“It’s better you don’t know, old friend. You’ve done enough. If anyone connects you to this…”
“I can take care of myself,” Harris said. “Which is more than I can say about you.”
“Fair point.”
“Listen, I need to go. There’s a board meeting I can’t miss, something big. It’s a great opportunity for us. I need to make sure I’m there to keep things running smoothly. I’ll be back in touch, okay?”
“If I need to send any files over, I’ll use Bruce,” said Leopold. “Concentrate on what you need to do. And keep safe.”
He hung up the phone as Mary walked into the room, her hair still damp. She wore fresh clothes taken from the wardrobes in the guest bedroom. She had the frazzled look of someone who hadn’t slept in a while, but her skin was polished to a shine. Leopold smelled lilac.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“A little,” she said. “Any news from your contact on those other vics?”
“I just spoke with Harris. He’s worried about me as usual. I’ll send the Notre Dame files over to Bruce, a guy back in the States with access to police and government records. We should get a response soon.”
“This isn’t going to get me into trouble, is it?”
“Not if you don’t ask me any questions about it,” he said. “What did you do with your old clothes? We don’t want to leave too much of a trace here, not if we can help it.”
“Relax, this isn’t my first rodeo. I dumped everything down the laundry chute.”
“This place has a wash service?” asked Sophie.
“Most of the high end places are serviced,” said Leopold. “There’s usually a central room in the basement. It’s a lifesaver, really.”
“He gets his own laundry done and his meals brought up back at his place in New York,” Mary said, looking at Sophie. “I’d be surprised if he’d ever used that fancy oven of his.”
“I usually have more important things to do,” he said. “Let’s try to stay on topic, shall we? Until my contact comes back with any information to the contrary, we have to assume that Dubois is involved in this somehow.”
“Agreed,” said Mary. “And the only lead we’re likely to find is going to be locked up in that giant house of his. So how do you propose we get in there?”
Leopold brought up the satellite image of the director’s home. “Dubois owned a large townhouse near the Place Vauban, just south of the river. As far as we know, his wife still lives there and there’s likely to be security.” He tapped the screen. “The streets are largely empty of foot traffic, so the approach should be easy. But we’re going to need help getting past the security.”
“And what do you propose?”
Gerard appeared at the doorway. “That’s where I come in.”
Mary jumped. “Aren’t you supposed to be keeping him out of danger, not helping him make it worse?”
“Oui, Madame, and the best way to protect him is to clear his name and get the police on our side. If I think we can do this without endangering his life, then we will press ahead. If not, I can arrange for him to disappear.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Leopold folded his arms. “I don’t run from my problems. We’ll make this work, Gerard. Trust me.”
“Let me take a look,” said the bodyguard, joining him at the desk. “This is a wealthy neighborhood, so we should expect a security system. The easiest point of entry is here.” He rapped the monitor with a knuckle. “The roof.”
“I’m not convinced breaking and entering is the best way to get the police on our side,” said Mary. “They tend to frown on stuff like that.”
“There’s not really much of a choice,” said Leopold. “Without that painting, or something tying Dubois into this, I’m the only one in the picture for his murder. It doesn’t matter whether the conviction sticks; if I get arrested again, I doubt I’ll make it to the trial alive. This is my one chance to change that.”
Mary looked him straight in the eye. “And you’re sure we can pull this off?”
“I can’t ask you and Sophie to come with me on this.” He shook his head. “This is my mess. Gerard and I can do this alone.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. You think this is just your mess?” Mary folded her arms. “The minute you called me from that roof top, this became my mess too, and I’ll be damned if I’m backing out now.”
“Same here,” said Sophie. “Jean was a good man. I’m not going anywhere.”
“See? I told you,” said Leopold, turning to Gerard. “There’s no getting rid of them. Now, how do we get inside the house?”
“There’s a skylight here,” said the bodyguard, pointing to the high resolution image. “That will be the weak point of entry. It will also probably be the most heavily alarmed part of the house, so we’ll need to disable the security systems.” He brought up a 3D image of the road outside the house. “You see here,” he zoomed in. “The alarm system is made by Frontguard. That means it has a battery backup and can be controlled via cell phone.”
“How do we get past it?” asked Mary.
“I have a few ideas.”
“And if we get caught?”
“We call for help with this.” The bodyguard held up a cell phone. “The built-in GPS is linked a central encrypted server. When your contact arranged for me to rendezvous with you here, my agency activated the chip. They can keep track of our location if I allow it.” He pressed a button on the screen. “There. If we run into any serious trouble, the agency can have someone on the scene within six minutes. But I’d rather avoid the exposure. We’ll attempt to get through unseen.”
“How?” asked Mary.
The bodyguard slipped the phone back into his jacket pocket and smiled. “Just leave that to me.”
THIRTY-ONE
The address came through. Rousseau knew the place already and kept his foot rooted to the gas pedal. Backup was primed and on the way, a full shock and awe effort complete with tactical gear. Blake wasn’t going anywhere.
