“How?”
“By causing the systems to implode, or eat itself, like an extreme cancer.”
“How does the worm know to attack?”
“Probably…it would recognize when a system is going into its final check stages or online operations.”
Alicia was silent for a half minute, her eyes watching the traffic outside the restaurant. Then she turned back to Marcus. “Does this mean Brandi and Adam will be coming home immediately?”
“The Iranians will announce the imminent release of either Brandi or Adam tomorrow. The person remaining will be freed when I find and destroy the worm.”
“Dear God! What if you can’t find it? What if you can’t destroy it?”
“I’ll do the best I can to infiltrate their system and locate the worm.”
“How do they know there’s even a worm in their system?”
“They suspect it. They know about Myrtus, a code name for the worm. Apparently their intel indicates one or some have been planted by subcontractors, maybe Russian, Chinese, German or Indian engineers hired to build the plants. Probably someone easily bought and paid for by the Mossad — the people who most likely did the work to develop the worm.”
“How do you know this?”
“That’s not important. What’s important is freeing Brandi and Adam.”
“When and where are you meeting this man?”
“Tonight, 7:00. The Le Square Trousseau Café.”
“I want to be there.”
“No! If they know you can’t identify them, you’ll be okay.”
“Listen to me! They don’t know who I am. My niece has a different name. I haven’t been listed in any news media as a relative. I need to be there. I’m coming.”
SEVENTY-FOUR
Marcus and Alicia arrived at the Le Square Trousseau Café fifteen minutes early. They entered the café and took a table in a corner, walking by portraits of nineteenth century Parisians hanging on the wall. Most of the light fixtures were tulip shaped, and a massive La Victoria brass coffee machine hissed behind the bar while a paunchy, red-faced bartender made espresso after espresso.
Alicia glanced around the café, which was filling with locals and tourists. “Do you know what he looks like?”
“No. Only the sound of his voice.”
A waiter, wearing a black vest, bowtie, white apron and black pants, approached the table. “Bonsoir, vous en train de dîner?”
Marcus said, “ Non, un espresso et un cappuccino, s’il vous plaît. Parlez-vous anglais?”
“I speak English, okay.” He smiled and poured two glasses of water.
“I would like sugar, also,” Alicia said.
The server looked out the window for a moment, his mind retrieving something. Then, looking at Paul, he said, “Are you Mr. Marcus?”
“Yes.”
The server nodded and reached inside his vest, pulling out a white envelope. “I was asked to give this to you. I will bring your coffee drinks.” He turned and started to leave.
“What did he look like?” Marcus asked.
The waiter shrugged. “Umm, like no one and like everyone.”
Marcus handed the man a twenty Euro note. “Does this jog your memory?”
“He had very short hair, like he shaves his scalp weekly. Dark eyes. Over six feet tall, and he was wearing a jacket with a black high-neck sweater under it.” The server turned and exited. Marcus opened the sealed envelope to bold type.
You are being watched. Do not use your mobile phone. Turn it off now. Walk to the hotel at Rue 9 Rue d’Aligre. Second floor. Room 229. You have 12 minutes to get here or the deal is off, and the Americans will be sentenced and executed within one week.
“What does it say?” Alicia asked.
Marcus said nothing, his heart pounding.
“Paul, what does it say?”
“He’s changed locations on us.”
“Where?”
“A hotel at Rue 9 Rue d’Aligre. Let’s walk. Turn off your phone!”
“That means they’re watching us, right?”
“Yes.” Marcus stood. “You should stay here, or catch a taxi to my hotel. It’s—”
“I’m coming!”
“No! Alicia, this will be very dangerous.”
“I don’t care! Brandi’s in a hell of a lot more danger.”
Marcus said nothing for a moment, his eyes searching hers.
They asked for directions to the location, left the café, and started walking toward Rue d’Aligre. Across the street was a park with swing sets and picnic tables. Beyond the wrought iron gate, the trees were stripped of leaves in the late autumn, crooked limbs motionless against the golden glow of streetlights. The breeze pushed a single swing, making a creaking sound. Marcus turned his collar up on his leather coat and looked at Alicia. “Are you cold?”
“A little.”
“Here, take my coat.”
“No thanks. I’m more nervous than cold, really.” She tried to smile.
They walked the remaining way in silence. Motorcycles and cars sped down the street, the smell of coffee and wine flowing from a bistro. A little farther down, they could see the neon from a hotel sign. “Looks like the place,” Marcus said. “Remember, assume that their room is bugged, they may be wired for sound and video, too. Any communications between us will have to be marginal and undetected.”
They entered. The lobby was bathed in a bluish color, illuminated by two sputtering florescent lights that were within days of burning out. The elderly desk clerk sat behind the counter in the small lobby and watched a soccer game on television. He didn’t look up when Marcus and Alicia entered an elevator that reeked of sweat, sour perfume and cigarette smoke. Marcus pressed the button to the second floor.
They walked down the hall and found room 229. Marcus knocked. Nothing. There was only the hum from an exit sign, sortie, at the end of the hall. He knocked again. The door opened, and a man with a shaved head, wearing a black leather jacket and a turtleneck, said, “You had thirty seconds left, Mr. Marcus. Do you always cut things so close?”
“You didn’t give us much time to find this place.”
The man gestured for them to enter. “Come in and sit at the table.” They walked to a small wooden table. The man stared at Marcus a moment. “Why did you bring the woman?”
“Because I wanted to come,” Alicia fired back.
He turned his head to her, his black eyes apathetic. “Why would you choose to be in a position that could lead to serious consequences?”
“Because I worked with Paul, and I’m here to assist him.”
“What do you mean…worked?”
“When he was with NSA.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Frankly, I don’t give a shit what you believe.”
The man’s nostrils opened wider, as if he was sniffing for fear from her pores. His jaw line was hard. His rigid eyes took in her whole body. “I am Rahim. You are?”
“Alicia.”
“What is your surname?”
“Quincy.”
“Alicia Quincy, if you ever swear at me again, I will cut out your tongue. Do you understand?”
Alicia stared at him.
Marcus said, “No one’s here to threaten anyone. Where’s the drive?”
A second man came out from an adjacent room, closing the door behind him. Rahim said, “Search them, Narsi.”
Narsi took on an air of importance, puffing his strapping chest and arms to emphasize his physique in the tight, black T-shirt he wore. A week’s worth of stubble grew from his olive face, and his dark hair resembled steel wool double-stitched across his head. “Arms straight out,” he ordered. Marcus complied and the man padded him down from chest to ankles. He took Marcus’s phone and the phone that had belonged to the dead woman, Taheera. He did the same thing to Alicia and said, “Arms out and give me your purse.” She lifted her arms, and he quickly searched the purse, removing her phone. Narsi took the batteries from all three phones and set everything on the table.