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I was acting on autopilot at that point, focused on saving the officer and nothing else. Surging with adrenaline, I scooped her up again and moved back toward the roundabout, where red and blue lights were flashing.
Reaching the sidewalk, I saw cops, firemen, and paramedics racing to the scene. I set her down amid the rubble in front of the station.
A team was working on her in seconds. I stood there and watched numbly. One of the new officers on the scene began talking to me, but I still couldn’t hear for the ringing.
I said, “J’ai vu les saboteurs.”
I saw the bombers.
Chapter 87
THAT STATEMENT GOT me a lot of attention in the next couple of hours. The cop went and returned with a captain. The ringing in my ears began to fade and I repeated what I’d said, showed them my Private identification, and told him to contact Louis Langlois at Private Paris, or Investigateur Sharen Hoskins from La Crim, or even Juge Fromme. They would all vouch for me.
Klieg lights shone from the park across the street, where a gathering horde of media was encamping. The police captain was caught in the glare of indecision, looking at my identification card and then at me. Finally he dug in his pocket for his phone, and hurried off.
He returned about an hour later, but not with Hoskins or Fromme or Louis. A French Army officer in full battle gear and helmet trailed him, his eyes going everywhere until they settled on me.
“I am Major Émile Sauvage,” he said in flawless English. “French Army. I am in charge of this area under martial law.”
“Lucky you,” I said.
“What can you tell us?” he asked, studying me from under his helmet brim.
Sauvage listened attentively and wordlessly during my summary of events. I gave it to him, all of it, from following Epée to a condemned linen factory in Pantin to the moment when I lost sight of the two robed women after they’d parked the Suzuki in front of the church.
“I think they changed out of the robes,” I said. “And left on a bus that pulled away shortly before the bomb went off.”
“What bus?” he demanded tersely. “What route?”
“I don’t know.”
“What makes you think they were aboard?”
“Because I think I recognized one of them.”
That seemed to dumbfound the major. “You knew one of the women?”
“No, not like that,” I said. “It was just a feeling. The redhead. Her face. Like I’d
seen it before somewhere.”
“Where?”
Shaking my head slowly, I said, “I don’t know. As I said, it was a feeling. The shape of her face. Her eyes. The way it all came together.”
“But nothing more specific, sir?” Major Sauvage asked.
“No,” I said. “At least right now. My bell got rung in the explosion.”
“Take care of that,” the major advised. “I speak from experience. Concussions can make you feel stupid or nuts.”
Another French Army officer, a big dark-skinned captain, hurried up and signaled the major for his attention.
“You are not to leave France without notifying me, Monsieur Morgan,” the major said. “I’m sure there will be others who make the same demands on you.”
“I’ll help any way I can, Major,” I said.
With a stiff nod and a limp handshake, he pivoted and went to the captain. They spoke and moved off.
