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All of them are ignoring me.
And I’m ignoring them right back.
At the map Victor taps a narrow rectangular symbol and says, “This area south of Lesigny was a dispersal field used by the French Air Force prior to World War II, then by the Luftwaffe, and since 1952, it has been abandoned. We are”—he lowers his hand, taps again—“here, about two kilometers from the airfield. According to our information, Rashad Hussain and an accomplice are located here, at the northern end of the sole runway.”
“What information is that?” I ask. “How do you know Rashad and his accomplice are actually there, and not a young man and woman having fun in the back of a van?”
Victor steps away from the map and points to one of the CCTV monitors. There, in ghostly black and white, is an overhead view supplied by a drone. In the middle of the screen is the shape of a van, with the white thermal images of two figures sitting inside.
“We have been watching them, without a break, for more than three hours,” Victor says. “Ever since they left Paris.”
“Good,” I say. “Where’s the transfer going to be? What do you know?”
Victor says, “There’s a private plane coming into this runway within fifteen minutes. There are three Kazakhstan nationals in that aircraft, escorting the device. One of those nationals is working for us.”
“And their plan?”
“Once the aircraft lands and taxis to the end of the runway, there will be a…what you say, a handoff. The device in exchange for five million euros’ worth of uncut diamonds. Once we have confirmation that the exchange has taken place, we will strike.”
I go back to the map. “Where are your units?”
Victor joins me. “Here…we have a blocking force in place to prevent the van from escaping. We also have a section here…and there…keeping armed surveillance on the van.”
“And what happens to the aircraft?”
“Sharpshooters will take out the tires and engine, preventing it from taking off after the transfer has taken place. At the same time, we will be neutralizing the van and keeping it in place while the flanking units move in and seize the two men and the device.”
I take in the little symbols, remember all the times I’ve viewed similar maps before, all the times I’ve placed similar symbols representing heavily armed and aware men and women, ready to do violence in seconds.
Victor’s placement of his forces looks sharp and professional. The armed men standing nearby look like a pack of attack dogs, ready to slip their leashes and go on the hunt. The surveillance view of the van, combined with Victor’s information about the one man from Kazakhstan working for the French, makes everything seem like a well-tied, put-together operation.
“Victor?” I ask.
“Oui?”
I step back from the map, look to him, then to Jeremy.
“This doesn’t make sense,” I say. “It’s going to be a disaster.”
Chapter41
MARCEL’S PHONEchimes. He glances down in the dim light and says, “Aircraft right on schedule, sir.”
“Good,” Rashad says. “Once they land, make sure the infrared landing lights are switched off. No need to advertise our business tonight, eh?”
“Sir,” Marcel says.
Rashad lowers the side window, hearing a few night birds and the low hum of an approaching aircraft. For some reason he thinks of his father, and how for his few Saudi friends at the time, having a father with a private airplane meant comfort and luxury. But for Rashad…a private airplane was a pricey mobile jail, taking him to exclusive schools and clubs where he could be of no trouble to his father. Funny how those memories still burn at him with anger.
The engine sound grows louder, then fades as the aircraft heads to the far end of the runway.
The little landing lights on either side of the runway keep up their rhythmic flashing, like they’re saying,
Come to me.
Come to me.
Come to me.
