The server returned with two cups of cappuccino and set them on the table. Patrick thanked her and ordered two bowls of French onion soup.
“You sure this was a good idea?” Danielle asked after taking a sip of cappuccino.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Was what a good idea?”
“Staying out in public.”
“What are you worried about? Remember, I’m a spy. We know these things.” He gave her a wink.
“Don’t worry, said the man whose eyes are darting around like a nervous meerkat’s.”
“Any professional worth his salt is going to be aware of his surroundings.” He took a sip of cappuccino. “All joking aside, we don’t technically know what I did in my former life. Who knows, maybe I’m not a spy.”
“Oh, really? You’re not a spy?” Danielle smiled as she set her cup on the table. “So just for kicks, you and a few of your closest friends keep a safe deposit box in Paris filled with guns and fake passports?”
He shrugged. “Maybe we work for a private organization.”
“Like a crime syndicate?”
“Okay, okay. Let’s say you’re right and I am a spy. Wouldn’t I have some memory of it? I remember my name. I remember being in Paris. Wouldn’t I remember conducting a clandestine operation on French soil?”
“The fact is, you don’t remember anything about your work,” she pointed out. “In other words, that doesn’t rule out being a spy or anything else.”
“I couldn’t even identify the faces depicted on those passports, and they’re supposed to be people I work with?”
Danielle took another sip of cappuccino then said, “I can’t explain why your memory is spotty. What I do know is you had access to a box of things that look like they’re straight out of a Bond movie.”
She was right. Not only did he have access to the box, but he also had the street skills of a covert agent. But if he was a professional, who did he work for? The CIA? He had no memory of living or working in Washington, DC. Not only that, but he doubted the US government would keep a secret box in a small self-storage facility in Paris. The types of things he and Danielle had found in it would be better kept at an embassy or safe house.
Danielle filled the silence with a question. “Speaking of secret things, what do you think was going on at the place we were being held?”
It was something Patrick had pondered frequently over the last twenty-four hours. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a sure answer. “Until our short-term memories return, it’s hard to say. My guess is they’re conducting trials of some kind.”
“Trials?”
“Clinical trials. I used the computer at the hostel to do a little research, and it turns out the pharmaceutical industry is huge in France. We’re talking billions upon billions of dollars.”
Danielle frowned. “It’s a fair hypothesis, but one piece of it doesn’t make any sense. Why would you hold people against their will and risk being jailed on kidnapping charges? If the pay is good enough, you can probably get volunteers to put anything in their system.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I’m no expert on the subject, but some drugs are probably so dangerous that governments have forbidden testing all together. If a company knows a certain drug has the potential to kill those taking it, they could test it in secret to see how it plays out. If the test subjects survive, they would then transition to a more traditional trial.”
The server reappeared and deposited two bowls of French onion soup on the table.
“Have you tried to see if the phone works?” Danielle asked after the server stepped away.
The phone.
He’d almost forgotten about the items they’d brought with them. In addition to the phone, they had taken two passports, two pistols, several spare magazines, and all of the money, which totaled two thousand euros. Both had been particularly happy to get their hands on so much cash. It would serve them well if they had to stay on the lam.
He pulled the phone from his pocket.
It was the first time he’d had a chance to examine the device closely. The first thing he noticed was the cheap construction. The shape and design reminded him of the mobile phones that had been popular fifteen years ago.
“It’s a burner,” he said after looking it over.
“Turn it on.”
“Here?”
“Why not?”
He had planned on waiting until they got back to the hostel, but what could it hurt? If he had gone missing, perhaps whoever he worked for had left a voicemail or sent him a text message. It wasn’t likely, but it was certainly possible.
He depressed the power button.
“Can it be traced?” Danielle asked.
“If someone is actively trying to trace it, then yes, it’s possible. But since the phone was in storage, it’s likely no one is monitoring its use.”
After the phone booted, he saw nothing to indicate there was a voicemail or text. On a whim, he pulled up the phone’s contacts. When the list opened, his eyes widened. There was a contact. Someone known simply as AV-1.
Danielle noted his expression. “What is it?”
“There’s a number stored on it.”
“Who does it belong to?”
“It says office of the president of the United States.”
“Oh, shut up.” She shook her head. “What does it really say?”
“There are two initials and a number… AV-1.”
“Does anything about it ring a bell?”
“No.”
He didn’t recognize the initials, but what about the phone number itself? The first three digits — which he assumed were an area code — seemed familiar. Unfortunately, he doubted an Internet search would produce any helpful information. If the phone was owned by a government agency or some clandestine organization, he doubted any number stored there could be found in the public realm.
“Call it.”
Patrick looked up at her. “And allow them to trace it? I don’t think so.”
“I’ve seen plenty of spy movies, so I know it takes at least a couple of minutes to trace a call. Besides, if you had access to the box, then it’s probably someone who knows you. They can help us figure all of this out.”
If he was an authorized user of the phone, that was probably true. But what if he was on the run from his own people? Maybe they were the ones running the facility. If that was the case, dialing the number would be disastrous.
“We’re going to have to dial it at some point,” she continued.
She was right. They would eventually have to find out who was on the other end. At this point, it was their only route to more information. His gut had served him well over the last couple of days, and if his gut told him to end the call, he’d end the call.
“Remember this was your idea,” he said.
“I take full responsibility.”
Patrick tapped on the number and placed the call. A couple of seconds of silence were followed by a strange ringtone that sounded like an electronic pulse.
A woman answered. Her voice was deadpan and robotic, like the voice on a GPS or smartphone. “Central processing. Please confirm your location.”
Patrick tensed. He hadn’t expected to be asked where they were. What should he say? He decided to be as vague as possible. “Paris. I’m in Paris, France.”
He heard typing on the other end, then the woman said, “Device recognized and location confirmed. How may I assist you?”
Patrick realized he should’ve taken more time to plan the call. Telling her the truth would sound silly. He and a person he’d never met had escaped from a facility together and made their way to Paris, where they found a phone in a safe deposit box containing the number he had just dialed.
“Sir, how may I direct your call?” she asked again, this time more firmly.