A shot was fired, and the sound startled Lucy. Her ankle bent under her, and she fell to the ground, banging her elbow painfully on a raised grave. Tears stung her eyes as she struggled to her feet, desperate to save Elizabeth, who was being shoved into the van. The rear door was slammed shut, and the engine roared as the wheels spun on the slimy stone paving, then lurched forward toward the gate. Adil and Malik took off in opposite directions, leaping over the graves as if they were hurdles. A sharp pain tore through her ankle, and Lucy grabbed a stone angel, bent sorrowfully over the grave of a child, for support.

Then there were more shots, and the van veered toward the stone wall, crashing against it. The commandos were everywhere, swarming through the cemetery in their bulletproof vests and helmets. Bill was beside her, supporting her, and they ran toward the van, only to be stopped by a commando armed with a nasty-looking machine gun. Lucy recognized him, with a shock, as the guy who had been following them, the guy she’d chewed out at the café. So the proc had been telling the truth, she realized. The group had actually been under police surveillance.

“That’s our daughter,” Lucy cried, watching as Elizabeth was helped from the rear of the van by another commando. A commando who was taking a rather extreme interest in Elizabeth, she thought, watching as he attempted to wrap his arm around her waist. Elizabeth shook him off, and Lucy could hear her daughter insisting that she was perfectly fine and didn’t need any help, thank you. Then she suddenly lost her footing and was caught by the commando, who scooped her up in his arms and carried her to her parents. He set Elizabeth down on a raised grave, then raised his visor, and Lucy realized the man she thought was a French commando was actually Chris Kennedy.

But her attention was focused on Elizabeth. Lucy hugged her as tight as she could, and for once, Elizabeth didn’t pull away. She let her mother smooth her damp curls away from her face, she let her father pat her on her shoulder, and she let Lucy wipe her face with a crumpled old tissue. Then she had enough.

“Okay,” she demanded, glaring at Chris. “What the hell is going on?”

“What are you doing here?” asked Lucy.

“Who are you?” demanded Bill.

“Sorry, sir. I’m Secret Service agent Chris Kennedy, and I’m an old friend of Elizabeth’s.” He extended his hand, and Bill took it, giving it a firm shake.

“Secret Service?” asked Bill.

“Yes. I believe Elizabeth has a valuable coin in her possession, which, as a United States citizen, she is obliged to surrender.”

“That’s crazy,” said Elizabeth.

Lucy’s thoughts were beginning to sort themselves out. “Your good luck piece . . . ,” prompted Lucy.