APRILINPARIS
Chapter 1
1STARRONDISSEMENT
APRIL6,3:30P.M.
“THESECRETTOunderstandingParisians,Jack,istoseethat theyarealmosttheexactoppositeofpeopleinLosAngeles,” saidthebigbearofamansittingacrossfromme.“InL.A., childrenareraisedtobeoptimistic,fulloflife,friendly.People whogrowupinParis,however,aretaughtthevalueofmelancholyandanunwaveringbeliefinthesuperiorityofsuffering. It’swhytheyhaveareputationforbeingrude.It’stomakeyou asuncomfortableastheyare,andtheyhonestlybelievetheyare doingyouafavor.”
Itwaslateafternoon,awarm,gorgeousspringdayinthe Frenchcapital,andLouisLangloisandIweresittingoutside TaverneHenriIVinthePlaceDauphine,wellintooursecond glassesofexcellentBordeaux.
Ismiledandsaid,“Itcan’tbethatbad.”
Amused,Louisshookhisheadandsaid,“Itisafactthathavingfun,laughing,andgenerallyenjoyinglifeinParisisaclear indicationoflatentinsanity,oratleastthatyouarevisitingfrom aninferiorplace,whichmeansanywhereoutsidethecitylimits.”
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“C’mon,”Isaid,chucklingnow.“Peopleseemgenuinely nice.Eventhewaitershavebeengreatsofar.”
Withadismissiveflipofhishand,hesaid,“Theyseemnice because,atlonglast,theyunderstandthatParisisthenumber onetouristdestinationintheworld,andthattourismisthebiggestmoneymakerinthecity.Atthesametime,theyknowyou areatouristfromAmerica—thelandoftheabsurdlyobese,the absurdlywealthy,andtheabsurdlyignorant—andtheyhope yougivethemanabsurdlybigtip.Youmustbelieveme,Jack. Deepinside,Parisiansarenotenjoyingthemselvesandfindit upsettingwhenothersappearoverlyhappy.”
Iraisedmyeyebrowsskeptically.
“Don’tbelieveme?”hesaid.“Watch.”
Louisthrewbackhisheadandbeganroaringwithlaughter.Thelaughseemedtoseizecontrolofhim,andshook downthroughhisentirebodyasifhewerescratchinghis backwithit.
Tomysurpriseandamusement,thepatronsaroundus,and eventhewaitresswho’djustdeliveredourwine,werenow glancingsidelongathim.ThatonlyencouragedLouis,who startedhowlingandslappinghisthighsohardtearsstreamed downhisface.Icouldn’thelpitandstartedlaughingtoo.The peoplearoundusweregapingopenlyorsniffingatusnow,asif wewererefugeesfromafunnyfarm.
Atlast,Louiscalmeddownandwipedawaythetears,and whenthecaféhadreturnedtonormalcy,hemurmured,“What didItellyou?Iusethis—laughter—toupsetsuspectsmany times.TothepeopleofParis,apolicemanwhoseeshumorin everything,hemustbecrazy.Hemustbedangerous.Hemust befeared.”
Iheldupmyhandsinsurrender.“Yourcity,Louis.”
“Myadoptedcity,”hesaid,holdingupafinger.“Idonot thinkthisway,butIunderstanditwell.”
Thirtyyearsago,LouislefthishomeinNiceinthesouth ofFranceandjoinedtheFrenchNationalPolice.Hisextraordinaryemotionalintelligence,hisunderstandingoftheFrench people,andhisunorthodoxinvestigativeinstinctshadpropelledhimswiftlyintoajobinPariswithLaCrim,anelite investigativeforcesimilartothemajorcaseunitsoftheNew YorkandL.A.policedepartments.
Fortwenty-nineyears,LouisservedwithdistinctionatLa Crim.Thedaybeforehisretirement,Iofferedhimajobat threetimeshisoldpay.HenowrantheParisofficeofPrivate,aglobalsecurityandinvestigativeagencyIfoundedand own.
You’llhearpeoplerefertoPrivateas“thePinkertonsofthe twenty-firstcentury.”Idon’tknowifwewarrantthathigh praise,butit’sflattering,andthereputationhashelpedusgrow byleapsandboundsoverthelastfewyears,especiallyoverseas, whichcausesmetotravelmorethanI’dlike.
I’dbeenvisitingtheBerlinofficeforafewdaysandarrived inParistheeveningbefore.Afteraseriesofmeetingswiththe localstaffduringtheday,Louissuggestedwegooutforafew drinksandthenafinemeal.Thatbrilliantideahadbroughtus tooneofhisfavoritecafésandledhimtobegintoexplainto metheintricatemysteriesofParis,itscitizens,andtheirwayof thinking.
BeforeLouiscouldmoveontoanothersubject,hiscell phonerang.Hefrownedandsaid,“Iaskedthemnottocallme unlessitwasimportant.”
“Noworries,”Isaid,andtookanothersipofwine. EveniftheParisiansweren’thappy,Iwas.LouisLanglois
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wasafunnyguyandPariswasstilloneofthemostbeautiful citiesonearth,filledwithinterestingandsometimesshocking people,art,andfood.Inanhourortwo,I’dnodoubtbeeating anincrediblemeal,andprobablylaughingawholelotmore. Life,fortheforeseeablefuture,lookedverygood. Andthenitdidn’t.
