The cabin was cramped, kept dim by curtains that had been drawn over the large, square windows. To his left a semicircular and padded bench wrapped itself around a table bolted to the floor. The table bore a vase of fresh flowers but was otherwise clear, the area around him tidy. The smell inside was musty, though, as if any cleaning had been superficial. To his right, the galley stretched half the length of the boat: a sink, an oven, a fridge, and some counter space. He could see two closed doors in front of him, to the left looked like the head, while the one directly opposite him was likely the bedroom.
He began to search, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for. It occurred to him that he wanted to prove himself right, to find some exculpatory evidence showing that Al Zakiri was not, in fact, a terrorist. What that might be, he had no idea.
He was kneeling in the galley, looking through the storage units, finding nothing of interest, when he heard footsteps on the deck.
He moved to the window and inched the curtain open to look outside. But the feet had moved past and were at the steps to the cabin door.
Then they stopped.
Hugo thought quickly, knowing he had two options. He could let Al Zakiri know he was there and try to reason with him, or jump the Pakistani as he came through the door. The decision was easy: he’d tried logic already, now it was time for something a little more persuasive.
He wedged himself by the door on the galley side, knowing Al Zakiri would come into the cabin with his head down, ducking under the lintel.
The feet started down the stairs, hesitant, slowly, as if Hugo’s presence had already been detected.
The lock. Dammit.
If Al Zakiri had seen the lock, he’d already have Hugo’s gun in his hand, making an ambush potentially lethal.
As the door slowly opened, Hugo stepped away from the door and stood in the middle of the cabin. He held his hands out to his sides, the universal gesture that said I’m harmless.
The door swung all the way open, and a figure stepped into the cabin. When he saw who it was, Hugo let his arms fall to his sides and shook his head, confused. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question,” Claudia said.
Chapter Twenty-eight
She moved toward him, her face serious, as if intentionally drawing out the moment of surprise.
“Explain,” Hugo said. “This isn’t a safe place for you.”
“Nor you,” she said. Finally, a small smile. “That’s why I’m here.”
He cocked his head, waiting for a fuller explanation.
“You turned your phone off,” she said. “Tom’s been trying to reach you. He wanted you to know that the girl told his men about the boat, and that they’re on the way. He knows I work close-by so he asked me to pick you up. He doesn’t want you to get hurt.”
“But how did he know where I was?”
“He said you’d be mad,” Claudia said. “But he put a track on your phone. He figured you were on Al Zakiri’s trail and he wanted to make sure you were safe.”
“That’s what he told you? He was worried about my safety?”
“Yes, but I didn’t believe it either.” Again the smile. “We should go.”
“Help me search the place first.”
“Hugo—”
“We don’t have much time.”
“Fine, but what are we looking for?”
“No idea. But if he’s a terrorist and this is his hideout, it should be easy to find.”
They searched quickly in silence, heads popping up every time they heard sirens, Hugo moving to the windows to look for signs of Tom’s men in black. They were done in under five minutes, having found nothing out of the ordinary.
“Did you see his passport?” Hugo asked. “Money?”
“Nothing in his bedroom.”
“Nor out here.” Hugo looked around the small cabin. “OK, either he has them on him or they’re somewhere else. Either way, we’re pushing our luck by staying here, let’s go.”
As Hugo followed her up the stairs to the deck, Claudia turned. “I thought you were trying to find the Scarab. You’re chasing Al Zakiri now, instead?”
“No,” said Hugo. He smiled. “One thing led to another, and here I am. I think I’m going to have to let Tom do his thing while I go back to chasing our friend the Scarab.” At the top of the stairs, Hugo looked out across the river. “I just don’t think he’s a terrorist.”
“An innocent man?”
“A persecuted one, certainly.”
“And Hugo the superhero wants to save him.”
They turned as a figure rose from behind the cabin. “Was that performance for my sake?”
“No, Mohammed, I meant it.” Hugo eyed the gun, his gun, that was pointed at his chest. “You’re not going to need that, so please point it somewhere else. Or put it away.”
“Why are you following me? I told you, I’m not going with you.” He looked at Claudia. “Who is she?”
“She’s a friend,” Hugo began.
“I’m a newspaper reporter,” Claudia said. “And if Hugo says you’re not a terrorist that’s good enough for me.”
Al Zakiri smiled wearily. “And what good does that do me?”
“It means that I’m prepared to write your story, not the one the police or the government gives us. It means that if you talk to me it won’t be possible for you to disappear into the system, to be mistreated.”
“The power of the press,” Al Zakiri said.
Hugo nodded, then something caught his eyes, three identical speed boats coming at them from under the Pont des Invalides, moving faster than the other boat traffic but not so fast as to draw attention.
“They’re here,” Hugo said. “For Chrissakes, put that gun down.”
“Who?” Al Zakiri looked over his shoulder and saw the boats. “Shit, the police.” He rounded the end of the cabin, moving swiftly toward Claudia and Hugo. “If you want to tell my story you better be able to run.” He thrust the gun at Hugo and kept going, leaping like a cat from the prow to the stone quay.
Hugo started after him. He’d taken two steps when the air suddenly disintegrated, giving him no time to process what was happening before the hard crack of gunfire made it all too clear. Instinctively he dropped to the deck, falling to his right so he could take Claudia down with him. They hit the wooden planking hard and she winced as the breath went out of her.
“You OK?” Hugo shifted his body to cover hers as a second burst of gunfire raked the boat.
“Yes. How come I get shot at every time I’m with you?”
“Garcia said the same thing. And,” he said, nudging her ribs with his elbow, “not every time. Now lie still.”
Hugo lifted his head to look for Al Zakiri, but the gunwale blocked his view. Claudia shifted. “Can you see him?” she asked.
The boat rocked before he could answer, the wake from the three speedboats shoving the barge against the stone quay, and seconds later they heard the drumming of feet on the deck.
“Lie still!” a voice ordered, and Hugo knew they had half a dozen guns trained on them. Two hands pulled him off Claudia and deposited him face down on the deck. A knee pressed into his back and more hands went through his clothes, checking his holster and pulling out his credentials.
“Let them up.” Hugo recognized the voice of Moreau.
Hugo and Claudia stood, both looking toward the walkway. A figure lay motionless on the ground, surrounded by Moreau’s men, their guns aimed at his back. A shift from one of the men let Hugo see Al Zakiri’s hands pinned behind his back by handcuffs. But he wasn’t moving.