I ran to a window behind the reception desk, grabbed the handle and pushed it open. A safety bar kept the gap to six inches. I picked up the receptionist’s heavy chair and smashed it into the frame, breaking the restraint.
The window swung wide. I climbed onto the sill and looked around. There was a column rising to my right with climbable features, fleurs-de-lys, flowers and cherubs carved into the stone, that looked as though they could take my weight.
The door to Duval’s suite burst open and a squad of police officers in black tactical gear raced inside. That was my cue to make a leap of faith and grab the cap of a floral motif. The stone held and I used it to haul myself off the window ledge.
Below me, dumpsters, pallets and recycling bins crowded the alleyway behind the building, but as I looked west, I saw police officers running from the street into the narrow cut-through, making a fall into one of the dumpsters a risky endeavor that would likely end in my capture.
I went up instead, climbing as fast as I could, ignoring the shouts and sounds of activity from inside the office below me. Within seconds, I was on the flat roof of the building, sprinting east.
I managed to get a fifty-foot head start on the first cop to follow me up. As we ran across the rooftop, with him yelling commands, he was joined by two of his colleagues.
With three police officers on my heels, I saw a fire escape on the adjacent building, but it was only as I closed in on it that I realized there was a fifteen-foot gap between the two structures. I couldn’t risk getting arrested and thrown in jail where I’d be a sitting target, and I couldn’t see an alternative to gambling.
I accelerated toward the edge of the roof, my legs pounding out an increasingly rapid beat, my heart thumping in my ears, and when I was a step away from falling, launched myself into a long jump, my arms flailing for purchase, my legs kicking out for something solid.
I flew across the gap, and when I slammed into the metal fire escape on the other side, tried to find a grip. My hands weren’t quick enough and I dropped, plummeting a story down before I managed to catch hold of a railing and arrest my fall. I cried out as an arm was almost pulled from a shoulder socket, but I held fast for a moment before dropping the remaining fifteen feet to the ground.
I sprinted along the driveway onto Avenue des Citronniers and glanced both ways.
A crowd had gathered around the police vehicles outside the cafe where I’d left Justine, Mo-bot and Sci. There was no sign of them, but I did spy a man on a motorbike at the very edge of the gathering. He was straining to peer over the heads of the onlookers to see what was going on.
I sprinted into the street, jumped the flowerbeds and raced toward him. He was distracted by the lights and cops in tactical gear, holding his phone high above his head to capture the action. He didn’t notice me until it was too late.
I pushed him off his bike, caught it before it fell, pressed the starter button, and as he came to his senses and realized what was happening, I raced away, leaving behind his cries of outrage, the flashing lights and angry cops as quickly as the little bike would carry me.
Chapter 35
I ditched the bike in an alleyway off the Boulevard du Larvotto and covered the ground back to the apartment on foot, taking care to avoid busy streets, bright lights and crowds. I hurried along quiet residential roads and crossed to the other side whenever I encountered people.
After fifteen minutes I found the delivery entrance at the back of our building and pressed the buzzer for the apartment.
“Jack?” Justine said through the speaker moments later.
“Yes,” I replied. “Buzz me in.”
After a short pause, the door clicked, and I pulled it open and hurried up the back stairs to avoid the concierge. I had no idea whether I was now a wanted man, but I wasn’t going to take any chances.
Justine was waiting for me in the stairwell. She threw her arms around my neck.
“I was so worried when I saw Duval,” she said. She’d been watching the footage broadcast from my pin camera.
“I’m okay,” I assured her.
“Come on,” she said, taking me by the hand. “Mo-bot has found something.”
I followed her out of the stairwell, along the corridor and into our apartment. I breathed more easily when Sci locked and bolted the door behind us.
He patted my shoulder. “Glad you made it, boss.”
“Me too,” I replied.
“Come on,” Justine said, leading me into the large living room.
Mo-bot was at one of her spare laptops, which I assumed had been in one of the backpacks. On-screen was a photo of Roman. I recognized it as a mugshot, and the booking card read “Marc Barat” and identified the arrest as having been made by the Marseilles police.
“You okay?” Mo-bot asked. “Or do you need a breather?”
“I’m okay,” I replied honestly.
Justine squeezed my hand and smiled at me. Tiredness would probably hit me soon, but right now I was too wired with adrenalin to feel the slightest fatigue.
“Earlier this afternoon, I sent stills of the drone footage we took at the farmhouse to Weaver and he identified this man, photo-matching a mugshot taken in Marseilles eight months ago,” Mo-bot revealed. “I’m guessing the name is false, but it looks like he was busted during a drug deal.”
“How’d he get out?” I asked.
Mo-bot shrugged. “It’s not in the record.”
I frowned. Why was a drug dealer targeting us? And who did he want me to kill?
“I want you and Sci to go to Marseilles,” I said to Mo-bot. “See if you can talk to the arresting officer. Find out whatever you can about this guy.”
Mo-bot and Sci nodded.
I turned to Justine. “Tomorrow we’ll go back to the Automobile Club and find out what the biker who was chasing me was doing there.”
“What if the cops put out a warrant for you?” Sci asked.
“I’ll have to be nimble,” I replied with a smile, before returning my attention to Mo-bot. “Can you keep an eye out? See if I’m flagged as wanted?”
Mo-bot nodded. I could feel exhaustion creeping in but my day wasn’t yet done.
I took out my phone and called Eli Carver’s private number. It rang through.
“Hello?” a voice said.
“Secretary Carver, please,” I replied.
“Who’s calling?”
“Jack Morgan.”
“Mr. Morgan, I’ve heard a lot about you. My name is Henry Wilson. I’m one of the secretary’s aides. He’s in a meeting right now. Can I give him a message?”
“Have him call me as soon as he can,” I replied.
“Of course,” Wilson replied. “I’ll let him know the moment I see him.”
He hung up and I slipped my phone in my pocket. “We still bouncing these things?” I asked, referring to the relay technology Mo-bot used to make our phones hard to track.
She nodded.
“Good. I don’t want to give Roman any easy wins.”
“We won’t,” she assured me. “Nothing is foolproof, but this is darned close.”
The phone call reminded me of the device I’d taken from Duval. I pulled it out of my pocket and gave it to her.
“Duval was holding this when he died.”
“I know,” she replied. “We were watching.”
“Sorry. I’m starting to feel the day catching up with me,” I said. “See what you can get out of it?”
Mo-bot nodded. “Will do. You need to get some rest.”
“Come on,” Justine said, taking me by the hand. “You’re done.”
I didn’t resist as she led me toward the bedroom.
Chapter 36
Mo-bot was tired, but she’d never needed much sleep, which was how she kept going while others rested. When she was younger, people had assumed she used drugs, stimulants, vast amounts of coffee, but the truth was she could function perfectly well on three to four hours’ sleep per night. She felt drained now though and needed to recharge her batteries, which was why Sci was driving.