Louislistenedtohisphone,nodded,andsaid,“OfcourseI rememberyou,MonsieurWilkerson.HowcanPrivateParisbe ofhelp?”
Wilkerson?TheonlyWilkersonIknewwasaclientwho livedinMalibu.
Imouthed,“ShermanWilkerson?”
Louisnoddedandsaidintothephone,“Wouldyourather talkwithJackMorgan?He’srighthere.”
Hehandedmethephone.Now,thelasttimeI’dheardfrom ShermanWilkersonlikethis,outoftheblue,therewerefour deadbodiesonthebeachbelowhishouse.Iadmitthatthere werenervesinmyvoicewhenIsaid,“Sherman?”
“WhatareyoudoinginParis,Jack?”Wilkersondemanded. “Visitingoneofmyfastest-growingoffices.”
ShermanWilkersonwasano-nonsenseengineerwho’dbuilt awildlysuccessfulindustrialdesigncompany.Bynaturehe dealtwithfactsandoftenunderstatedhisopinionofthings.So Iwassurprisedwhenhesaidinashakyvoice,“Maybethereis aGodafterall.”
“You’vegotaprobleminParis?”Iasked.
“Myonlygranddaughter,Kimberly.KimberlyKopchinski,” Wilkersonreplied.“Ijustgotoffthephonewithher—firstcall inmorethantwoyears.She’sinanapartmentoutsideParisand saystherearedrugdealershuntingforher,tryingtokillher. Shesoundedpetrified,andbeggedmetosendsomeonetosave
her.ThenthelinewentdeadandnowIcan’treachher.Canyou gomakesureshe’ssafe?I’vegottheaddress.”
“Ofcourse,”Isaid,signalingtoLouistopaythebill.“How dowefindher?”
Wilkersonreadmeoutanaddress.
Iwroteitdownandsaid,“Canyoutextmeaphotograph? Andtellmeabouther?Collegestudent?Businesswoman?”
Louislaiddowncashonthetableandgavemethethumbsupduringalongpause.
“Sherman?”Isaid,standing.“Areyouthere?”
“Ihonestlydon’tknowwhatKim’sbeendoingthepasttwo years,andIknowlittleofherlifeoverthepastfive,”Wilkerson admittedasweleftthecaféandLouiscalledforacar.“Herparents—mydaughter,Pam,andherhusband,Tim—theydiedin aboatingaccidentsixyearsago.”
“Irememberyoutellingmethat,”Isaid.“Sad.”
“Very.KimwasinhersenioryearatUSC,andbackfroma junioryearinFrance,whenithappened.Shewasasdevastated aswewere.Longstoryshort,sheinheritedabitofmoneyalong withatrust,andsheturnedwildchild.Shebarelygraduated. Whenshedid,shewentstraightbacktoFrance.ForatimeI knowshewasworkingfortheCannesFilmFestivalorganizers. Wetriedtostayintouch,butweheardfromherlessandless. Beforetoday,therewasaChristmascardfromMonaco,andbeforethat,acondolencecardwhenmywifedied.”
Thecarpulledup.Louisopenedthedoor,andIclimbedin, saying,“Don’tworry,Sherman.We’reonourway.”
“Thankyou,Jack.You’llcallwhenyouhaveher?” “Iwill.”
“Protecther,Jack.Ibegyou,”Wilkersonsaid.“She’smyonly grandchild—myonlylivingrelative,really.”
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“You’vegotnothingtoworryabout,”Isaid,andhungup.
AfterfillingLouisinontheconversation,IpushedtheaddressI’dwrittenonanapkinovertohim.“Knowit?”
Louisputhisreadingglassesonandstudiedit,andhisnostrilsflaredasifhe’dscentedsomethingfoul.Thenhelookedup atmeandwithadefiniteedgeinhisvoicesaid,“Lookup trouble and danger inaFrenchdictionary,andyougetapictureof thisplace.”
Chapter 2
PANTIN,NORTHEASTERNSUBURBSOFPARIS
3:45P.M.
HOWCANImakeyouburn?
HowdoImakeyoucomealivelikeacreaturefromhell’s fire?
InwhatusedtobealinenfactoryalongtheCanalde l’Ourcq,thesequestionsconsumedthewomanstandingon scaffolding,absentlystrokingherlongbraidofmahoganyhair, andstudyingthegiant’sskeleton.
Shewasinhermidthirties,withduskyskinandhaunting pewtereyes,andsheworeclothesthatwerecompletelyatodds withherexoticbeauty:blacksteel-toeworkboots,doublefacedandrivetedcanvaspants,andaflame-resistantcapeand apronoveraheavydenimshirt.
Sheturnedfromtheskeleton,stillunsurehowitwasall goingtowork,andlookedforanswersamongthevariousmaterialsshe’dboughtorsalvagedandtransportedtothebuilding. Inthelastmonthshe’damassedtwotonsofnumber9rebarin twenty-footlengths.Shehadsectionsofbatteredsteelconduit tornfromculvertsduringabighighwayjobouttowardReims.
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Andshehadstacksofscrapsheetmetal,angleiron,andgalvanizedpipegatheredfromjunkyardsandmetalrecyclingplants acrossnorthernFrance.
