would be standing by at the Misawa Air Base in j.a.pan to take them to France. During the excruciatingly long minutes that followed, she kept checking her * 288 *

watch and feeling for her concealed Glock. Though she was pretty sure Heather would be there as expected, she couldn't help worrying Dario would try to pull something.

Heather arrived five minutes later than expected, escorted from a dark sedan by a young man in a Chinese military uniform. If Chase hadn't had to appear controlled in front of Dario, she'd have bitten every single fingernail to the bone.