As Mac struggled with Rosenfeld, Tariq al-Sabah spun and ran in the opposite direction down the walkway, rounding a corner.
“Move.” Ava pushed her way past Mac in pursuit of TNT. Her toe caught an uneven stone. She stumbled. Her knee scraped the ground. “Shit.”
TNT had disappeared into a doorway at the top of several steps. There was only one staircase up and down. Ava ran after him, mounting the stairs and reentering the tower. She saw him immediately, maybe ten steps farther along. He moved with a stutter step, two or three steps quickly, then a step off balance. She caught up to him, throwing out a hand to grab an ankle. Her fingers latched onto his calf. He fell and cried out, dropping the transmitter. Ava climbed a step, reaching for the device. Tariq kicked her viciously, the blow glancing off Ava’s jaw, stunning her. He was up again, transmitter in hand, and climbing. Ava took a step. Her foot came out of the sneaker, and she fell.
“Dammit.” She tore off the other shoe and ran up the stairs, her breath ragged, as winded as she could recall ever being. Round and round. Up and up. The staircase growing narrower, if that was possible. Then she caught sight of him, first a foot, then another, then the entire man.
“Tariq,” she called. “Stop. Don’t!”
TNT glanced at her over his shoulder. He looked different than she recalled, even from this afternoon. His eyes burned with a zeal, a mania, evident even in the dimly lit stairwell. No, he would not stop.
Ava redoubled her efforts, reaching out to trip him, just missing again and again. Like that they reached the top. Tariq lurched throughan open doorway onto a broad wood-plank floor. The ceiling stood open high above them, a latticework of exposed rafters. From the rafters hung numerous bells, some new, some old, some small, some enormous. They had reached a belfry of Notre-Dame.
Tariq stood facing her, the transmitter in his hand. His eyes flitted from the screen to Ava.
“Twelve,” he panted. He raised a hand, and she could see his fingers trembling, he more fatigued than she, unable to govern his limbs.
“Please,” she shouted. “Don’t.”
Tariq brought his index finger to the screen. “Too late.”
The bells of Notre Dame began to toll. First the bourdon, the largest bell and lowest in tone, then another and another, five in all, in slow succession, the concuss of copper on copper deafening, pounding their ears unlike any sound they’d known, reverberating throughout their entire bodies.
Tariq dropped the transmitter and covered his ears. Ava dove across the floor, and her fingers closed around the transmitter. She had it. She rolled onto her back, bringing the device to her eyes, seeing the number twelve on the screen. Tariq kicked her in the ribs, and she drew herself into a ball to protect the transmitter. He kicked her again. “Give it to me,” he shouted. “It’s mine.”
The kicking stopped.
Amid the cacophonous tolling bells, Ava heard a cry, a scream, and a thud below her. She uncoiled herself and saw Mac standing above her.
“Are you okay?” asked Mac.
Ava could only read his lips. She nodded. He extended a hand and pulled her to her feet.
Ava looked around her. There was no sign of TNT. She showed Mac the transmitter and shrugged. Had they stopped it?
Mac pointed to the west. Toward Versailles. The skyline was clear, a tapestry of glittering lights.
A minute later, the bells ceased.
“Where is he?” asked Ava.
“No mercy.” Mac looked over the railing. Ava followed his gaze and found Tariq al-Sabah a hundred feet below, his body caught in the woodwork, his torso impaled on an exposed rod of steel rebar.
Ava looked at the transmitter. “What do I do with this?”
“Don’t touch it,” said Mac.
Epilogue
Pontresina, Switzerland
It was a picture-postcard day. Bluebird sky, a warm sun, fresh snow from the night before. Mac and Ava walked hand in hand along a manicured footpath through the forest. Katya ran ahead, offering acorns to the black squirrels darting here and there. The squirrels were cheeky enough to scamper up her pant leg and take them from her fingers, eliciting screams of delight.
“Never been here,” said Mac. “Beautiful hotel.”
“One of the oldest in the country,” said Ava. “I’ve always meant to come.”
“Does this mean you want to stay in Switzerland?”