Themassivesteelpostscamefromanoldenginerepairshop inOrléans.Theywerealreadystanding,fourofthemanchorboltedintothecementfloor.Ibeamshadbeenhoistedand pinnedinplaceaswell,forminganopen-sidedrectangularbox forty-fivefeetlong,twenty-fivefeetwide,andthirtyfeethigh. Fromastructuralpointofview,theheavyworkwasover.The superstructureoftheskeletonwasstanding.Andalreadyshe couldseethevaguedimensionsofwhatwastocomeforming inher—
“Haja!”aman’svoicecalled.
Hajastartledandlookedaroundtoseearuggedmanin hislatethirtiesemergefromadoorinthecorner.Thickneck, bronzeskin,shortblackhair.Hecarriedagymbagandwas dressedinasweatsuit.Cleatshungaroundhisneck.
“Uphere,Émile,”shecalled.
ÉmileSauvagespottedherandsaid,“Shouldn’tyoubegettingreadyforyourdate?”
“Henriwon’tbereadyuntilnine,”shesaid.“Ihaveplentyof time.”
“You’lltextwhenyou’reinside?”
“Iremembertheplan,”shesaid. “I’llseeyouthere.”
“Ilookforwardtoit, chéri,”shesaid.“AB-16atlast.”
Sauvagesmiled.“AB-16atlonglast.”
Hajablewhimakissandwatchedhimgooutthemaindoor. Sheheardtheboltthrownbeforesheturnedagaintolookatthe skeleton.
Seeingitfromthisnewangle,shehadasudden,intense
inspiration,sawhowshemightbegintheprocessofcreation. Rushingaboutnow,feelingfeverish,Hajaclimbeddownoff thescaffolding.Shegrabbedapairofheavyboltcuttersand snippedoffseverallengthsofrebar.Shesetthemonthefloor nexttothenearpost,andthenwheeledovertheweldingtanks, hose,andtorch.
Puttingonthehelmetandshield,shetookupthetorch andthestriker,andthenturnedontheoxygenandacetylene gasandignitedthehissingmixture.Eventhroughthesmoked glass,theflamewassearinginitsintensity.
I can sculptyou, shethought. I can createyoufromscrap. ButhowdoImakeyouburnlikethisweldingtorch? HowdoIcreateanapocalypticvisionthatFrancewillnever,ever forget?
4:45P.M.
SHORTLYAFTERLOUISLangloisandIspokewithSherman
WilkersonweheadedeastoutofParisinworkmen’sbluejumpsuitsthatfeaturedthelogoofabogusplumbingcompany.Louis droveaMiaelectric-powereddeliveryvehicle,whichlooked likeaminivanbackhome,onlymuchsmaller.Thetinyvanhad thesamefakeplumbinglogopaintedontherearpanelsand backdoor.
LouissaidheusedtheMiaandtheplumbingdisguisesoften duringsurveillancejobs,buttonightwewereusingthemto stayalive.
“TheareasaroundtheBondyForesthavealwaysbeenplaces ofpoverty,crime,andviolence,”Louisexplained.“You’veread LesMisérables?”
“Yearsago,”Isaid.“ButIsawthemovierecently.”
“Okay,”hesaid.“ThatscenewhereJeanValjeanmeets Cosettegettingwater?TheinnwheretheThénardiersrobbed theircustomers?AllinMontfermeil.Itlooksdifferenttoday,of course,butthedarkspiritoftheplacecontinues.Montfermeil
islikeyourBronxwasinthenineteenseventies,orSouthCentralL.A.inthenineties:highunemployment,highcrimerate, andlotsofgangs,drugdealers,andviolence.Addanangry Muslimandyoungimmigrantpopulation,andit’sunimaginable tomewhyMademoiselleKopchinskiwouldtakerefugeinLes Bosquets—oneoftheworsthousingprojectsinFrance.”
Ishrugged.“We’llfindout,Iguess.You’resureaboutthe plumbers’gearbeingtherightwaytogo?”
“Biensûr. Everybodyneedstheplumberatsometime,in someemergency. Non? Plumberscancomeandgoatallhours andnoonethinksanythingofitotherthansomepoorbastard hasabackeduptoilet.Andplumberstendnottogethassled eveninplaceslikeLesBosquets.Whyisthat?Becauseeveryone needstheplumber!Someoneshakestheplumberdown,and soonnoplumberswillcome,andnoonewantsthat.Noteven there.”
“Thiswouldn’tflyintheStates,”Isaid,gesturingatthefull jumpsuit.“Peoplewouldknowweweren’tplumbers.”
Louisseemedtakenabackbythat.“Howwouldtheyknow?”
“NoAmericanplumberwouldwearacoveralllikethis.If theydid,theycouldn’tshowtheirasscrack,andthat’sarequirementintheStates.”
Louisglanced,andthenlaughed.“Thisistrue?”
“No.”
Mycellphonebuzzed,alertingmetoatext.Itwasfrom ShermanWilkersonandincludedaphotographofapretty youngwomanwithsadeyessittingatabar.AtaredlightI showedittoLanglois,saying,“It’sthemostrecentpictureofher Sherman’sgot.Hesaidit’satleastfouryearsold.”
“AsaruleIdon’tlikebabysittingjobs,”Langloissaid.
“NeitherdoI,”Iagreed,pocketingthephone.“Butwhena
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clientlikeShermanasksPrivatetolookafterhisgranddaughter, weanswer.”