The Renault hit the Avenue des Champs-Élysées less than a half a mile from the target building and Rousseau slammed on the brakes. Even at this late hour there was enough traffic to make life difficult. Swearing, the police captain dropped a few gears and settled into a slow cruise, settling behind a beat-up station wagon with foreign plates. He gripped the wheel a little tighter and craned his neck for a better view. The traffic was lined up as far as he could see. He called the dispatch unit on the car phone.
“Oui, Capitaine Rousseau?” the phone jockey picked up on the third ring.
“I’m en route to the apartment building your guys sent through. A tactical team is also on the way. I’ve hit traffic. Get a message out to have them wait and meet me a block away. Find a suitable place and send me the details.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hanging up, Rousseau swore again and punched the wheel, sounding the horn. He saw the driver in front raise his middle finger in the mirror. Reaching across the passenger seat, the captain opened the glove box and fished out a magnetic police light. He wound down the window and fixed it to the top of the car, switching it on. The flashing siren kicked into life and the cars in front parted, exposing a narrow path down the road. Rousseau took it.
Ahead, the Arc de Triomphe glistened on the horizon, a fixed point in a sea of bustling tail lights. The captain kept his eyes on the road and pushed his right foot to the floor.
THIRTY-TWO
The restaurant was closed. Reiniger glanced through the windows as he walked past, looking for movement. The chairs outside were stacked upside down on the table tops and the ashtrays had been brought in. Keeping his head down, the assassin rounded the corner and headed for the delivery yard.
The gate was open and a single light had been left on. The dumpsters had been locked up, but the smell of old cooking was still strong. Reiniger headed for the back door and tried the handle. It was unlocked. Glad not to have t
o waste time picking the mechanism, the assassin stepped through to a dark hallway and followed his nose through to the kitchen, passing several doors on the way. He reached the porter’s entrance and stopped.
Easing the heavy door open just a crack, Reiniger peered into the gloom and listened. An extraction fan had been left whirring, but the kitchens were otherwise silent. He walked on, his eyes adjusting to the lack of light, and headed down the galley toward the green glow of an emergency exit sign. As he drew closer, Reiniger spotted the hallway to the left and ducked inside, stepping over a small pile of vegetable peelings that hadn’t been cleared away.
He spotted the old-fashioned service elevator as he rounded the corner. He pressed the call button and flinched as the machinery spluttered to life. After a few seconds, the elevator car rumbled to a halt at his feet and Reiniger reached for the handle. As his hand touched the cold metal, he froze.
A scuffling sound came from behind one of the closed doors behind him, a storage closet just off the main kitchens. He walked over and heard the noise again, faint but unmistakable. He rested one hand on the KA-BAR knife and pulled the door open.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Some kid was crouched in the corner wearing stained chef’s whites. “I just needed a place to sleep, I –” he looked up. “Hey, who are you? Where’s Jean-Luc?”
Reiniger moved in as the kid got to his feet. He slipped the knife out of its sheath with his right hand and used the other to force the younger man against the wall. He pressed his palm over the chef’s mouth and held firm. The assassin slipped the blade between the man’s legs, catching him on the inner thigh.
“Shh, shh, don’t try to move,” said Reiniger. “I just severed your femoral artery. You will lose blood fast, and then pass out. I promise you won’t feel a thing.” He smiled, looking into the kid’s eyes. “It will be just like going to sleep.”
The chef struggled against the German’s hold, but quickly weakened. His knees gave way a few seconds later. Reiniger stepped back and let him fall to the floor, where he lay motionless. Pulling a giant roll of green paper towel from one of the shelves, the assassin staunched the growing puddle of blood that was forming on the floor and wiped the spatter off his shoes. The effect wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny, but Reiniger was satisfied he was clean enough to escape a second look should someone pass him in the hallway upstairs.
Letting the door swing shut behind him, the German made his way back to the elevator and selected the sixth floor. The car rattled to a stop and he stepped out into the hallway, leaving the metal gate open. He walked toward the door that led through to the residential areas and felt for the handgun holstered beneath his suit jacket. Blake’s penthouse was at the other end of the floor, with just a few apartments in between. Reiniger hoped the rest of the building’s occupants were fast asleep.
Reiniger eased the door shut behind him and crept forward, scanning the area in front of his feet for any motion detectors or other equipment that might give him away. The path ahead was clear and he quickened his pace, making it halfway down the corridor before something stopped him dead in his tracks.
A distant rumble sounded ahead, coming from the stairwell. Reiniger held his breath and listened again. The noise grew louder, heavy footsteps approaching. Turning, he headed back for the elevator and ducked behind the exit door, crouching low.
He held the door open a fraction and peered out. At the end of the corridor was the stairwell door, just opposite Blake’s penthouse. The noises had stopped. The assassin scanned the hallway and watched the stairwell door open, slowly at first. Next came a pair of boots, then another, and another. Half a dozen figures crept through, forming a line at the penthouse door. They wore dark uniforms, the initials ‘GIPN’ emblazoned on the back of their body armor, and full headgear. Each held an assault rifle, what looked like G36Ks.
