The Paris Betrayal James Hannibal (free ereaders TXT) 📖

of water over sand filled his whole body, but it couldn’t drown out the rush of his thoughts.

The idea of the disease—the sheer weight of it—felt different this time. In Rome and the hours after, Ben suffered the worry and stress of unanswered questions. Had Massir infected him? Was he a walking dead man?

This time he knew. He’d seen the effects firsthand. The infection was spreading, attacking from within, and no amount of violent action could stop it.

The certainty hit him in alternating waves of horror and peace.

A rocky point with a low bluff separated the resorts and residences from the industrial piers. Ben plodded toward it without purpose, leaving absentminded footprints to be quickly washed away by the surf. For the hundredth time, he glanced down at the phone.

Call me. Written in blood.

He selected the Mamour speed dial and pressed send.

“Ben. You called. I am so proud.”

So many angry words hovered at his lips—accusations, rebukes. “Why, Giselle?”

“You know why. I did this because I love you. I did this because you are stubborn like a mule, and you need a little push to get you moving on the proper road.”

“You said ‘I love you’ last night for the first time, and this morning you’re making career decisions for me? One of us is more invested in this relationship than the other—that’s all I’m saying.” He frowned at the incoming waves. “How long do I have?”

“Days. Decades. The choice is yours, and so is your position at Leviathan, if you’ll only accept it. Jupiter is your cure.”

That phrase again. He is your cure. “You mean he has the antidote?”

“Naturellement. I told you he is a master of control, yes? He is not so foolish as to release a disease without first creating the cure. And he will give you this cure if you go to him humbly and ask.”

“Not a chance.”

“Oh, Ben—”

“I’ll die before I turn traitor, before I sacrifice my soul for my own gain.”

The line went silent for a time, followed by a wavering sigh. “It hurts me to hear you say such things.”

“Good.”

“I did this for us, not me.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Of all the pushy girlfriends. He stopped his plodding and looked out at the sea. Several boaters had made an early start to the day, taking advantage of the calmer morning waters. A green and white sail passed slow across his view. On the rocky point, a pair of kids cast lines into the waves, oblivious to the danger so close at hand. “Tell me this. Am I contagious? Should I wade into the Mediterranean with a stone around my neck and end it now?”

“No, mon rêve. You are not contagious—as long as you promise not to bleed on anyone. I injected you with a special version Jupiter had Dr. Kidan make just for you.”

“I thought your boss wanted me to come to him willingly, without coercion.”

She made a regretful clicking sound with her tongue. “True. But he will overlook the nuance for you, his greatest prize. Go to him now. Be healed and be forgiven.”

Ben hung up the phone and hauled back his arm to chuck it into the sea.

He paused, unable to complete the throw.

How long do I have?

Days. Decades. The choice is yours.

Giselle had told him he had days, not hours. Not mere minutes like poor Massir in Rome. Maybe death had him in its grip, but Ben still had time to stop the Behemoth. And he knew someone who might have the skills to extend his window of opportunity.

Leviathan would be monitoring the sat phone. Ben didn’t doubt it for one instant. He took the risk anyway, opening the text feature and entering a memorized number. He wrote the data bursts to the operator in Company short code.

911//REQ AMBROS

Urgent medical aid needed. Requesting code name Ambrosia. He only trusted one person to help. Tess.

An immediate reply came back.

ID?

The operator wanted his identification number. Not a chance. Ben repeated the message, adding a please.

911//AMBROS//PLS

“Just put her on the line,” he said out loud, pressing the send key.

He waited. The blue glow behind the sat phone’s screen went dark. The surf rolled over his feet, getting higher with each cycle. No reply came back. Why had he expected any different? He laughed to himself and set off again toward the point.

Three steps later, the phone buzzed in his hand.

AMBROS HERE//GO

Tess. Wonderful, amazing Tess. Ben’s thumbs flew over the keys.

BC HERE//REQ RV//REG 1//HZD4

Ben Calix requesting rendezvous in Region 1, the United States. Medical Hazard Level 4. He used his initials for clarity. Code names and ID numbers no longer mattered for him. Leviathan knew he had the phone. As to the medical hazard, the level 4 designation included possible contagions. Ben couldn’t trust Giselle’s assurances. He didn’t want Tess walking into this blind. He told her the risks. She’d choose to help or not. Either way, he wouldn’t blame her.

The screen didn’t stay empty for long.

APPRVD//DT?//FAC#?

Approved. What date and time? Which facility?

Ben pulled his thumbs back and gritted his teeth. Tess expected him to respond with a facility number that translated to a location known only to Company agents—agents like Giselle. Whatever number he typed, Giselle and Leviathan would see, turning Tess’s mission of mercy into a trap. He racked his brain, searching for a solution, then allowed himself a thin smile. Tess would finally get that dinner he’d promised so long ago.

36H//CE DREAM

Thirty-six hours. At the place we dreamed about when we were stuck in that dank hole in Chechnya. At least, Ben hoped she’d get all that from his improvised code. He held his breath, until the answer came through.

CUS

See you soon.

He powered off the device and tossed it sidearm, far into the water.

59

A second dark blotch appeared on Ben’s abdomen before he reached the Hotel Sol.

The walk from the point at Pobles del Sud to El Cabanyal Beach north of the port facility had taken him forty-five minutes and left his muscles aching as if he’d run a