Twentyminuteslater,andlessthanelevenmilesfromthe chicstreetsandgenteelparksofcentralParis,weentereda worldapart.Outthevan’swindow,theareadidn’tlooktoo badatnight.ItkindofremindedmeofEastBerlin,withbig clustersofdrab,uniform,state-designedhigh-riseapartment buildings—acommunist’sdecayingvisionofidealhousing.
ThenIstartedseeingthegraffiti.“Fuckthepolice”wasa commontheme.Sowereimagesoffacelessmenindarkhoods withflamespaintedbehindthemandArabicscrawledabove them.
“Wasthisprojectpartofthoseriotsafewyearsback?”I asked.
“LesBosquetswasinthethickofit,”Louisconfirmed.“And it’shometoaviciousgangthatspecializesintargetingtourists whotakethetrainfromdeGaulletoParis.Afewmonthsago, theyputacaronthetrackstostopatrainholdingmorethana hundredJapanesevisitors,thenwentonboardandrobbedeveryoneatgunpoint.”
“Brazen.”
“Yes,buttherearereasons,”Louisreplied.“Backinthesixtiesandseventies,whenFrancewasontheupeconomically,we neededlabor,sotheyallowedanyonefromacurrentorformer Frenchcolonytoimmigratehere.Theybuilttheprojects,and agenerationlatertheeconomybusts,andtheimmigrantsstay on,havingchildren,lotsofchildren.Fiftypercentofthepopulationouthereisyoungerthantwenty-five.Andtheycan’tfind jobs.Sotheyliveinterribleconditions,withnopurpose.It’sa recipefordisasterforeveryoneinvolved.”
“Can’ttheyworktheirwayoutofitthroughschool?”Iasked.
Louiswaggedafingeratmeandsaid,“Youarethinking oftheStatesagain,Jack.InFrance,itisnotthesame.There areprovenpathstopowerhere—therightschools,theright friends—andthesepathsareshutofftotheimmigrants.Worse, thereisnopublictransportationintheseareas.Withoutacar, yougonowhere.You’retrapped.Yougetangry.Youexplode.”
Louisflickedhischintowardthewindshield.“Thereitis. LesBosquets.”
Theprojectconsistedofeightdecayinghigh-riseapartment buildings.Clotheslineshungfromwindows,asdidimmigrants ofallagesandskincolors.LouispulledoverontheAvenue Clichy-sous-Bois.
Heopenedtheglovecompartment,gotoutaGlock19,and handedittome.
“I’mnotlicensedtocarrythisinFrance,”Isaid.
“You’renotalicensedFrenchplumbereither,Jack,”Louis said.“Putitinyourpocket,andletmedothetalking.”
It’shardtoarguewithaguywhoknowshisturfaswellas Louis.Idecidedtotrusthisjudgmentandnodded.Wegotout andgrabbedtoolboxesandflashlightsfromtherearhatchback. Menacrossthestreethadcheckedusoutwhenwepulledup, butnowtheywereignoringus.
“Yousee?”Louismutteredasweheadeddowntheroadthat rannorthintothecomplex.“Everyoneneedsus,evenifwe don’tshowthebuttcracks.”
Chapter 4
7THARRONDISSEMENT
5P.M.
THEHOOKER,THEprops,thelocks,andtheflankerswere tightinthescrumwhentheeighthmanjoinedthem,andthe battlebegan.
OnapitchintheshadowoftheEiffelTower,thescrumhalf playersnatcheduptherugbyballandpitchedittothefly,who sprintedmadlytotheoutsideofadefensivemobinfullpursuit. Theflypassedtheballtotheinsidecenter,whotookahit,but notbeforehelobbedtheballontoÉmileSauvage.
Sauvagesnaggedtherugbyballoutoftheair,tuckedit,and acceleratedrightathisenemy.Hesmashedtheheelofhispalm intothefaceofthefirstdefenderandbrokeintotheopenfield. Outofthedefensivepackabigcoal-blackguyappeared.Movinglaterallywithtremendousspeedandagilitydespitehisbulk, heseemedsuretoflattenSauvage.
Butafractionofasecondbeforehecould,Sauvagelaid downastutterstepthatsuggestedhe’dchangedirection.The feintworked.Hispursuerplantedafootsohardtocuttheother
waythathetrippedandsprawledwhileSauvagelopedontowardthein-goalarea.
Awhistleblew.Sauvageslowedtoastopwellshyofthetry lineandwentbacktohelpthebigguytohisfeet.“Youdidn’t rollthatankle,didyou,Mfune?”
Mfunesmiled,shookhishead,andsaidintheclipped FrenchofWestAfrica,“Nicemove,though.”
“Keepthemguessing,embracethechaos,”hesaid.“It’sthe onlywaytosurviveandwinabattle.Anybattle.”
“Besttactic,”Mfuneagreed.
Theotherplayersweredrinkingwaterandgatheringtheir gear.Practicewasover.
Sauvagesaid,“Ithinkwehavetimeforafewroundsbefore thelecture,don’tyou?”
“Ifwe’requickaboutit.”
Theygrabbedtheirbagsandwaterbottlesandhurriedoff thefield,crossinganequestriantrackandparkingareatogetto athree-story,tan-coloredbuilding.Theypassedthroughdouble doors,wenttoalockerroom,storedtheircleatsandpractice jerseys,andretrievedtheirpistolcases.
