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I stand behind Max and shove him to the floor. “Move. We need to reach the corridor.”
After some resistance, belly to the floor, he slithers from under one table to another, avoiding legs and feet. I follow, trying not to imagine the worst.
By the time we crawl out, Micki is in the corridor with Allan Mason and Inspector Poulliot, and they lead us out to the street. Cress has disappeared, along with Yavuz. Max, looking like Mel Gibson inBraveheart, keeps shouting, “Where the bloody hell is Cress? Where is she?”
Police swarm everywhere, trying to keep the crowds of onlookers at a distance. An American voice yells, “What’s going on? What happened?”
Another, more feminine one, pipes up querulously, “We’re already late for our dinner reservation.”
“Merde,” Poulliot swears under his breath. He motions over a uniformed officer. “Maurice. Quel bordel.”
“Oui, inspecteur. Que devrions nous faire?”
Poulliot flaps his hands in the crowd’s direction. “Try to move them on. Show them the best way to leave the Place. If they have a reservation at a restaurant in the arcade, explain they’re closed, and to move along. Escort hotel guests so they can reach their rooms. But don’t form a phalanx. This is a not a mob.” As Maurice walks over to a knot of cops standing nearby, I hear Poulliot mumble, “At least not yet.”
Allan has a restraining arm on Max’s shoulder. “Keep it together, man,” he grunts. “Poulliot is trying to see if any of his men know where they are. No point shouting.”
Max gives him a pained look and snaps his mouth shut.
“We are locating them now,” Poulliot says, phone pressed to his ear. “Où sont eux? Goussainville? Putain! Oui, c’est bien. Nous allons vite.”
I’m still not clear on what happened while Max, Allan, and Poulliot take off to chase Yavuz and Cress. Did Yavuz kidnap her, or did he go to protect her against someone else? Are they both victims? Human shields or bargaining chips?
* * *
Micki
When the terrorists enter the dining room, JL immediately pushes me under the table, the long white covering hiding me from sight. Cress doesn’t join me in the barely adequate hiding place. I panic and back out to see what’s happening. The sight makes my stomach heave, and I squeeze my eyes shut as the tears trickle out.
“Micki, drop and try to crawl to the side door. Stay as low as you can.”
Max stands stock-still, his eyes roving the room. “Where’s Cress?” I scream. There’s so much noise, it’s the only way to be heard.
“Isn’t she under there with you?” JL sounds surprised. Max grimaces and keeps looking.
“No.” The two-letter word comes out as a long wail.
“Calisse. She must have gotten out already, but Max doesn’t know where she is either.” The desperate expression on Max’s blanched face chills me.
Tears keep falling and my breath comes in shuddering gulps.
“Go, Micki. I’ll be right behind you.”
They say recovering old skills is as easy as falling off a bike. My infant crawling skills seem adequate and, with some shredding of my pantyhose and scraping of my knees, I wriggle out the side doorway and onto the cold tiles of the corridor. Allan Mason and Inspector Poulliot are there and pull me to my feet.
“Are you all right?” Allan’s voice is chilly and he seems too distracted to care about my answer.
“Fine,” I tell him through chattering teeth.
I look around the doorframe for Max and JL, but I only see other people screaming, trying to run out of the room. Gunshots sound. The French police pound in. They yell at the diners to get down, then I hear shots—four of them.
Max and JL appear, crawling toward us. Poulliot looks into the room, then turns with satisfaction.
“Our marksmen are parfait. All four terrorists are dead.”
Then he pulls Max and Allan aside. They confer for a minute and run out toward the Place. I look at JL.
“They’re going after Yavuz and Cress.”
