A moment later, the limo left the ring and rushed on the A1 to the general aviation terminal at Charles de Gaulle. The police motorcade dispersed, as it was no longer needed in the light morning traffic. The limo turned into the front of a grey building, and the driver politely opened the door.
“Your wife is already waiting for you,” he said, pointing to the wheelchair parked beside an ambulance.
Silvie’s fragile body almost vanished between the wheels of the chair. A knitted cap covered her short black hair, and she looked at the Master with a pale face, laying her hand across her stomach.
“It wasn’t successful,” she said with shaking lips. “It failed again.”
He took her chin between his hands, gently caressing her with his fingers.
“It’s not a problem, honey. It’s not a problem at a