Aftersigningintothefifty-meterrangeinthebasement,they received9-millimeterammunition,earprotection,andshooting glasses.
Theysethumanassailantsilhouettetargetsatthirty-fivemeters,loadedtheirMAC50pistols,andfiredinfivequick, two-roundburstsuntiltheirweaponswereempty.Whenthey calledbackthetargets,theysawthatfourofMfune’sshotswere totheforehead,andsixclusteredovertheheart.
AlltenofSauvage’sbullets,however,hadpatternedtight betweentheeyes.Theycasedtheirpistols,turnedintheirprotectivegear,andreturnedtothelockerroom.Dryingoffaftera
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showerandshave,Sauvagemovedtohislocker,alreadyforcing hiscomplexmindtocompartmentalize.
Theuniformhelpedasitalwaysdid.
Inshortorder,hewasdressedinFrenchArmy–issuedkhaki shirtandtrousers,ablacktie,andagreencommandosweater withepaulets.Polishedblackshoesandagreengarrisoncap completedthetransformation.
Heshuthislockerdoor.Mfunewasdressedandreadyas well.
Mfunegavehimacrispsaluteandsaid,“MajorSauvage.”
“CaptainMfune,”Sauvagereplied.
“Idon’tknowwhytheseguestlecturesalwaysoccurat night,”Mfunecomplainedsoftly.“Andtonightofallnights.”
“Atease,Captain,”Sauvagesaid.“We’vegotafewhoursbeforeAB-16islaunched.”
TheFrenchArmyofficersleftthelockerroomandwalked outsideacrossacobblestonecourtyard.Othermenandwomen inuniformwerealreadyhurryingintoatwo-storybuff-colored buildingthroughlight-bluedoorsinneedofpaint.Nexttothe door,abrassplaqueread,“ÉcoledeGuerre.”
WarSchool.
Chapter 5
5:15P.M. LOUISWASRIGHTaboutplumberbeingtheperfectdisguise.
Wepassedfourorfivesmallgroupsofmenacing-looking types,andassoonasthey’dhadahardstareatourplumber’s logo,theyrelaxedandlookedaway.Thelastgroupwasoutin frontoftheentrancetotheaddresswe’dbeengiven,abuilding attherearofLesBosquets.
IrememberedenoughfromhighschoolFrenchclasstounderstandwhenoneoftheguysaskedwhereweweregoing. Louisneverbrokestride,justwentpasthimsayingsomething Icouldn’tfollow.Itseemedtodothetrick,however,because noonetrailedusintothelobby,whichfeaturedpoorlighting; awallofmailboxes,manybroken;andacementfloorthatwas crackedandoffsetinseveralplaces.
“Whatdidyoutellthoseguys?”Iasked.
“Isaidthatthetoiletin412wasbackedupandthere’sshit allovertheplace.Itshutsdowntheircuriosityeverytime.”
Wedidn’thavetouseabuzzer,becausetherewasnobuzzer orsecurityofanykind.AyoungMuslimwomaninblackrobes
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andheadscarfcamedownthestairsandglancedatuswith enormousbrowneyesthatshowedsuspicionuntiltheyfocused onthelogosonourjumpsuits.Shenoddedandwenton.Two Asianteenagerscamebouncingdownthestairsasweclimbed, andnevergaveusasecondglance.NordidtheAfricanwoman carryingaloadoflaundry.
“I’vegottorememberthis,”ImutteredtoLouisasIfollowed himtowardacementstaircase.
“Plumbingisabeautifulthing,”hereplied.
Whenwereachedthefourthfloorofthetenementwe openedthedoorintoanemptyhallwaywitharugfrayeddown tothefloorboards.Thesmellsoftheplacehitmeallatonce: lambcookingingarlicandonions,cigarettesmoke,marijuana smoke,andtheodoroftoomanypeoplelivingintightquarters.
Theapartmentwallsanddoorscouldnothavebeenvery thickorinsulated,becauseageneraldinfilledthepassage: babiescrying,potsbanging,menshouting,womenshouting back,televisionsandmusicblaringinArabicandotherlanguagesIcouldn’tidentify.Itallfeltdepressing—suffocating, even—andI’dbeeninthebuildinglessthanthreeminutes. Louissaidtherewerepeoplewho’dlivedinLesBosquetstheir entirelives,andIbegantounderstandsomeofthepressures thatcontributedtotheriots.
ButwhyhadWilkerson’sgranddaughtercomehereofall places?
Louisknockedonthedoorto412.Severalmomentslater,a woman’svoiceaskedwhowewere,andLouisrepliedthatwe werefromPrivateandhadbeensentbyKim’sgrandfather.
Aminutepassedbeforeadeadboltwasthrown.Thedoor openedonachain,andawarywomanwholookedPolynesian andwaswearingablueskirtandfloralblouselookedoutatus,
andaskedtoseeouridentification.Weshowedittoher,and sheshutthedoor.
Nothinghappenedforseveralminutes,andLouiswasabout toknockagainwhenweheardthechainslide,andthedoor opened.Louissteppedinsideadimlylit,narrowhallway,andI followed.
