Free Two Crosses by Elizabeth Musser Page A

Salle des Chevaliers, Jean-Claude Gachon could see for miles in every direction. A small plastic map erected for tourists indicated that Paris was eight hundred kilometers to the north and the great port of Marseille only a little over an hour to the east. Jean-Claude smiled. What luck to have met the red-haired beauty downstairs. And wearing the same cross! Surely it was not a coincidence.
    He walked beside the turret to look down and out to the south and the sea. And eight hundred kilometers in that direction, if he looked with his imagination, he could see the city of Algiers and the fighting men and the explosions and the bodies. Algeria was where the action was … and Jean-Claude wanted to be in the middle of it.
    Still looking south, he had a complete view of the walled city that spread out below him like a huge parallelogram enclosing neat lines of streets and buildings. He reached into his leather shoulder bag and pulled out a small pair of binoculars. Putting them to his eyes, he let his gaze travel across the rooftops that baked in an undulating pattern in the warm sun. A few haphazard antennae thrust skinny arms to the sky, testimony to modern technology. An old man in a casquette knelt on a roof, repairing a broken tile. A red-haired girl on the ramparts climbed the stairs and disappeared into one of the towers in the wall—
    The girl! So she was out on the ramparts. He laughed again at his good luck. And there was no way for her to escape. She must either retrace her steps or continue around the walls. Either way, he had plenty of time to reach her. Perhaps a subtle warning would do. Yes, Ali would appreciate that. A subtle warning to the girl with the flaming hair who wore a Huguenot cross around her neck. Jean-Claude replaced his binoculars in the leather sack and hurried down the winding steps.
    It took him no more than five minutes to reach the tower where he had seen the girl disappear. The room was empty, but he was sure she had not come back out onto the ramparts. Then he saw a small staircase winding upward. He moved silently up the narrow stairs, placed his bag on a step, tiptoed back down, and waited just outside the room on the ramparts.
    Soon he heard the sound of footsteps above him. The girl was skipping down the dark stairwell with ease. Suddenly there was a scream and the sound of falling. Jean-Claude waited a moment longer before coming into the room. The girl lay still at the foot of the stairs. Jean-Claude quickly stooped to retrieve his leather bag before coming to her side. Bending down in the shadows, he feigned concern. “ Mademoiselle , are you all right? What happened?”
    She grimaced as she sat up. “I think I’m okay. I just tripped on something coming down the steps.”
    Jean-Claude walked over and looked up the stairwell. “These steps are narrow and uneven.”
    “Yes, I suppose. I thought I stepped on something. You don’t see anything?”
    “Nothing, mademoiselle .”
    “Well, you’re right. It’s dark and the steps are uneven. Careless of me.”
    Jean-Claude helped her to her feet, but as she tried to stand alone, she stumbled and reached out for his arm. “Oh dear, I think I’ve sprained my ankle.”
    “Then I will help you back around.”
    She hobbled next to him as they retraced their steps off the ramparts. “My friend will be here soon,” she assured him. “Thank you for helping me.”
    “It is nothing.” He whispered, “You must be careful, mademoiselle . Huguenot crosses seem to bring bad luck to those who wear them.”
    He disappeared down a side street, grinning to himself. Nothing, indeed. A small accident. But there would be others.

    David found Gabriella sitting on a step beside the entrance to the city. “There you are, Gabby! I was beginning to get worried. Thought you might have fallen off the ramparts.”
    She squinted, looking up at him. “Don’t joke, please. I’ve done something nearly as stupid. I think I sprained my ankle.”
    David