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Page 75.

At the same time, a row of police and fire emergency vehicles arrived to take over for the heroic scouts.

Rick thanked the young people profusely. A doctor, speaking French as a matter of routine but switching to English, asked Rick how he was doing. The doctor was a skinny young blond man with acne scars, wearing a short white lab coat and dark trousers. He had arrived in the fire-rescue ambulance that now stood nearby.

As darkness fell, the air around Rick was filled with flashing lights. "Are you okay?" the doctor asked. Two firemen took him by the elbows.

"You are looking pale. Are you dizzy?"

Rick nodded. Time for his medication. He held up a finger to keep them at bay. Lowering the backpack to the ground, he opened it and rummaged until he found the two brown pill bottles.

The doctor examined them with a flashlight. "U.S. Army. Very interesting. You are suffering from PTSD?"

"Yes."

"Are you still on active duty, Sergeant Buchan?"

"What, are you a fucking cop or a doctor? Right now, I feel like there are trucks driving through my torso. Give me my pills already."

"Of course," the doctor said. "I am also a Luxembourg Army captain, reserve duty. The police inspector from Echternach will be here in a few minutes, and we will appreciate if you and the good scouts here can explain what is going on here."

Meanwhile, a uniformed motorcycle policeman had both arms in Rick's backpack and said, "Oh hoh!" He produced the automatic that Romain had given to Rick.

There followed a torrent of conversations around Rick in several languages—German, French, and Letzebuergesch; possibly also in Flemish and Portuguese.

Rick weakened and staggered backward. Helping arms caught him before he could do a hard landing on his rear end. Where was that fallen tree when you needed it?

Nearby, a fire truck doused the burning car, which grew dimmer as the flames smothered and the air filled with a soapy, chemical smell. There were more twirling lights of various colors than on a Christmas tree.

Two girl scouts supported him as he sat on the tree. A Boy Scout handed him a plastic water bottle, while a nurse associated with the army captain doctor finally gave him his pills.

Rick said, "This is like being arrested in Times Square, New York for illegal possession of bubble gum as a deadly weapon."

Police and emergency officers took over, thanking the Scouts and Guides, who departed. As they left, they waved to Rick and wished him well. He smiled and waved his thanks after them. The last he saw of them was Jacqueline's blue eyes, tanned face, and beautiful white teeth.

"Bonjour, monsieur," said a stern looking middle-aged man. "Je suis l'Inspecteur Maurice Fischer de la Police Grand-Ducale. Comment allez vous?" He had gray hair, smoothly ruddy skin, and an ash-colored brush-mustache under a prominent red nose. He wore a gray business suit, and had the large, raw hands of a boxer. He's probably packing serious heat under that lounge jacket, Rick thought.

Someone said, Hien ass en Amerikaner. Am Beschten Dir schwätzt englesch matt him."He's an American. It's best to speak English with him."

"Ah," said the Inspector, switching to clear English with an undefined international intonation. "I am Inspector Maurice Fischer of the Grand Ducal Police. How are you doing here?"

"I'm all shook up," Rick said bitterly.

"Like in the song." Fischer was a match for anyone's biting tone.

"My girlfriend has been kidnapped. Or something. I have no idea what is going on." Rick thought fast. He could not tell anyone about this package thing; not just yet. But the events in Echternach were no secret.

He and the police inspector, who now had charge of the investigation, formed an island of conversation amid the organized chaos of a fire department action on the smoldering car, and a police investigation as patrol officers fanned out with flashlights in the deepening night.

The doctor showed the pill bottles to Fischer, who waved to a subordinate—also in civvies, thus probably a police honcho. That individual got on his cellphone and started blabbering like the Tower of Babel. Very efficient, these people, Rick thought. Almost scary.

"Help me, Monsieur. Don't let my patrol officers waste their time. What are we looking for?"

"I don't think you'll find any traces. She was involved with the Professor when he got clobbered at the post office."

"Oh that." Fischer brightened. "Can you tell me what that was all about?"

Oh god, Rick thought, it's over for me. They'll turn me over to U.S. authorities at the U.S. Embassy in Luxembourg City. That would probably mean the standard U.S. Marine Corps embassy guard unit. From there, he'd be transported by air to Kaiserslautern or possibly Mannheim or Frankfurt for processing and trial. Should he ask for his lawyer now?

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