Thedoorshutbehindus,andIturnedtofindmyselffaceto-facewithKimberlyKopchinski.Inherlatetwentiesnow, wearingjeans,ablackblouse,andarectangularsilverthingon achainaroundherneck,shewasundeniablybeautifulinperson.ButIcouldtellbythecolorofherskinandthewayshe heldherselfthatshe’dbeenthroughsometerriblephysicalordealrecently,andthatshewasvery,veryfrightened.
Weintroducedourselvesandshowedherthebadgesand identifications.
“HowdoIknowmygrandfathersentyou?”sheasked. IshowedherSherman’stextandthepictureofher.Kim staredatthepictureforseveralmomentsasifshebarelyrememberedthegirlinit.
“Hesaysyou’reindanger,”Isaid.
“I am indanger,”shesaid.
“Hesaidsomethingaboutdrugdealers?”
“Ijustneedsomewheretogo,todisappearforawhile,”she saidinastrainedwhisper.“Canyouhelpmedothat?”
“Wecan,”Ireplied.“Butithelpsifweknowwhowe’rehidingyoufrom,Kimberly.”
Herfacetwistedwithinnerpain,andshesaid,“CallmeKim. Andcanwehavethisconversationlater?OnceI’msomewhere safe?Ican’tstayhereanymore.Myfriend’shusbandiscoming homefromLyonsinafewhours.Hedoesn’tknowI’mhere,and ifhedidI’dbe...”
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Herlowerlipquivered.
“Don’tworry,Ms.Kopchinski,”Louissaid.“Youareunder thecareandprotectionofPrivateParisnow.Alreadyyoucould notbesafer.We’lltakeyoutothesamehotelwhereJackis staying.”
“Ahotel?”Kimsaid,alarmed.“No,that’stoopublic.”
Louissaidsoothingly,“Thishotelisthemostdiscreetin Paris.AlreadyIhaveyouregisteredthereunderanalias.”
ThePolynesianwomanemergedfromadoorwayattheother endofthehallcarryingacanvasbag.Shesetitdownand tappedonherwatch.
Kimappearedtobetorn,butnodded,andwenttothe woman.Shetalkedquietlytoherforseveralmomentsbefore huggingher.Bothwomenlookeddistraughtwhentheyparted.
Grabbingthebag,Kimsaid,“Let’sgo.”
Wegotmorescrutinyleavingwithherthanwehadwhen entering,andplentyofhostileglances,butnoonechallenged usdirectly.WithKiminthebackseatandLouisstartingtheMia, Ithoughtwewerehomefree.Thirtyminutesfromnowwe’d havehersafelyinasuiteatthePlazaAthénéeandI’dbetalkingtoShermanWilkerson,tryingtofigureoutawaytogether quicklytoL.A.
LouisthrewtheMiaingearandwaspullingaU-turntohead westtowardPariswhenheadlightswentonablockinfrontof us.Anothersetwentonhalfablockbehindus.
Ididn’tthinkmuchofituntilthecarinfrontofus,ablack Renault,pulledoutandstoppedsidewaysacrossthestreet.He couldn’tblocktheentireavenue,buttherewasn’tawholelotof roomtogetpasthimeither.
“Merde,” Louissaid,lockingupthebrakesontheelectricvan andthrowingusinreverse.
“What’shappening?”Kimcried.
“We’renotwaitingtofindout,”Isaid,twistingaroundinthe seattolookouttherearwindowandseetheothercar,ablue Peugeot,comingfastintheotherlane.
Abald,palemaninastudded,redleatherjackethungout thepassenger-sidewindow.Hewasaimingarotary-magazine shotgun.
Chapter 6
SAUVAGESWELLEDWITHprideasheclimbedtothesecondfloorofFrance’sfabledWarSchool,thehistoryoftheplace flickeringinhisthoughts.In1750,atthesuggestionofMadame dePompadour,LouisXVfoundedamilitaryacademyforpoor youngmensotheymighthaveavehicleforbetteringtheirlives. ThemostprestigiouscourseofstudywasandisWarSchool.
AlmosteverymajorFrenchmilitaryfigureofthepast225 yearshasbeenthroughavariationoftheprogram,including NapoleonBonaparteandCharlesdeGaulle.Officerswho’veattendedWarSchoolhaveeffectedradicalchangebefore,Sauvage thought,andwewillagain.
Theymovedtowardasmallamphitheateralreadyfillingfor theday’sspeciallecture:“PsychologicalWarfare.”
Thoughnothisspecialty,themajorlookedforwardtothe talk.
Enteringtheamphitheater,Sauvagescannedtheroomand hisfellowstudents—anoldreconhabit.Hethoughtthateven withinthiselitegroupofmilitaryminds,therewasnoonehere,
excepthimandMfune,whohadthevision,courage,andconvictiontoattemptsomethinglikeAB-16.
Therest?Theyweresheep.
ThelecturerthateveningwasElizaGreene,aU.S.Army colonelassignedtoNATOinBrusselsandanexpertinthefine artoffragmentingthewilloftheenemyandturningthehearts andmindsofcivilianscaughtupinwar.
AfewofthetechniquesandexamplestheAmericandescribedfascinatedSauvage,butheultimatelyfoundthelecture lackingandraisedhishandtosayso.
“ColonelGreene,”Sauvagesaid.“Thoseseemlikeexcellent tactics,butwithallduerespect,wouldn’tpsychologicalwarriorssuchasyourselfdowelltoadoptthetechniquesof modernmarketing,especiallytheartofbranding?”
