the only chance we’ve got to put the brakes on.”
“We can’t exactly arrest him. He’s untouchable. He’s got his hooks in too many powerful people.”
“In a strict legal sense, that might be true, but there are other options available to us.” Deep Blue had seemed content to leave it at that, and King had no trouble reading between the lines. And Deep Blue was right about the importance of learning Brainstorm’s overarching goal. Brainstorm-or rather Graham Brown-did not do anything on a small scale. He had emptied his cash reserves-in poker parlance, he had gone all in. Perhaps even more telling, he had made virtually no effort to cover his tracks. Brown was unquestionably up to something. They didn’t have the first clue what, but if the past was any indication, it would probably mean the end of the world. Ergo, they had to take Brown alive.
Conceptually speaking, their plan was simple. King would impersonate one of the guests and get close enough to Brown to jab him with a tetrodotoxin-tipped needle. The poison, a synthetic version of a toxin found in the internal organs of the puffer fish, would create the appearance that Brown had suffered a fatal heart attack, though in reality he would be in a deep coma, his vital signs slowed to be almost undetectable. Brown’s seemingly lifeless body would be taken to a Paris hospital, where some of CIA director Domenick Boucher’s most trusted field agents would be waiting. Then, borrowing a page from the Twilight Zone, they would spirit Brown away to a private hospital, and using a combination of play-acting and powerful narcotics, deceive the gambler into giving up all his secrets. After that…well, that was a decision for someone else to make.
Aleman had obtained a list of conference attendees and found one that was a fairly close physical match to King: Bill Downey from Nebraska. A little “ Mission: Impossible shit”-a three-hour session spent with a make-up specialist on loan from the CIA and a little high-tech audio magic from Aleman-completed the illusion. Shortly thereafter, King boarded a commercial airliner, bound for the City of Lights. The flight had been interminably long. He couldn’t eat anything and he didn’t dare nod off since either activity might ruin the elaborate facial disguise. His only distraction had been a paperback thriller novel called The Eden Prophecy, which he’d picked up at the airport gift shop. He had enjoyed it immensely and made a mental note to check out the author’s other novels when the mission was finished.
Speaking of which… He fished out his phone and spoke: “Call Deep Blue.”
The voice of the former President sounded in his ear almost immediately. “What’s your status?”
“Phase one is complete.” The sound of his electronically modified voice-Downey’s voice-was mildly disorienting, but he pressed on. “I’ve made the switch.”
As if to punctuate his words, the telephone on the desk trilled with an incoming call.
“I’ll call again when it’s done.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but thumbed the ‘off’ button and snatched up the room phone. “Yes?”
“Monsieur,” came a smooth voice. “It is Maurice. Your car has arrived.”
“Thank you. I’ll be right down.”
Showtime.
5
Fiona Lane gazed out across the treetops at the city skyline. The unfamiliar buildings-and of course the all too familiar outline of the world famous Eiffel Tower-were starting to sparkle with artificial light as the sky darkened from twilight to dusk.
Paris, she thought. Who would have ever believed I’d be here?
It was a long way from the obscure reservation town where she’d grown up, a long way from hanging out in front of Noel’s Market and drinking milkshakes at the Little Chief diner.
The musing brought a pang of grief. The market and the diner, and everything else-everyone else-in Siletz was gone.
She looked down quickly, blinking back the tears that had welled up, hoping that Sara hadn’t seen. The myth of the inscrutable Indian was just that, a myth, but she didn’t like showing weakness in front of other people…and especially not in front of King’s girlfriend.
King had an assignment to complete in Paris, all very hush-hush like everything he did for Chess Team, but King’s boss, the man Fiona still thought of as President Duncan, had decided to surprise King by arranging for Fiona and Sara to join him in the legendary City of Lights for a well-deserved vacation once everything was wrapped up. Fiona had been overjoyed at the prospect and all through the long flight, had felt a thrill of anticipation. But now that was gone, replaced by an overwhelming sadness.
Born and raised in tiny Siletz, Oregon, the idea of visiting Paris seemed like a dream come true. But as they had left the airport and she had gotten her first look at the European city, like a picture book come to life, she had begun to contemplate the unique trajectory of her life that had made this particular dream a reality. Noel’s Market and the Little Chief diner…that’s where she ought to have been, and but for the tragic events of a few years ago, that’s where she still would be. Instead, she had survived the bizarre attack-she alone, while more than three thousand people, including her grandmother, had perished-and been swept up into a new world…a new life. King was her family now, her legal guardian and in every way that mattered, her father. She loved him deeply, but the cost of her new happiness was almost too much to bear.
Three thousand people died… Grandma died… and I get to visit Paris.
She rubbed her eyes, banishing the tears. “I thought there was supposed to be a carousel.”
She had to fight to get the words past the lump of emotion in her throat, but if Sara noticed, she gave no indication. Instead, King’s girlfriend consulted a tourist pamphlet. “Place du Carrousel,” she said after a moment, “gets its name from a type of military review that took place here back in the seventeenth century. Troops on horses, paraded in front of King Louis XIV.”
“So, no carousel?”
Sara shook her head, her short spiky hair barely moving with the gesture. “Sorry, kiddo. Just a big park. Want to grab a taxi and head over to the Eiffel Tower?”
That was the last thing Fiona wanted to do. Place du Carrousel, a large circular area between the Louvre Museum and the expansive park known as Jardin des Tuileries, had been in easy walking distance from their hotel and had seemed like the perfect place to stretch their legs after the exhausting flight. A proper visit to the Louvre would require at least a full day, maybe more, but there was plenty to see in the park-monuments and performers. Right now though, Fiona just wanted to crawl into bed and hide from Paris. She turned away from the skyline and let her eyes drift along the current of people moving through the park, some of them on their way to the magnificent Louvre Museum, most of them obviously tourists, just like her.
I’ll bet their vacation didn’t cost three thousand lives, Fiona thought bitterly.
“No,” she said finally. “We should save that for when dad…”
Fiona’s voice trailed off as her gaze settled on a tall figure moving purposely through the courtyard. Her eyebrows came together in a crease as she watched the man stride past, not twenty-five yards from where they stood. He bypassed the glittering glass pyramid that decorated the expansive courtyard in front of the main entrance, and continued up the Place du Carrousel toward the busy intersection with the Rue de Rivoli. “What’s he doing here?”
Sara looked up from her pamphlet. “What? What’s who doing here?”
Curiosity overshadowing her grief, Fiona grabbed Sara’s hand. “Come on. Let’s follow him.”
6
Julia Preston watched museum visitors come and go from La Chappelle gallery. Like window shoppers perusing the wares in a high-end retail store, they did not linger, and she found their apparent lack of interest discouraging. It was, she supposed, to be expected. People were so utterly predictable. Tourists-and that’s what most of them were-did not explore places like the Musee du Louvre with an open mind, eager to make new discoveries, but instead brought their expectations with them, checking items off a list.
