“Golf course?” Vail asked, swiveling her head in all directions as they walked due east.
“Golf de Dieppe Pourville in Seine-Maritime,” Fahad said. “Upper Normandy. France.”
“You speak French?”
“I was stationed here for a couple of years. I had to learn French as part of my assignment.”
“That might come in handy,” she said. “What’s the plan?”
DeSantos checked his GPS and corrected their direction to a northwest bearing. “Back at the base, while you were talking dirty with your fiancé, Uzi and I were plotting things out. We’ve got two mission objectives in France: first is the flat they mentioned in that document we found on the computer in London. We need to locate it, infiltrate it, and hopefully engage one or more of our most wanted men.”
“Second?”
“Find the document in the Louvre and see if it’s what we’ve been ordered to recover.”
“If it is in the Louvre, what then?”
“Then we ask to see it and verify it’s the one we’re looking for.”
“And how do we verify it?”
“We’ve been given some parameters. Basically, if we have reasonable suspicion, we’ll make a request of the museum archivist or curator for evaluation.”
“I’ve also got a backup option for verification,” Uzi said, “just in case we need it.”
“The CIA has set up a cover for you,” Fahad said.
“For me? When were you going to tell me about this?”
“Now.”
Smartass.
“You have a background in art history.”
“Not the same as rare manuscripts.”
“Close enough,” Fahad said. “You’ll be the person sent to the Louvre to examine the document based on a prior conversation you had with someone here who happens to be on holiday now. They won’t know what you’re talking about, of course, because this is all bullshit.”
No kidding.
“If he’s above board,” Fahad said, “it won’t be an issue. He can check out your credentials, which the Agency has constructed during the past few hours. You’re a pretty impressive executive with the Museum of Middle Eastern Affairs in Washington.”
DeSantos pulled out a night vision monocle and peered into the darkness. “If he’s colluding with al Humat, or a front group, he’ll hedge and deny.”
“And then what?”
“I see him.” DeSantos stuck the GPS device in his jacket pocket and gestured ahead.
“Hector, then what?”
“Then, we think outside that box you’re so fond of avoiding.”
45
They met up with their contact, a CIA operative by the name of Claude, who dumped their stuff into the trunk of his Peugeot. He chauffeured them with an occasional comment in French to Fahad, who was seated in the front. Vail was sandwiched between the large bodies of Uzi and DeSantos for the two-hour drive.
Heeding their own rule of getting sleep when possible, they curled up against one another and grabbed some fitful shuteye.
They were jolted awake by a traffic light somewhere in downtown Paris. Claude pulled to the curb and met a man who emptied the trunk, then filled it with four bulging dark-colored rucksacks.
“What’s going on?” Vail asked as she rubbed her eyes, trying to clear the dried goop from the corners.
Uzi swiveled his torso as best he could in the tight quarters. “Claude is exchanging cargo with another operative who’s going to dispose of our American-issue parachutes. And he brought us backpacks filled with a couple changes of clothes and a Dopp Kit.”
“And how do you know this?”
Uzi turned back to face Vail. Instead, he met DeSantos’s gaze. “She continues to question us.”
“When do you think she’ll finally get the fact that we’re just really good?”
Claude returned and pulled the shift into drive. As they reentered the avenue, Fahad again started conversing in French. Five minutes later, Claude turned onto Rue du Champ de Mars and parked.
“These are your accommodations,” Claude said in French-accented English. He gestured to the hotel a few doors down and across the street.
It was a well maintained six-story building with a small but welcoming entrance, which featured a frosted glass sign that read, Relais Bosquet. A black wrought iron canopy and slate tile sidewalk gave it a classy look.
“That black Smart car and brown Citroën in front of it are yours,” Claude said as he handed over two sets of keys. “You need anything else?”
“We’re good,” DeSantos said. “Thanks for the ride.”
“I did the easy part.”
Yeah, tell me about it.
“Beware,” Claude said. He turned to Vail, his penetrating gaze locked on her eyes, and said, “The police and soldiers are everywhere.”
Shouldn’t we be more worried about the assholes who are trying to blow us up? Vail looked at Uzi, then back at Claude. “Right. Thanks for the tip.”
DeSantos pulled himself forward in the seat. “We’ll go in pairs. Karen and I will hang out here for a bit.”
Uzi and Fahad got out and retrieved their backpacks from the trunk, then headed across the street.
“So I noticed you arranged for us to sleep together again.”
DeSantos consulted his watch and kept his gaze there as he answered. “Yes, I did, my dear. You got a problem with that?”
“I don’t.” She paused, then said, “But Robby might.”
A few moments later, after another check of his watch, DeSantos popped open his door. “Our turn.”
They got their gear from the back and started across the street.
“Claude’s a bit creepy,” Vail said.
“Is that any way to talk about a man who risked his life to help you out of a jam?”
“His eyes are strange. Not like a serial killer’s, but kind of … empty.” Vail took in the hotel’s entrance as she stepped onto the curb. “Nice place.”
“What we need it for, it’s more than adequate.”
They walked into the lobby, which had a warm, cozy feel. The registration desk was painted ivory like the rest of the earth-toned lounge, which opened into a sitting area with upholstered couches and easy chairs. Large windows looked out onto the Rue du Champ de Mars.
They were attended to by a thin Frenchman who spoke intelligible English. He checked them in, gave them a password for wireless internet access, and told them that breakfast would be served in the adjacent dining room.
They headed down the glass-walled hallway to the narrow staircase and proceeded up to the third floor. Vail used her key card and opened their door to yellow comforters, yellow walls, and red, green, and yellow floral curtains, with a matching headboard.
“I see the prevailing color theme here.” Vail tossed her backpack onto the closest mattress. “How best to describe this room? Small? Cozy? Tiny?”
“Efficient use of space,” DeSantos said absentmindedly as he examined the lamps, sconces, drawers, and LCD television looking for, presumably, covert cameras and listening devices. He turned and leaned his buttocks against the bureau. “Two beds.”
“Other than stating the obvious, you sound disappointed.”
“I enjoyed sleeping with you in London. Even if you did threaten me with that imaginary line in the sand bullshit.”
“Same goes here. If you value your manhood, you’ll stay on your bed. Remember, Uzi gave me that Tanto. Although I did read somewhere they can now grow penises in the lab. I guess that’s something.”
DeSantos scrunched his face. “Sensitive subject. Don’t joke about things like that.” He checked his watch then parted the curtains and looked out the window. “We’ll grab dinner then walk through the mission again.”