Ashort,stockywomaninherforties,ColonelGreenecrinkledherbrowinresponse.“Youare...?”
“Sauvage,”hereplied.“MajorÉmileSauvage.”
Shenodded,watchinghimintently.“Howwouldyoudo this,Major?”
“Bystandingforsomething,Colonel,”Sauvagesaid.“Maybe onlyonething,butsellingthatposition,thatonething,with alogo,perhaps,totheenemyandcivilianslongbeforecombat ensued.”
ColonelGreenetiltedherhead,thought,andsaid,“That’s reallythejobofpoliticians,isn’tit?Thesellingofawar?It isn’tuntilyouhavetroopsonthegroundandcombatbegins thatpsychologicaltechniquesreallywork.Defeatingtheenemy inbattlerepeatedlygoesalongwaytowardwinningcivilian minds.”
Sauvagestoodhisground.“Again,withallduerespect, Colonel,haveyoubeenondutyinAfghanistan?”
James Patterson
Shestiffenedandsaid,“Ihavenot.”
“IspentfouryearsinAfghanistanwithNATO,”Sauvage replied.“AndIcantellyouforafactthattheU.S.message there—thebranding,ifyouwill—wasmixed,garbled,andthe oldcountrywilljustreverttoitsingrainedwaysthesecondyou leave.”
ColonelGreenesmiledathimwithoutenthusiasmandsaid, “Perhapsyoucanrunawaryourway,withbranding,logos,and all,whenyou’reacommandinggeneral,MajorSauvage.”
Sauvagefoundhersmugnessinfuriating.Hewantedtotell heroff,informherinnouncertaintermsthathealreadywas thecommanderofagrowingarmy.
ButthenhefeltMfune’sslightelbownudge,andunderstood. Hecouldn’tappeartobeafanaticinanyway,shape,orform. Thatwasthekeytostayingundetectedasascout,asaspy,and asaguerrillawarrior.
“Ilookforwardtoit,”themajorsaid,soundingreasonable. Butasthecolonelreturnedtoherlecture,Sauvagewas thinkingthatsomeday,afteritwasallover,he’dtrackdown smugColonelGreeneandspray-paint“AB-16”alloverher know-nothingface.
Chapter 7
THESHOTGUNROARED.Thereardriver’s-sidewindowex-
ploded,throwingbitsofglassandcausingKimtoscreamin terror,andmetodigfortheGlock19.
Louisreactedbyshowingushismadskillsbehindthe wheel.
Atanothertimeandanotherplace,theheadofPrivateParis mighthavedrivenforabankrobberycreworasastuntmanin themovies,becausethatshotgunblastcausedhimtounleasha seriesofmaneuversoverthecourseofthenextfifteenminutes thatleftmespeechlessandshaking.
Thesecondafterthesidewindowexploded,Louisducked downandthrewthedeliveryvanintoaseriesofSturns,asif hewereaskierinaslalomcourse,onlygoingbackward.Kim’s screamshaddieddowntowhimpersevenasthePeugeotlocked upitsbrakesandcameafterusinreverse.TheRenault,however, wasinthirdgear,inourlane,andcomingatusatfullthrottle.
“Holdontothehandleabovethedoor,Jack,andwhenI swing,shootthetiresoftheclosestvehicle!”Louisshouted.
James Patterson
Franticallycrankingdownthewindow,Igrabbedthehandle withmylefthandandrestedmyrightontheside-viewmirror tosteadythegun.
Thebald,paleguyhangingoutofthePeugeotwasinour headlightsnow,aimingtheshotgunleft-handed.Hetouched oneoff,blowingoutoneofourheadlightsandcrackingmyside ofthewindshieldintospiderwebs.
Louisdidn’tflinch;instead,hespunthewheelandswung therearendofthevanaroundintothatspurroadwe’dwalked togetdeeperintotheproject.Ashedid,theRenaultfloatedinto mypistolsightsattwenty-fiveyards.Idroppedmyaimbelow thepassenger-sidefrontfenderandsqueezed.
TheGlockbucked,andthebulletthrewsparksoffthe lowerfender.Thesecondshot,however,wasontarget,and blewoutthetire.TheRenaultswervedrighttowardthePeugeot,andItappedthetriggerathirdtime.Thedriver’s-side tiredestructed.Thefrontendofthecarcamedownhard onthepavement,peelingstripsofsmokingrubberthatspun crazilythroughtheair.
ThePeugeot’srearendstrucktheRenault’sflank,andIwas surethepaleshooterwasgoingtoslingofflikeadaredevilfrom acannon.Buttheguymusthavehaduncannyreflexesand strength,becausehemanagedtohangon.
Louishitthebrakes.Wecametoabouncing,screechinghalt infrontofsomeofthosegangmemberswe’dpassedearlieron foot.Thewholelotofthemwerejumpingupanddownand cheeringasifwewerethebestthingtohappeninLesBosquets inmonths,maybeyears.
OneofthemyelledsomethinginFrenchthatIdidn’tcatch, butLouisdid,andhestartedlaughingashethrewthelittlevan intoforwardagain,andpinnedtheacceleratortothefloor.We
passedothergroupsofimmigrantswhowerenowscreaming thosesamewordsatus.
