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Stansfield took the receiver. “Rob, you were in town last night?”
“Yep. Got in about four in the afternoon.”
“Did you happen to run into a mutual friend?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Were you with one of our colleagues last night . . . did you witness anything?”
There was a prolonged pause and then Ridley said, “I’m not following, sir.”
“Never mind,” Stansfield said. “You have everything in place for our guest?”
“Almost done. Maybe another thirty minutes.”
“Good. Call me when he shows up.” Stansfield hung up the phone and turned to Kennedy. “It’s not Ridley.”
“Then who in the world could it be?”
“I don’t know, but let’s not worry about it. We have bigger issues to deal with. Have the document people put together a diplomatic passport for Mitch. I don’t want any glitches if we get stopped by the Directorate. And how are we for vehicles?”
“I assume the Range Rovers are too high-profile?”
He nodded. “No bodyguards. Just you and me. Let’s use something from the motor pool that will blend in. We’ll send the Rovers out first. Dr. Lewis can take a nice scenic drive around Paris with the DGSE trailing him.”
“Good idea,” Kennedy said. “I’d better get upstairs, my cell phone doesn’t work down here.”
“I’ll go with you.” Stansfield then said to Talmage, “I’m going to initiate a lockdown on this floor. No one enters or leaves without my knowledge.”
“Understood.”
Hurley came bursting into the room with his small clamshell phone in his hand. “My phone doesn’t work down here,” he said, slightly out of breath.
“I know. Irene just said the same thing.”
“Well,” he started with a shake of his head, “I completely forgot that I had ordered two assets to relieve Victor and his team last night. Remember Bernstein and Jones?”
“The reporter and the cameraman,” Stansfield answered.
“Yeah, they’re the ones.”
Stansfield gave a disapproving frown. “They don’t seem like the right choice.”
“It’s a longer story than we have time for right now, but I asked them to work their contacts with the police. Beyond that, Victor and his crew had been working all day without a break, so I sent them over to sit in the van and relieve the guys for a few hours.”
Stansfield didn’t think this was the brightest idea, but he got the sense that there was something more important that Hurley was trying to get to.
“I was down here all night and all morning and when I went upstairs, my phone started beeping like crazy. Bernstein had left me four messages so I called him back. He said that when they showed up last night two men had been shot. Turns out it was the two Directorate boys. One dead and one alive. He tells me there was a guy who was administering first aid to the wounded agent. I asked him to describe the guy. He said the guy was midtwenties, thick black hair, fit, and he’s pretty sure he was French.”
“Why?” Kennedy asked.
“He said he spoke French like a native. Started barking orders at Bernstein and Jones. Told them to sit with the agent while he went and got help.”
“And?” Stansfield asked.
“He never came back. Bernstein, who’s been in almost as many war zones as I have, said this mystery man used Quickclot on the wound and field bandages to stop the bleeding.”
“You think it was Mitch?” Kennedy asked.
