“We’re good. He’s spreading the word to his brother, who’ll go set it up with his cousins in three other rooms. That should be enough.”
“How can we be sure?”
“Because he’s sure. And he makes his living here. He’s been working here for nine years.”
“Did you say ‘working’ here?”
“Figure of speech.”
“Nine years? He’s what, twenty-two, twenty-three?”
“They start young. Children can get away with a lot more because we automatically assume they’re innocent. They’re very effective tools.”
“Children are tools. Another figure of speech?”
“Shut up. We need to go get ready. When he signals us, we have to be in position.”
As they made their way toward the elevator, Vail said, “What’s the signal?”
“A smiley face texted to my throwaway. That and we’ll hear the fire alarm.”
“Fire alarm? That was my idea.”
“And it was a good one, so I used it. They know how to set it off. That way we’ll clear the lab.”
“Maybe the entire museum.”
“Works for me.” DeSantos led the way into the empty car. “Now where are the cameras? We still need to avoid them because if they get a sense it was intentional, we don’t want our faces on a recording going into a restricted area.”
“The only ones I saw were in the corridor outside the lab.”
“Nothing inside?”
“Unless they were well concealed, no.”
As they exited the elevator on level B1, DeSantos pulled out his phone. “That’s it. Got the text.”
Before Vail could acknowledge, the fire alarm started blaring. It was shrill and high-pitched.
“Standard fire evacuation protocol for a building is using the stairs,” DeSantos said over the din. “Know where they are?”
“End of the hall on the right.”
“Let’s give it a minute, then we’ll make sure the hallway’s clear.”
A moment later, they moved up the corridor, keeping their heads down to avoid the cameras as best they could.
“We can’t be sure everyone’s evacuated.”
“It’s a fire alarm,” DeSantos said. “Most people are gonna get out. And if there’s one or two who don’t, we’ll deal with it.”
I was afraid you were going to say that.
They approached the door and Vail entered the four digit code as DeSantos discretely wrapped his fingers around the grip of his handgun.
The lock clicked and she pushed on the metal handle. As it swung open she saw a red ceiling light blinking in the corner of the room.
They gave a quick look around, then signaled each other: all clear.
Except that it wasn’t.
49
Uzi rubbernecked his head. Fahad was nowhere in sight. First objective was to get out of the building safely and the second was to get to the Arc de Triomphe. Third was to find Fahad.
Bypassing the elevator, he saved time by running toward the stairwell. He pushed through — and saw Fahad standing over the bodies of two unconscious men.
“What the hell happened?”
“French counterterrorism officers. We’ve gotta get the hell out of here.”
They fled down the steps and hit the ground floor in seconds. After making sure there were no other cops in the immediate vicinity, they walked out, headed back to their car in a falling rain.
“Anything?”
“I think we’re good.” He handed Fahad the keys. “You drive. We’re headed to the Arc de Triomphe.”
As they navigated the streets en route to the monument, Uzi told Fahad of the email that had come through.
“Not sure we’re gonna make it. Gonna be very close.”
“Police,” Uzi said.
Fahad hung a left and sped up to the next intersection and turned right on Rue de Londres.
Uzi lowered his chin. “Another two cops. And a soldier with a rifle.”
He turned again and accelerated. “These detours are slowing us down.”
“And if we get pulled over, our entire mission could be blown.”
Fahad swung right onto Rue Le Champs Elysées, the equivalent of New York’s Fifth Avenue: a wide, upscale shopping and residential district lined with patisseries, designer chocolatiers, and specialty stores such as a Bang & Olufsen audio showroom.
“How close?”
“Up ahead. Half a mile, give or take.”
“Counterterrorism officers,” Uzi said. “Either they were watching us or they were watching the same guys we were watching. That van we saw parked at the curb.”
“Yeah, they were probably doing surveillance, waiting for the assholes to come home. Instead, it was us.”
“We were pretty careful. You think they had bugs inside the flat?”
“That’s what the Agency would’ve done. I think it’s likely.”
They had not used each other’s names, so all the French authorities had on them were voiceprints.
Their tires made a sizzling sound against the rain-soaked asphalt as they swerved in and out of the slower-moving traffic.
Uzi consulted his watch. “Four minutes.”
Ahead of them, in the center of a busy traffic circle, was their destination. Built in the same design as its smaller cousin, the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel, which stood just outside the Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe de l’Étoile was almost three times its height at nearly seventeen stories and proffered an unimpeded 360 degree view of downtown Paris.
“Ever been here?” Fahad asked.
“To the arch? No.”
“Carved marble’s beautiful. And the thing’s so big someone once flew a biplane through the center.”
“I’ll enjoy it some other time.”
As they approached, Uzi was on the lookout for a place they could leave their vehicle where it would not get towed — or attract the attention of law enforcement. Problem was, as in any metropolitan area, parking was scarce.
They passed a building that featured a massive outcropping of large glass panes mounted on a metal skeleton that protruded at odd angles and directions, as if the facing had been twisted by an earthquake.
“We’re gonna have to leave the car at the nearest curb space and hope it’s here when we get out.”
“It’s got a clean title,” Fahad said. “The Agency made sure it won’t be traced back to them. If we have to abandon it, if it’s towed, so be it.”
He pulled to the right side of the street and they got out, walking briskly, and separately, toward the entrance.
Uzi cursed under his breath as they approached four police officers wearing dark jackets and large black-on-white POLICE placards on their backs with white, red, and blue patches on their arms.
“They have no idea what’s about to go down right under their noses,” Uzi said as they descended the marble steps to a long tunnel that ran beneath the street and up into the massive monument. A curved ceiling with up-lighting from the sides gave the passageway a contemporary feel.
“We have to buy tickets,” Fahad said, pointing to a booth up a few marble steps off to the left.
“You’re shitting me. We don’t have time.”
“Path of least resistance. We don’t want those cops to come running when we force our way through security.”
“Fine.” As Uzi paid, he glanced at his watch. The meet was starting in one minute, assuming they were punctual.
“Shit,” Fahad said, gesturing at the posted sign. “Elevator’s out.”
They began running up the cement stairs, its metal facing worn-through to its substructure — evidence of the number of tourists who had visited the monument during the past 190 years.