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camera’s screen bore the designation he had been told to look for.

    Konradin Ivanov nudged his comrade. “Think about how you’ll spend your money, Vitaly. Think about your family. Your children. Your new car.”

C HAPTER T WELVE
    Nice, France
    June 4
    Morning
    M oments after the Kaplans left the rail terminal and entered the city streets of Nice, Wade heard his father’s phone ring. He hoped it was Terence. He didn’t want to spend any more time not knowing where he was going.
    It was Terence.
    â€œDad, put it on speaker,” he said.
    â€œHello, all,” said Terence. “I heard about the fancy footwork at the station. Good job. Go directly to number five Rue de la Préfecture. It overlooks the Place duPalais. I have two floors there; you’ll be on the top one. The bookseller’s been charged on suspicion of murder, which may eventually be reduced to manslaughter or self-defense. He’s been taken to the Palais de Justice, the police headquarters in Nice’s old quarter, which is conveniently across the square from the apartment. I like it because I frequently need to talk with the police for my novels. Your cover stands right now, although, as always, that will change.”
    Wade’s father gave them each a look. “We’ll be careful.”
    â€œIt’s in our blood,” Darrell added as they crossed a busy avenue and into a shady street that wandered south to the water.
    â€œWhat about the document the bookseller stole in Paris?” Becca asked.
    â€œConfiscated, most likely,” Terence replied. “Paul Ferrere found out it’s called the Voytsdorf Ledger. Why Galina wants it, we don’t know yet. My man inside the police will look into it. Listen, I’ll arrive later. I’m following up with Paul, but you need to know that he and his investigators are hearing about several accidents that took place around the same time as the plane crash in Poland. Galina’s up to something.”
    â€œBesides the relics?” asked Roald.
    â€œIt seems so. I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon to give you a full briefing. Julian is coming in from the States. Don’t know his flight time. Until then.” He signed off.
    â€œI knew it,” said Darrell as they wove toward the Place du Palais. “Galina is planning a massive operation. We’re here just in time. In time for what, we don’t have a clue, but we will. This won’t end until it ends, and even then it won’t end because there will be the next time and the—”
    â€œDarrell, shh,” said Lily. “My ears are tired. The rest of me is tired, too. There, Rue de la Préfecture, not a minute too soon. I need to decompress.”
    â€œJust don’t decompose,” Darrell said.
    She looked at him. “What?”
    â€œNothing.”
    Terence’s housekeeper, a severe woman in her sixties named Madame Cousteau, met them outside the apartment. Wade glanced at his watch. It had been, all told, a thirty-minute evasive walk from the station. Good to know. Using gestures and a few English words, supplemented by a conversation with Becca, the woman showed them into an open elevator with a wrought-iron gate across the front.
    â€œElegant,” said Sara.
    â€œOld,” said the housekeeper.
    Wade still wanted to grab Becca’s bag from her and swing it up over his shoulder. He would never forget the horrifying moment Becca was wounded by Galina in the cave where they found their first relic. He couldn’t see the scar, but Becca kept her bag tight against her side and wouldn’t let it go.
    â€œSo the arm’s getting better?” he asked.
    â€œI’ve been on antibiotics off and on since they discovered toxin in the wound. I took my last dose in Paris last night.” She shook the orange bottle soundlessly.
    It seemed to Wade a really personal detail, though he wasn’t sure why.
    The Ackroyd safe flat in