Chapter 21: Paris
Three days had passed since the First Lady had left Columbia, and Booker was bored to tears. Between the Luteces and Elizabeth, it had seemed like an eternity. He had not touched the liquor on the ship solely through sheer force of will. Just then, the telephone in his cabin rang.
"Hello?"
"Mr. DeWitt, listen up. We've checked our charts-" Robert began.
"-and we're now passing along the northwest coast of France." Rosalind finished.
"What? Do you want me to tell Elizabeth?"
"That's-" Rosalind began.
"-why we called." Robert finished.
"On my way." Booker announced.
With that, Booker left to fetch Elizabeth from her cabin. As he approached the cabin, he played out the conversation in his head. He opened the door and got Elizabeth's attention.
"Elizabeth?"
She turned around.
"Yes, Mr. DeWitt?"
"We're approaching Paris. We should be there by tonight."
Elizabeth jumped to her feet and grabbed Booker in an embrace not unlike that of a boa constrictor.
"Can't…breathe…"
By mid-morning, the airship was flying over the Parisian suburbs. Elizabeth watched with glee from the observation deck as the First Lady made a pass over the suburbs on its way to a nearby airfield on the outskirts of Paris. Around 10:30, Robert and Rosalind guided the airship onto the ground. The gangplank opened, and Elizabeth dashed out. Booker was in close pursuit.
Some time later, Booker and company were in the city proper. Elizabeth was at the Eiffel Tower, Rosalind was at the Louvre, while Booker and Robert were watching Mata Hari perform.
"I can assure you, Mr. DeWitt, that my interest in Madam Hari is purely academic-"
"If that's the case, then call me Theodore Roosevelt."
Unfortunately, not all was well. Fitzroy's spies had tracked down the First Lady, and were now making moves to ensure that the Vox got DeWitt, Elizabeth, and anyone else involved with them. First target: Elizabeth.
Elizabeth grinned as she aimed her Eastman Kodak at the Eiffel Tower. After all this effort, she was finally in the city of her dreams. Twirling around, she very nearly tripped over a cobblestone. Just then, her stomach growled. She checked her watch. 12:30. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a corner bakery.
Inside the bakery, Fitzroy's spy watched as Elizabeth entered.
"Excusez-moi, mais je peux avoir quelque chose à manger?" Elizabeth asked.
"Oui." the spy answered.
Elizabeth pointed to an apple tart nearby.
"Celui-là." she said.
The spy grabbed the pastry and covertly slipped in some powdered sleeping pills while Elizabeth wasn't looking. He then turned back around and sold the adulterated confection to Elizabeth, who promptly ate it. Almost immediately, a wave of drowsiness overcame her. She staggered out of the bakery and collapsed upon the street. The spy grinned. One down, three to go.
At the Louvre, Rosalind was so entranced by the artwork that she failed to notice the heavy footsteps approaching from behind her. A brief prick of a needle was all she felt before she too fell into unconsciousness…
After the Mata Hari show, Booker and Robert went to get some coffee at a sidewalk café. After making their orders, they took their seats.
"Bit of an aftertaste, Mr. Lutece." Booker commented afterward.
No answer.
"Mr. Lutece?"
Still no answer.
"Robert?"
Just then, Booker saw Robert slumped forward.
"Son of a bitch! This stuff's been drugged!"
At that very moment, Booker slumped forward and joined Robert in a drug-induced coma.