Justin, Carrie, and Abdul simply could not believe this part of the plan had actually worked, at least so far. However, the hardest part, convincing the Prince to abort his assassination attempt, was just about to begin.
Matthew insisted it was too dangerous for the agents and Abdul to venture outside the embassy and offered them three of its guest suites. He sent his men to collect Justin’s belongings from the Four Seasons Hotel and the Corinthia. Around midnight, after placing a call to Anna, Justin laid his head on the soft pillow of his bed.
Chapter Twenty-four
Aboard flight Alitalia 871, Justin gazed through the small window at the ash clouds engulfing the airplane. He wondered whether Anna would receive the bouquet of flowers and the chocolates he sent last night to her apartment, before leaving for her office. He knew he could not buy his way out of the guilt for not being with her on their special day. Still, it would sweeten Anna’s day, even if for only a few moments. His eyes rested on Carrie, dosing on the seat next to him. A second later, she opened her left eye and gave him a curious, sideway glance. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“So, why are you staring at me?”
Justin snorted. “I wasn’t.”
Carrie shifted in her tiny seat, her knees pressing against the back of the seat in front of her. The old Airbus A320 plane was a model of the early nineties. Small seats, no TVs, no power plugs, and now, thanks to the economic downturn, not even a tiny breakfast. Justin flicked the useless food tray in front of him.
“Now that you woke me up, are you gonna tell me what’s the matter?”
Justin leaned closer to her. Since the airplane was half empty, they had sat next to each other on the second last row, with no one in front or behind them. Abdul was two rows to their right, sound asleep.
“I dreamt of Marcel last night,” Justin whispered after a brief pause. “Same dream as before.”
Carrie gave him a slight frown, gripped the armrests and sat up straight. Marcel was the first person Justin had ever killed.
“How come?” Her hand gently rubbed Justin’s arm. Her eyes offered him a place of comfort.
He sighed. “No idea. Maybe… maybe it’s because this is all a mistake, like that time, when I went alone to the warehouse.”
Almost eleven years ago, in his first stint in France, Justin had arranged to meet with a source at an abandoned warehouse in Marseille. Marcel, a homeless man, had jumped from behind a garbage bin, spooking Justin. Instinctively, he had planted three bullets in Marcel’s chest. Upon a closer inspection, Justin had realized that Marcel, in his drunken state, presented little more than a nuisance. The CIS station in France had cleaned up the mess, erasing whatever little trace of Marcel may have ever existed. Justin had locked away memories of Marcel. Still, now and then, the grim face of the homeless man returned to torment him.
“This is not a mistake.” Carrie held Justin’s hand between hers. “We’re going to France. That’s why you’re reminded of him. And that episode in Marseille wasn’t a mistake either. Overreaction, perhaps, but definitely not a mistake.”
“What if I’m miscalculating the Prince? If he is really planning to kill Libya’s Prime Minister, who am I to try to stop him?”
“You’re the best agent I’ve ever worked with.” Carrie’s voice was full of conviction. “You’re smart, brave and capable, and together, the three of us,” she nodded toward Abdul, “we’re going to put an end to the Prince’s plans.”
“I hope so, I really hope so.”
“I know so and we will do it. We will.”
Carrie dropped her voice and smiled at a middle-aged woman waddling through the aisle toward the washroom.
“Our plan is failsafe,” Carrie added, once the washroom’s door was closed, “at first sign of foul play, we pull the plug.”
“That’s great if we notice the foul play. This isn’t a game for the Prince.”
“It isn’t a game for us either. We’ve done this before and we’ll do it again. This time, we’re just a few men short.”
“About seventeen men short.”
“Eh, details.”
Justin smiled.
“Well, the good news is that Pierre is already assembling our gear,” Carrie said. “We’ll have cars, Russian and French passports, money, guns, the works.”
Pierre Lamont was the only support Johnson had authorized for the team. After all, this was supposed to be only a reconnaissance mission.
“Pierre’s a genius,” Justin said.
“Yeah, he is.”
“I don’t have any good news,” Justin said, as one of the flight attendants, a tall Italian man, walked through the aisle.
“Will you call Anna today?”
“Definitely. I’ll call her from Nice.”
“Well, happy birthday to her.” After a brief pause, Carrie added, “And happy anniversary.”
“Thanks.”
“I might give Thomas a call too. He’s supposed to be in Vienna today, for some kind of shareholders’ meeting.”
“You’re still playing games with him?”
“Always.” A mischievous grin formed in her face.
The team cleared customs in Rome without a hitch. During the thirty-minute layover, Justin placed a call to Valerie. Romanov’s Veyron had arrived at the Monsati’s garage at 7:00 a.m. Valerie’s team was already at work on their makeover. In rapid Italian, Valerie explained the procedures, which sounded extremely complicated even for a racecar enthusiast like Justin. He decided to trust her completely, realizing it was something he was doing more and more over the last few days. He was trusting people.
Soon after their arrival in Nice, they stopped for brunch at Petit Café, a cozy restaurant a few blocks away from Rue St. Pierre. Carrie hid behind a large cup of cappuccino after ordering pain au chocolat. Abdul took only an espresso. Before sitting down, Justin decided to walk around the block and check if anyone was following or surveilling them.
When he returned to their table on the sidewalk, he noticed a large plate of food on the table in front of his seat.
“I got you strawberry pancakes and black coffee,” said Carrie, sitting cross-legged in her chair and taking a small bite of her croissant.
“What are you getting?” Justin asked Abdul.
“Nothing.”
“Eat now, ‘cause I don’t know when we’ll do lunch.”
“Why, what’s wrong?” asked Carrie.
“Nothing, but our day is full and there’s food here and now. So dig in.”
Abdul called the waitress and ordered French toast.
“I want to survey Le Bataillon and its surroundings,” Justin said between bites of pancakes. “We’ll find a couple of places where we can meet the Prince and decide on how to approach him, where to park the Veyron and where to close the deal.”
Carrie nodded. “I’m still waiting for some files from the office, but we know the Prince travels with an escort of twelve bodyguards. Since he’s coming to us, getting past the bodyguards isn’t an issue. At least for a few minutes.”
“He would want to take the Veyron for a ride,” Abdul said, “are you going to let him?”
“Of course,” Justin replied, “but I’m going with him. That way, I have a few minutes to talk to him in private.”