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Sam was waiting at the corner of the building. “Love your Plan B,” he said, handing her his phone.
“Did it work?”
“If you mean, did I hear the alarm going off? Then yes. After that? Anyone’s guess,” he said, as a car pulled up beside them in the alley. Chad was behind the wheel, Oliver in the front passenger seat.
Sam and Remi got into the back. As Chad pulled out into traffic, taking a left turn, away from the bank, Remi, checking to make sure the mute button was on, put Sam’s phone to her ear. The alarm sounded for a few seconds longer, then finally stopped.
“Circle around,” Sam told Chad. “We’ll follow Rossi’s car when it leaves.”
Remi tapped Sam, put her finger to her lips, as a man started speaking Italian. “Rossi,” she said. “Talking to his bodyguard.” And, sure enough, when they stopped down the street from the bank, they saw the bodyguard out front, on his mobile phone. “Rossi’s saying he’ll be down soon . . . Now he’s cursing because Marchand still isn’t in his office because of the alarm. Never mind, he just walked in.”
The two men started speaking French, at a slower pace, and she switched the phone to speaker so that everyone could hear.
“Where were you?” Rossi asked Marchand.
“Making sure the employees obeyed the fire drill.”
“Suzette said something about a visitor?”
Remi turned up the volume, curious if Marchand might tell Rossi about her visit. “An inquiry about shipping services.”
“We have no time for that. You’ve made the arrangements for the container to ship?”
“Of course. Just as you requested.” There was a moment of silence, then Marchand saying, “You’re leaving so soon? What of Monsieur Oren? I believe he’s expecting for you to personally—”
“A change of plans. Call me when he’s on his way.”
After the secretary’s faint voice bid Rossi good-bye, they heard a loud sigh.
Remi regarded the phone. “Marchand’s awful quiet, now that Rossi’s left.”
“Probably crying over the loss of your shipping business.”
“I might have made it too enticing.” About three minutes later, Rossi walked out of the building, but instead of getting into the car, he nodded to his driver and walked off with his bodyguard down the street.
Remi looked over at Sam. “Maybe the Ghost really is here in Paris.”
“I would’ve bet our last euro that car was in Calais,” Sam said, unbuckling his seat belt. He leaned toward the center, speaking to Oliver and Chad in front. “Pop the trunk, Chad. Remi and I will follow them. You two take the car and wait at the apartment. We’ll meet back there tonight. The moment we figure out where we’re going, we’ll text.”
“And if something happens to you?” Oliver asked.
Sam opened his wallet to see how much cash they had. A little more than a thousand euros left. He handed half to Oliver. “We’re at the tail end of the money. If you don’t hear from us by morning, get in touch with Selma, and head back to Manchester.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if we all stuck together?” Oliver said, his face etched with worry. “Look what happened in Rome.”
“You’ll be fine.” Remi reached over the seat, grasping his shoulder. “You’re a pro at this by now.”
He gave a timid smile. “Do me a favor? Don’t let anything happen to you.”
“Not a problem,” Remi said, with a big smile, slipping her purse straps over her shoulder before getting out of the car.
Sam took his backpack from the trunk, then he and Remi followed Rossi and his bodyguard.
The two men, about a block ahead, made a right turn. Sam looked at Remi, as they quickened their pace to keep up. “Quick thinking with that phone. Did I ever tell you how brilliant you are?” he said, as they rounded the corner, emerging into a busy square filled with hundreds of tourists.
“Apparently, not that brilliant. They’re gone.”
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