Dinner — Cruise
Embarquement
Boarding
An arrow pointed down toward the river.
She saw one of the officers looking directly at her as a large two-car articulated bus crossed in front of her, forming a screen. She used the cover to run toward the stone staircase, then descended the steps to the water’s edge, where a long glass-ceilinged blue and white boat was docked. DeSantos was standing on the ramp talking with a uniformed man who looked the part of a ship’s captain.
“I’m here,” Vail said as she approached the vessel. She wanted to glance up, to see if the officers had realized where she had gone once the bus had cleared their line of sight, but DeSantos had her hand and was literally pulling her aboard — and into the cabin.
“When I said five minutes, I wasn’t kidding. I had to give the captain some dinero to wait.”
“We’re in France and you’re speaking Spanish?”
“Money’s the universal language, no matter what you call it.”
They walked into the dining room, glass comprising a majority of the ceiling and walls, with a wood floor down the center and red carpeting along the periphery. Sunken tables and built-in chairs ran in two rows along the sides of the boat. Passengers were busy snapping photos of one another.
Up above, on street level, Vail saw the two police officers standing on the Quai du Marché Neuf with their backs against the retaining wall, rotating their heads left and right, looking as if they were wondering where she had gone. One was chattering on his radio.
DeSantos, clearly clued in to her concern, said, “Idea is for people to see out, not for people to see in.”
“Not sure I’m willing to stake my life on that.”
As soon as she said that, another cop ran over to the officers. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Vail rubbed her forehead with a hand. “When the hell are we gonna start moving?”
“Shhh,” DeSantos said. “Relax. You look like you’re under extreme duress. People are going to wonder what the hell’s the matter with you.”
“I’m a New Yorker. I’m a stressed out aggressive bitch.”
DeSantos looked at her.
She cracked a broad smile. “That better?”
He squinted and said, hesitantly, “I think so.”
The boat started moving, slowly, the landscape above them sliding by.
“Thank god.” She looked up at the cops and watched them recede into the distance, her shoulders dropping in relief — only to see a dozen others standing on the Petit Pont-Cardinal Lustiger as they neared the cathedral. “Poor Jean-Claude.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” She sighed deeply as they glided under the bridge, putting distance between them and the police. “Now what?”
“‘Now what?’ Karen, I thought you were resourceful. We haven’t eaten. This is a dinner cruise. We’ll chow down, have a glass of wine, clear our heads and think.”
Vail looked at him in disbelief. “You’re amazing.”
“I know. And thanks.”
“I didn’t mean that in a nice way.”
“Then choose your adjectives better.”
“How about infuriating? Or ridicul—”
“Welcome aboard, I’m Dominique,” said a young hostess dressed in a black formfitting tux. “Would you like to take your seats?”
“We would,” DeSantos said. “Can you wrap them to go?”
Dominique giggled. “I’m sorry, Monsieur, you are funny.”
“That’s what my wife says.” He smiled at Vail. “All kidding aside, Dominique, how about a window seat?”
The woman giggled again. “But Monsieur, they’re all window seats.”
DeSantos made a point of looking around. “Indeed, you’re right, my dear. Window seat it is.” He turned to Vail and offered his bent elbow. “Honey?”
Are you kidding me? He’s flirting? Vail rolled her eyes. Ridiculous. Infuriating. Unbelievable. Insufferable. And damn good at what he does.
The waitress brought two glasses and a bottle of Coeur de Méditerranée merlot and set it down in front of them. She pulled out a corkscrew, opened the wine, and poured it.
Vail was focused on the passing landscape above. When the waitress left, she turned to DeSantos, who was shoulder to shoulder with her in the romantic booth. “Seriously, Hector. How smart do you think this … dinner cruise is?”
“It was my idea, so naturally I think it was very smart.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t.”
In a low voice, she said, “We’re being pursued by the police and we’re sitting in a boat made of windows riding through the heart of Paris. With no way to get off.”
“Like I started to explain before, it’s a sightseeing boat. The idea is that the tourists — that’d be us — get to see the city. That’s why it’s so dark in here. We can see out, but it’s tough to see in. And we’re moving at a pretty good pace. We’ll be fine.”
“Does this boat stop anywhere?”
“Only when it returns to port. It’ll hit the end, then they hang a U-turn and head back.”
She thought about that a moment. “If I’m Paris PD, I’d be looking at all avenues of escape in the vicinity we were last seen. And that includes this boat. They could be radioing the captain right now to prepare for our capture when we get back. Or he could be arranging for the boat to do an emergency docking at a low risk place where they’ve moved a tac team into position.”
“Must you always think like a cop?” DeSantos asked as he poured the wine.
“Can’t help myself. It’s in my DNA.”
He lifted his glass and handed the other one to Vail. “It’s why we keep you around, my dear.”
“‘My dear.’ Is that a new saying for you?”
“I’m growing kind of fond of it.”
DeSantos clinked his glass against Vail’s, then took a sip. He leaned back in his seat, staring out at the passing vista of older buildings. “How likely do you think it is that the cops are onto us?”
So he is taking me seriously. Vail examined her merlot. “The Paris police are generally pretty efficient. The chances are too high for us to risk it.”
DeSantos chewed on that. “So they’ve got a couple of hours to figure it out and get their counterterrorism police in position to take us in. Unless they decide to force us to stop somewhere along the way.”
The waitress stepped in front of them and set down plates of sear-roasted wild salmon with leek and artichoke ragù, according to the menu card on the table. An assistant followed with pear-shaped rolls and two cans of Coke.
They waited till the serving staff walked off before Vail leaned in close. “But if there’s a fire in the kitchen, they have to dock immediately, right?”
DeSantos tilted his head back and eyed her. “Again with fire? Are you some closet pyromaniac or something?”
Vail looked at him. “I seem to recall a certain bonfire-type diversion outside the cathedral that was your doing.”
“It did the trick, didn’t it?” DeSantos dug into the salmon, turning serious. “I don’t know what the ship’s protocols are for an emergency docking. Gotta be something they can’t put out with fire extinguishers.”
She watched him chew and stab another bite. “How can you just eat?”
“Spec Ops 101. You eat when you have the chance to eat, you shit when you have a chance to shit. Besides, it’s really good. You should try it.”
Vail was starving so she lifted a big bite of the fish to her mouth. It did taste good — but she couldn’t enjoy it. “Unless you have a better plan, the kitchen fire’s our best shot. It’ll create a commotion, and if they don’t start heading toward the nearest port, we can jump and swim.”