Font Size:  

“You’ll figure it out. I have to go.”

The line went dead and Kennedy slowly placed the handset back in its cradle. She replayed the entire conversation in her head, wondering if there was anything that the NSA or FBI could use against her. It was all pretty vague, but it might be enough to land her on someone’s radar screen. She cursed Rapp for calling her at home and then thought about what he’d told her. That it had been a setup. She was moving across the room for the front hall closet without thinking. She needed to brief Stansfield immediately. She grabbed her coat and her car keys from the hook by the door. She hoped Stansfield would see things her way. If he didn’t, she prayed Dr. Lewis was wrong. The last thing they needed was an enraged Rapp looking to settle a score.

CHAPTER 19

PARIS, FRANCE

THE black Renault sedan had tinted windows that made it impossible to see who was in the backseat. It was double-parked in front of the luxurious Hotel Balzac only a few blocks from the Arc de Triomphe. A policeman had already tried to move the car but was rebuffed by the driver, who sat securely behind the sedan’s bulletproof windows. The driver was armed with a unique badge that sent the police officer on his way. He also wore a gun on his right hip. The other man in the front seat had the same badge and gun and also had access to an Uzi submachine gun, which was hidden under the dashboard. The vehicle was retrofitted with a thin skin of Kevlar between its frame and the metal exterior. The man in the backseat had traveled the world and had seen more than a few men gunned down in their cars, so he took this aspect of his personal security very seriously.

When Fournier was younger he had carried a gun. It was part of his job, and it didn’t hurt that certain women were turned on by the cold steel he wore on his hip. He had killed precisely three men during his career—all of them execution style. His bosses ordered the hits, and he carried them out without question. The men were ne’er-do-wells and reprobates. In one case, the target was a traitor who was selling state secrets; in another, it was an agent who was fomenting problems in Algeria; and the third was a Syrian woman. He was never told why she was to be killed, and she was the one of the three that sometimes visited him in his dreams. She was a stunning woman in her midforties with a perfect oval face, raven black hair, and eyes to match. It had been in a Parisian hotel. She was eating breakfast dressed in a white robe. When Fournier entered the room she gave him a knowing nod, set her coffee cup down, shook out her long black hair, and looked up at him with unblinking eyes. When Fournier drew his silenced weapon she showed no fear and instead offered him a small smile. The other two men he’d shot in the head, but for some reason he couldn’t put a bullet in the exquisite face before him, so he lowered his muzzle a few inches and placed three bullets in her left breast.

His gun-toting days were done. Fournier had access to virtually any gun he wanted, but in general, he found them to be a pain in the butt. They were bulky, and they made his suits look lopsided. Fournier spent enough on his suits that it wouldn’t do to have them look off. He was a man of style. Besides, he was no longer on the front lines. He was the one giving the kill orders now. The guns and his protection could be left to his trusted bodyguards.

Pierre Mermet brushed a wisp of thin brown hair from his forehead, opened the file on his lap, and extracted the first set of photographs. “Mossad . . . Efram Bentov is his name. He arrived this morning along with at least two others. They passed through customs separately, took different forms of transportation into town, and all miraculously ended up at the Israeli embassy.”

Fournier frowned and took the photos. “Not very smart.”

“I agree.”

“Counting yesterday, that brings the total number of suspected Mossad agents to six.”

“That we know of.”

“And the three that flew in yesterday . . . they’re still lying low at the hotel on Rivoli?” Fournier asked.

“That’s right.”

Fournier took the other photographs. “Any weapons?”

“Not that we know of, but we must assume.”

Fournier nodded.

“Do you want them picked up for questioning?”

“Not yet. I want to see what they’re up to first.”

Mermet’s mouth twisted into a pensive frown.

Fournier had seen the look many times. “You don’t like my decision?”

“The three at the hotel have no diplomatic papers. We could force the issue. If they have guns in their room or on their persons we could hold them and question them indefinitely.”

“We could do that,” Fournier said in an easy voice, “and then my counterpart Big Ben Friedman would grab some of our people in Israel and do the exact same thing and where would that get us?”

“Given what happened at the hotel the other night, I think we have more leeway than we could normally expect.”

“We do, but Ben Friedman is a bear I would prefer not to poke.”

Mermet took the rebuke well. “It’s just that we’re spread thin. We have six men following the Russians, eight following the Brits, and ten on the Americans.”

Fournier knew what Mermet was thinking. If this continued for any length of time, they would have to call in more men and ask for more money and that would mean more eyes in the government would be drawn to what they were up to. “I understand your worries. If nothing has happened by tomorrow, we’ll reassess . . . maybe even nicely ask a few of these gents to leave so we don’t have so many heads to keep an eye on.”

“And there’s undoubtedly a few we missed.”

Fournier had thought of the same thing, but he had certain information that he wasn’t willing to share. “One more day and then we will focus on the Jews, the Brits, and the Americans. Any more interesting news to share about our American friends?”

“Yes,” Mermet said, almost forgetting that he had a new face to run by his boss. “The three who showed up yesterday . . . they’re still cooped up in the van on Chaplain. Another man showed up this afternoon.” Mermet found the photo and handed it to his boss.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
Articles you may like