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“Yes, but I don’t like it. Ned’s right. Let’s get going. I’d like you two to stay back on overwatch, just in case the meet goes south.”
“Who are we meeting?” Fraser grabbed his pack also.
“Someone one of our contacts works with. He’s an American and does work for us in Europe now and again.”
They crossed the street and headed toward the subway. “About a month ago, our offices were hacked, and although Coco shut it down, they might have siphoned out some information—like our NOC list and even some of our encryption software. Thus, we’re hand-carrying the intel we need from Russia.”
He swiped his day pass and the turnstile released. Roy passed through, then Ned and Fraser did the same.
They headed down to the fourteen train.
The Paris underground was a labyrinth of tunnels and passageways accessed via stairs and escalators that connected every corner of the city via the métro system. He passed a couple buskers playing violins as they turned the corridor for their train. The place smelled of oil and dust, the scent of history embedded in the brick and cement walls.
Sometimes, being in ancient cities like Paris, or even Berlin, hearkened to stories of battles and world wars and the sense that history never really changed. It simply cycled around, evil trying its hand again at destroying the world.
Good eventually winning.
Please, let them win.
The fourteen train whooshed into the station, and Ned got on, found a space near the front of the car, his pack to the wall, away from thieving hands. Folded his arms over his chest. Fraser had taken a similar stance near the door.
Roy had gotten on and walked away from them, as if not with them. Maybe it was a tactic, but Roy was quiet, pensive, and serious. A little dark, maybe, but most guys in this profession had a place inside where they camped out sometimes, dealing with things that they didn’t want to drag into the daylight.
Ned had a place like that. Shae had walked into it a couple times and dragged him out without asking questions. He put a hand to his chest, to the acid there.
Please. God. Let this work. Let them find her.
Two stops and they go off at Madeleine, then got on the eight.
Four stops and the train let them off at a park. The trees had lost their leaves, now curly and brown and snagged in the shrubbery that lined the park. The grass, too, had gone to slumber, turning crunchy and hard. They took the sidewalk toward the Cathédrale Saint-Louis des Invalides, walking in the shade of the day between tall, ornate buildings.
All of Paris seemed grand, old, with dark, black mansard roofs and soaring columns fronting every building.
Two blocks later, they came to a massive garden, with its dying flowers and a stone courtyard leading up to a towering gold-capped cathedral that housed Napoleon’s tomb as well as other soldiers of note.
The entire complex was impressive, given the map on the plaque on the front, the cathedral, and sparkling front fountain. Massive steps spilled out from the entrance, and a couple tour buses had pulled up outside to offload groups from Japan and China, now strolling the area. School children ran up and down the steps, their backpacks slipping off as they played.
“We’re meeting inside,” Roy said and handed them each a ticket. “It’s a Paris Pass. You can get into all the museums for a day.”
“Goody, goody,” said Ned and took the ticket.
“We still have a half hour. I say we get inside and you two find a place to keep an eye on me.”
Done.
Ned headed up the steps and showed his ticket, then entered the quiet sanctuary.
He’d never been impressed with churches, but this knocked him quiet for a moment. Creamy white stone and travertine flooring, soaring ceilings, and in the middle, a vast circle with a marble railing. Ned walked over to it.
On the story below, an elevated polished-wood—or maybe it was some sort of dark stone—coffin sat on a raised dais.
Napoleon Bonaparte. Huh. He’d read about the conqueror in school. A hero of Paris who had finally become king and was then exiled. Ned stayed for a moment, then wandered off and found himself in a room with one of Napoleon’s brothers—another coffin made of marble.
He camped out there with a view of the center ring.
Spotted Fraser as he wandered in also, then headed to the opposite side, admiring some art against the far wall.
Then came Roy. He, too, stopped to peer into the grave, then walked around and stood in front of the massive nave with its ornate gold cross and stained-glass windows.
