They had caught White Beard, the one who'd told me he was the Wolf.
Chapter 85
The room was small and cramped, as it was situated right under the eaves. It had a low, rain-stained, sloping ceiling and a tiny Velux, a skylight. I looked at my watch-8:45. Tick, tick, tick.
I was hurriedly introduced to the interrogation team of Captain Coridon and Lieutenant Leroux-and their prisoner, a Russian arms dealer, Artur Nikitin. I already knew Nikitin, of course. He wore no shirt or shoes and was cuffed, hands behind his back. He was also sweating profusely. He was definitely the white-bearded Russian from the farmhouse.
I had been told during the ride over that the Russian hoodlum did business with al Qaeda that had made him millions. It was believed that he was involved with suitcase nukes, that he knew how many had been sold, and that he knew who had bought them.
"Cowards!" he was shouting at the French police as I entered the room. "Fucking goddamn cowards. You can't do this to me. I've done nothing wrong. You French claim to be such liberals, but you are not!"
He looked at me and pretended he had no idea who I was. His bad acting made me smile.
Captain Coridon told him, "You may have noticed that you have been brought to the Préfecture de Police rather than the offices of the DST. That's because you're not being charged as an 'illegal trafficker in arms.' The charge is murder. We are homicide detectives. Trust me, there are no liberals in this room, unless it's you."
Nikitin's brown eyes remained wide with anger, but I also detected traces of confusion, especially now that I was there. "This is bullshit! I can't believe it. I've done nothing wrong. I am a businessman! A French citizen. I want my lawyer!"
Coridon looked at me. "You try."
I stepped forward and threw a hard uppercut into the Russian's jaw. His head snapped back. "We're not even close to being even," I told him. "No one knows that you're here! You will be tried as a terrorist, and you will be executed. No one will care, not after tomorrow. Not after your bombs help destroy Paris and kill thousands."
The Russian yelled at me. "I tell you again-I've done nothing! You can't do anything to me. What weapons? What bombs? Who am I, Saddam Hussein? You can't do this."
"We can, and we will execute you," shouted Captain Coridon from off to the side. "You are a dead man as soon as you leave this room, Nikitin. We have other scum to talk to. Whoever helps us first, we help them."
"Get him out of here!" Coridon finally said. "We're wasting time with this bastard!"
The brigadier grabbed Nikitin by his hair and by the band of his pants. He threw him halfway across the room. The Russian's head smacked against the wall, but he scrambled to his bare feet. His eyes were large and fearful now. Maybe he was beginning to understand that the rules of interrogation had changed. Everything had changed now.
"Last chance to talk," I said. "Remember, you're just a gnat to us."
"I didn't sell anything to anyone here in France! I sell in Angola, for diamonds!" Nikitin said.
"I don't care, and I don't believe you!" Captain Coridon shouted at the top of his voice. "Get him out of here."
"I know something!" Nikitin suddenly blurted out. "The suitcase nukes! The number is four. It's al Qaeda who's behind it. Al Qaeda made the plan! They call the shots. The prisoners of war-everything."
I turned to the French policemen and shook my head. "The Wolf gave him up to us. And he's not going to be pleased with his 'performance.' He'll kill him for us. I don't believe a word he just said."
Nikitin looked at the three of us, then he spit, " Al Qaeda! Fuck you if you don't like it, or believe it."
I stared back at him. "Prove what you're saying. Make us believe you. Make me believe you, because I don't."
"All right," Nikitin said then. "I can do that. I'll make all of you believers."
Chapter 86
As soon as I arrived back at the Préfecture, Martin Lodge caught up with me. "Let's go!" He started to pull me along.
"What? Go where?" I looked at my watch-something I seemed to be doing every couple of minutes now. It was 10:25.
"A raid is going down in a few minutes. The hideout that the Russian gave you-it's real."
Martin and I hurried upstairs to the crisis room at police headquarters. My old pal Etienne Marteau met us and guided us to a row of monitors set up to view the raid. Everything was happening incredibly fast for a change. Too fast maybe, but what choice did we have?
Marteau said, "They're confident, Alex. They coordinated with the power authority, EDF-GDF. The power grid in the area goes down and then they go in."
I nodded at what he was saying and watched the screens in front of us. It was strange to be once removed from the action. Then it was happening! French soldiers appeared out of nowhere, dozens of them. They wore RAID jackets: Recherche, assistance, intervention et dissuasion. They carried assault rifles.
The soldiers rushed toward a small town house that looked harmless enough. They broke down the front door. It happened in seconds.
A UBL, a French version of the Hummer, appeared and crashed through a wooden gate in the rear. Soldiers jumped from the UBL.
"We'll see soon enough," I said to Martin. "RAID is good at what they do?"
"Yes, they are skillful at destruction and death."
A couple of the French police were miked and carried cameras, so we got to see and hear much of the raid as it happened. A door was thrown open, a gun fired from inside, then a blaze of return fire.
Someone's shrill scream, the sound of a body thumping against the floorboards.
Two gunmen ran out into a narrow hallway. Both in their underwear. Shot down before they knew what hit them.
A half-naked female with a handgun-shot in the throat.
"Don't kill them all," I muttered at the monitor.
A Cougar helicopter swooped down and more commandos appeared. Inside the house, soldiers swarmed into a bedroom, then fell on a man lying on a cot. They took him alive, thank God.
Other terrorists were surrendering, their hands held high.
Then more rapid gunshots, off camera this time.
A suspect was marched down the hall with a gun held to his head. An older man. The Wolf? Was it possible they had captured him? The policeman with the gun was smiling as if he had scored something big. The raid was certainly fast and efficient. At least four of the terrorists had been captured alive.
Then we waited impatiently for news. The cameras at the raid site were shut down. We waited some more.
Finally, about three in the afternoon, an army colonel stood at the front of the room in the crisis center. Every seat was taken; there was no more standing room; the tension was almost unbearable.
The colonel began, "We have identified the prisoners, those who are alive. One from Iran, a Saudi, a Moroccan, two Egyptians. A cell. Al Qaeda. We know who they are. It is doubtful that we caught the Wolf. It is also doubtful that these terrorists were involved in the threat to Paris. I am sorry to give you bad news at this late hour. We did our best. But he remains a step ahead of us. I'm sorry."
Chapter 87
The terrible, "final" deadline was so close now, and no one had any more information on what would happen next. We seemed to have run out of options to stop the Wolf.
At 5:45, I was one of several nervous men and women climbing out of dark Renaults and then hurrying toward the tall ironwork gates of the Ministère de l'Intérieur building for a meeting with the DGSE, which is the French equivalent of our CIA. The front gates were immense. Like supplicants entering a cathedral, we seemed small and insignificant as we passed through them. I felt small and insignificant, as well as at the mercy of higher powers, and not just God.