How did they get here so fast? thought Reiniger, closing the door. He leaned back against the wall, his mind spinning. The GIPN, or Groupe d’Intervention de la Police Nationale was France’s answer to the SWAT team, which meant someone back at the Commissariat wanted to make damn sure Blake found his way back into custody. With everything that had happened, that would mean a lot of loose ends for Reiniger’s employer – and the assassin knew exactly what that meant for his chances of long term survival.
Letting the door shut, he glanced around the service corridor for an exit route. Riding the elevator was out of the question – the noise would immediately give away his position – and the only door led back through to the main hallway and half a dozen heavily-armed police officers. There was no way out.
He kept low and took refuge in the elevator car, sliding the metal gate closed. If anyone came looking for him, he’d still have enough time to get to the ground floor and maybe even out the back door. He hoped it didn’t come to that – taking out three cops in a deserted parking lot was one thing, but an apartment block full of GIPN was pushing his luck a little too far. His only hope was to keep quiet and stay out of sight.
Reiniger pushed his back up against the wall and slowed his breathing. He listened for any signs of movement, but the only sound he could make out was his own pulse throbbing in his ears.
A brief shudder rocked the cab. Reiniger reached for the gate. It wouldn’t budge. He heard the click, click, click of disengaging locks. With a deafening clatter, the elevator sprang to life.
THIRTY-THREE
“And you’re sure this will work?” Sophie looked up. “What if you’re wrong?”
Leopold sat down next to her on the sofa. “I’ve done the research. The alarm system is pretty high end, but it still relies on a physical telephone line. If we can find the cable, we can cut it. Then all we have to do is disable the alarm control panel inside the house.”
“J'en ai ras le bol! Why not just let me call Madame Dubois? I can talk to her, maybe convince her to let me inside. Then we can find the evidence you need.”
“That won’t work, you know that. The police know you’re involved and they’ll be expecting you to make contact. Our only chance is to get in and out undetected.”
“So once we’ve cut the telephone connection, then what?”
“The alarms will still go off if we trip any of the entry points,” said Leopold. “Which means we’ll need to locate and disable the control box within thirty seconds of getting inside. There’s just one issue.”
“And that is?”
“We have no idea where it is.”
“And you don’t see this as a problem?”
“Not one that’s going to stop me.”
“Is there anything that would stop you?”
Leopold opened his mouth to reply, but didn’t get chance. Sophie leaned forward and put her hand on his knee.
“Why do you feel you need to run straight into danger?” she asked. “Why put yourself in harm’s way? You could run, far away from here. We’d be safe.”
“If I run now, I’ll be running forever.” He looked into her eyes and felt her hand flinch. She pulled it away.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” said Mary, walking in to the room.
“How long have you been standing there?” Leopold felt his face get hot and decided to change the subject. “Is Gerard ready?”
“She’s got a point, you know.” She looked across at Sophie. “You do have a habit of jumping in head first.”
“It’s worked for me so far.”
“Debatable.”
“About Gerard?”
Mary sighed. “He’s just about ready. He asked me to bring you all through to the living room for the briefing.”
“Let’s go.”
Gerard was waiting for them as they arrived. He stood in the middle of the floor, tie draped over a chair, his handgun holstered. “Bon, we are ready,” he said. “We exit the building through the kitchens, the same way you came through. It’s important that nobody sees us leave. Once we’re outside, we can take my car to Dubois’ place. It’s par
ked around the corner.”
“If we get split up?” asked Mary.
“The car is a black Mercedes CLS550. You’ll find it parked along the Rue Lord Byron. There’s a spare key taped to the inside of the driver’s side wheel arch. If we get separated, continue with the plan. It’s priority number one that we obtain the evidence from Dubois’ place. Comprenez-vous? You understand?”
The three of them nodded.
“Good. Collect your things and shut down the computer.” He looked at Leopold. “Make sure you set the hard drives to reformat. We need to wipe any trace that we were here. You’d better –” He froze in mid-sentence.
“What is it?” asked Mary.
Gerard looked at his cell phone. “We’ve got company. Someone tripped the motion sensors.”
“That man from the parking lot?” Sophie asked.
Gerard ignored the question. “Move. Now.”
As the bodyguard went for his weapon, the consultant heard a crash from the entrance hall, the sound of splintering wood. Mary instinctively reached for her hip, looking for a non-existent gun. Leopold grabbed hold of both women and pulled them back toward the study, dragging them around the corner.
“Keep down,” he said, pressing his back up against the wall. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest, making him a little dizzy.
“Gerard,” said Mary. “He’s a sitting duck. We have to help.”
Leopold peered around the corner, but couldn’t see the bodyguard anywhere. Three armored figures moved cautiously through the entrance hall toward the living room, their uniforms marked with the letters “GIPN”
“I don’t think they saw us,” he said, turning back to Mary.
“Who the hell are they?”
“It looks like the police caught up with us sooner than we thought. I saw three of them.”
“Just three?”
“There’ll be more out there somewhere.” Leopold inched back toward the edge of the partition wall and glanced at the empty spot Gerard had occupied seconds earlier. He scanned the room. The GIPN officers were out of sight, but the consultant could hear their footsteps on the hardwood floor. Over to the right, a shadow. Someone crouched behind one of the sofas. One of the GIPN inched closer, coming into full view. The shadow moved.