DeSantos unzipped his backpack and rummaged through the contents, then hung up the shirts. Vail followed suit, and a moment later they left for the Café Central a block or so from the Relais Bosquet on Rue du Champ de Mars. It was a charming eatery with white tile and red brick walls, and unfinished wood plank floors. Cigarette smoke wafting in from the covered outside patio bothered DeSantos, but the dessert pastries more than made up for it.
Uzi and Fahad ate at a nearby table but did not converse with them or otherwise make eye contact. They exchanged a few texts as to their plans for the morning and agreed to be on the road by 9:00 AM.
Vail and DeSantos would go to the Louvre while Uzi and Fahad would track down the location of the flat mentioned in the encrypted documents.
Back in their room, Vail washed up and got her kit ready for the morning.
“My bed,” she said, pointing to the one closest to the window. “And that’s yours. Just so we’re clear.”
“If I forget when I get up to pee during the night and accidently find myself snuggled up to you, wake me before reaching for the knife, okay?”
She looked at him.
“Just sayin’. It could happen.”
Vail fluffed her pillow then pulled back the sheets. “If you value your package — and future relations with your wife — you will not make that mistake.”
46
The Smart cars may be economical, but they’re tiny as hell. And claustrophobic.”
“If we’d thought of it before,” DeSantos said, “we could’ve taken the Citroën.”
“This thing looks like it got stuck in a vise and accidentally compressed.”
“Welcome to Europe. Narrow streets, tight spaces, small cars.”
He navigated the roads like a native, taking Avenue Bosquet to Rue Saint-Dominique. Vail watched the French storefront shops, restaurants, and cafés pass by. A guide led about two dozen tourists on Segways across the street in front of them while they sat at a red light.
“Looks like fun.”
“Great way to see a city. Better than bikes. And you can cover a lot more ground.”
As they crossed the Seine River via the Pont de la Concorde bridge, Vail realized she needed to focus on her assignment, get into the mind-set. For a short time, she was essentially going undercover.
“We’ll be there in five minutes. You ready, Katherine Vega?”
“That’s Miss Vega to you. And yeah, I’m ready.”
They parked the car blocks away and hiked toward the Louvre. The sky had turned threatening, the clouds getting darker, the air cooler. It was starting to drizzle.
They walked through Jardin des Tuilieries, a sprawling 450-year-old public park and gardens that abutted the Louvre with statues, decomposed granite paths, mature trees, acres of deep green grass, and a large central fountain.
As they passed under Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel, a six-story triumphal arch commemorating Napoleon’s military victories, they saw hundreds of people massed in the Cour Napoleon, the Courtyard of Napoleon. In the center of the square stood the iconic seventy-foot glass Pyramide du Louvre that served as the main entrance to the museum complex. Tourists were snapping photos, a few climbing atop a short stone light post and taking forced-perspective pictures where they pretended to be holding the pyramid by its apex. The modern structure sat in stark contrast to the classical baroque design of the surrounding buildings.
DeSantos gestured at the long line waiting to enter the base of the glass structure. “There’s an alternate way in that won’t be nearly as crowded.”
They descended into the Carrousel du Louvre mall, which featured cafés and gift shops, including a Starbucks and an Apple Store. They passed through the narrow high-ceilinged limestone-walled corridor that was lined with vendors on both sides, as they headed toward the expansive Hall Napoleon, a cavernous atrium that featured an inverted glass pyramid, a mirror image of the one above, pointing down into the gallery.
DeSantos led her past two curving staircases that led to and from street level — the pyramid base where the tourists had been waiting to enter.
As they made their way toward the museum, Vail locked on six police officers congregated in the center of the large lobby. She nudged DeSantos.
“It’s the largest museum in the world. What did you expect?”
“A walk in the park?”
“We did that on the way over here.” She adjusted her faux glasses and ascended the escalator to the “Control des tickets” booth at the Sully entrance. They paid with the euros Claude and his team had supplied and were handed two large vouchers that read “Musee,” along with the date and time of arrival.
Vail took a moment to glance at a foldout map that clearly delineated how massive the Louvre was—652,000 square feet containing 380,000 objects.
They split up, DeSantos hanging back and pretending to view the nearby exhibit while Vail proceeded to the office of the curator in charge of Middle Eastern antiquities, a thin, suited man who seemed surprised to be called to the front desk.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m Katherine Vega.”
He squinted lack of understanding, but politely replied, “I’m Pierre DuPont.”
“I know. Thanks for agreeing to help us.”
He tilted his head. “Help?” He said it as if he had just tasted bitter lemon. “I’m sorry, Miss—”
“Vega. I was told you’d be expecting me.”
“Well, I assure you I was not. Now, if you’ll excuse—”
“Wait a minute,” she said. “I came all the way from the United States — Washington, DC–I’m the Middle Eastern artifacts curator with the Smithsonian International Gallery.” She dug into her pocket and found the packet of business cards that had been placed in her backpack by the order of the CIA station chief, along with her clothing and identification documents.
DuPont took the card, frowning as he examined it. Without looking at her he said, “And what is it that you’re here for?”
“As my office told your office when we called two weeks ago, we’re looking for a rare Middle Eastern artifact from the tenth century. A man of your stature surely knows of it.” She waited for him to meet her gaze. “It’s a Hebrew text that runs about two hundred pages.”
DuPont blinked then lifted his brow and shook his head. He handed Vail back her business card — which she did not mind taking — and said, “I’m sorry. We don’t have anything like that.”
She laughed. “Surely you must’ve just forgotten. It’s known as the Aleppo Codex, or the Crown of Aleppo, or just the Crown. It arrived about three months ago.” She was extrapolating based on information Uzi had told her he had retrieved from the laptop. “My assistant discussed this with your staff.”
“And who’d she speak with?”
“It’s he. And I don’t remember who Jason spoke with. I didn’t think it was important. I never expected the Louvre, of all the institutions in the world, to give us a problem.”
“I can’t show you what we don’t have, Miss Vega.”
“That’s a shame, because one of our major benefactors was considering a sizable donation to your efforts to purchase the Teschen Table.” According to the backgrounder the Agency had prepared for her, it was one of the world’s most unique pieces of furniture, an eighteenth-century masterpiece. “I’m told you came up short earlier this year to raise a million euros.”
“Yes, well, that effort is ongoing—”
“And the donor I’m talking about is prepared to make a €150,000 contribution.”