“Whataretheysaying?”IyelledasweshotbackoutontoAvenueClichy-sous-Bois,headingoppositethewaywe’dcomein.
“Bad-AssPlumbers!”Louissaid,grinning,alittlemaniain hiseyes.
Istartedlaughingalittlemyself.Warm,good,crazy—the mixofemotionssurginginmefeltfamiliar,asifIwasback onamissioninAfghanistan,mainliningonadrenaline,about tolandmyhelicopterandasquadofmarinesinrangeofTalibansnipersandrocketgrenades.Sometimesitwasallabout therisk.
ThenIrealizedthatIhadn’tcheckedonKimandthatshe’d stoppedwhimpering.Fearingtheworst,Itwistedaroundfast andsawthatshe’dleftherseatandgonebackintothesmall cargoareatolookoutthereardoor.
“Areyouokay?”Iyelled.
Therewasaflashofheadlightsbehindus. “Kim?”
Shejerkedherheadaround,mascararunningdownher cheeks,andsaid,“They’recoming.”
Iundidmyseatbuckleandjumpedintothebackjustas Louistookahardleft.ItthrewmeoffmyfeetandIcrashed hardintothewallofthevan,brieflystunned,untilIsawKim crawlingtowardme.
“Areyouokay?”sheasked,fightingbacktears.
Overhershoulder,headlightsglaredthroughtherearwindow.Therewasasharpcrackingnoiseandthewindowblew out,showeringuswithlittlechunksofshatterproofglass.
“Getthemoffofus,Jack!”Louisyelled.“Beforetheytakeour tires!”
James Patterson
Thatjerkedmebackfullyalert.ScramblingbyKim,Igotto thebackdoor.Crouchedbelowthewindowframe,Ireached upandpushedtheGlockouttheholetheshotgunhadmade. Itiltedthepistoltowardtheheadlightsandpulledthetrigger twice.
Therewasascreechingoftiresandtheheadlightsretreated.
Ican’tgiveyoueverydetailofthechasethatensuedinthe nextfewminutesbecauseIhaven’tthefoggiestideawhatroads wetookorwhenweturnedorwhere.Formetherewasonly thoseheadlightsandtryingtoshootthemouteverytimethey gotclose,whileLouistriedtoshakethem.
“Merde!” Louisshoutedatonepoint.“Holdon!” Carsskiddedandhonkedallaroundus. Carscrashedallaroundus.
Chapter 8
LOUISRANAredlight,andweshotupontoNationalRoute 3southofthetownofSevran.Igotuptopeeroutthehole intherearwindowandsawfivedemolishedvehiclesinthe twohundredyardsofroadleadingtothehighwayramp.The Peugeotandthebaldguywiththerotary-magshotgunhad somehowgottenthroughthepileupunscathed.Wehadput distancebetweenus,buttheywerestillcoming,andcoming hard.
“Yougottogofaster!”Iyelled.
“I’mgoingasfastasaMiagoes!”Louisshouted.“Sixty-eight topspeed.”
Wewerescrewed.Ididn’tknowthetopspeedofthePeugeot,butitwasasafebetitwasawholelotmorethansixtyeight.Kimmusthavebeenthinkingmuchthesamething, becausesheshouted,“Howfarcanwego?”
“Fifty-twomoremiles,”Louissaid.“Plentyofpower.” Istoodinthebackofthevannow,lefthandpressedagainst theroof,andpunchedouttherestoftheglasswiththebuttof
James Patterson
theGlock.ThePeugeotwasbacktherelessthanaquarterofa mile,weavingthroughtraffic.
Louismanagedtostayaheadofthemthroughtheinterchangeontoautoroute4,athree-lanefreewayheadingsouth. ButtheadditionallanethinnedtrafficandthePeugeottookadvantageofit,chargingafterusateighty,ninetymilesanhour. Thecrazypaleguyhangingoutthewindowdidn’tseemtocare whenIshotathimandmissed.
Heraisedtheshotgunwithonehand.Idroppedjustintime. Buckshotclankedandpingedoffthereardoor.Iwasgoingto jumpupandreturnfirebutthennoticedthattheGlock’sslide waslockedopen.Thepistolwasempty.
Ipivoted,stayedlow,andduckwalkedpastKim,whowas onthefloorofthevan,holdingtighttothelegsofthejumpseat withhereyesclosed.Louiswashunchedoverthewheellike somepinballwizard.Grabbingthebacksofthetwofrontseats tostabilizemyself,Isaid,“I’moutofammo.Ineedyour—”
“Notime,”LouisbarkedashecuttheMiahardleftintothe fastlanebeforethePeugeotcouldgetupalongsideusagain.
Inthenextmoment,everythingseemedtomoveslower,and Iwashyperawareofeverythingaroundus.TherewasabloodredBMWcoupeinourlane,threecarlengthsinfrontofus, justbeyondthenoseofablueflatbedtrucktoourimmediate right.Beyondthetruck,inthefarrightlaneandtwocarlengths ahead,awomaninasilverMercedessedanwassingingwithher radio.Toourlefttheguardrailflickeredintheheadlightsofthe Peugeot,whichwasclosinginfast.
Westarteduparise.Theflatbeddownshiftedandslowed. TheBMWspedup,openingspace.Intherearview,thebald, paleguywasaimingforourtires,andIheldontight,figuring wemightbecrashinginthenextfewseconds.
