The broker looked back. ‘This isn’t the bottom.’
‘I know.’ Victor didn’t slow down. ‘Stop talking.’
He could hear heavy footsteps rushing up the stairwell below. Victor pulled the pin from another stun grenade but kept the striker lever pressed down. He wedged the grenade behind the door handle so that the lever was held in place. At least until the door was opened.
Victor hurried along the corridor to a window at the opposite end of the building. He smashed it with the butt of the submachine gun and knocked out the shards of glass left. He climbed through, dropped.
He landed in an alley ten feet below, in a crouch, immediately going into a roll, absorbing the impact through his whole body. The soles of his feet stung, but there was no injury. He came to his feet, turned, looked up. The broker was leaning out the window.
He gestured. ‘Let’s go.’
‘I–I can’t; it’s too far.’
‘Don’t jump out, just drop. When you hit the ground, roll. Do it.’
‘I can’t.’
Victor turned around, opened a Dumpster, grabbed half a dozen refuse sacks, and threw them underneath the window.
‘Come on.’
She took a breath. ‘I’ll break my legs.’
‘In five seconds I’m gone. Now do it.’
She did, landing awkwardly, feet first, falling backwards. The trash bags burst but slowed her fall. She groaned, tried to stand, failed and fell backward. Victor extended a hand to her and she took it. He heaved her onto her feet.
‘I think I’ve sprained my ankles.’
‘You can stand so you haven’t. Move.’
A small explosion made the broker startle.
She looked up towards the window. Victor didn’t react, moved to the mouth of the alley, and pressed his back to the wall, listening. The noises of any street: cars and pedestrians. He pulled out his wallet, taking out a matte- black metal tube with a small spherical mirror attached to the end. He extended it, held it up and looked in the reflection.
There were several vehicles outside the front of the building, two assault-team vans, four marked police cars, three unmarked. There were around a dozen figures, some suits, some uniformed officers.
He grabbed her by the wrist and hurried to the opposite end of the alleyway. He used the mirror again to look round the corner. One marked car. Two officers. Much better.
‘Listen.’ He pulled the broker closer. ‘They’re outside. As soon as we leave this alley they’re going to see us.’
‘What are we going to do?’
‘You have a car?’
‘I rented one, but it’s a block away at least.’
‘That doesn’t matter. I’ll go out first and get their attention. They’ll come after me. Thirty seconds later you get to the car and get out of here.’
‘What about you?’
‘I’ll think of something. Here.’ He took out a newly purchased phone and gave it to her. ‘Get out of central Paris. Keep the phone on. I’ll call you.’
‘We shouldn’t split up.’
‘This is the only way.’
‘There must be something else we can do.’
‘If you have a better plan, now’s the time to tell me.’
She shook her head meekly.
He grabbed her by the shoulder. ‘You understand what you’re doing?’
She nodded.
‘Then say so.’
‘I understand.’
He dropped the MP5SD. It was a shame to be parted from it, but his objective was to get away, not have a running gun battle. And walking around with an 800 rounds-per-minute submachine gun wasn’t the best way to go unnoticed.
Victor gave the broker her gun back. ‘Just in case.’ He still had the knife, a 9 mm SIG P-228 with a full mag and a single stun grenade. Not much if he ran into more guys in body armour with submachine guns, but it would have to do.
‘Thirty seconds after I’ve gone, you go. Count the seconds.’
He stepped out of the alley and ran.
He heard the first shout as he reached the middle of the road, heard the shot when he was on the opposite side of the street. A chunk of brickwork blew out of a nearby wall.
Across the road, Victor ran straight for a side street too narrow for the cars to drive down. They would have to chase him on foot. He ran down the alleyway, dodging around trash cans, boxes. He hurried around a corner, took another immediately, finding himself in a wide back alley that ran between a line of stores. He headed straight down its centre, veered off as soon as another way appeared.
On a main street he slowed to a jog to avoid attracting too much attention. One of the best ways to find someone trying to run away was to follow the trail of confused pedestrians looking over their shoulders. He made his way around the block, doubling back to the broker’s street. If anything they would expect him to run farther away. The last thing they would expect him to do was head back.
On the same side of the road as the broker’s apartment he headed down a side street, cut across a main road, dodging around the slow-moving traffic. On the other side he took another alley, emerging from it into a casual walk across the next road.
Four blocks later he found a late-night cafe full of noisy patrons and sat down at a table with a good view of the window. As he waited he kept his eye on the alley he’d come out of, but no one came that way. No one he recognized passed on the street outside. He’d lost them. By the time a waitress arrived at his side his pulse and breathing had returned to normal.
‘Ice tea,’ he said, when he was asked for his order. ‘With lime if you have it.’
CHAPTER 51
23:03 CET
He called the broker. She gave him the name of a bar and its location on the outskirts of the city. He hailed a cab, told the driver the destination, but had him stop a couple of blocks away. It could have been any low-income Parisian neighbourhood. Winding streets seemed to blend into one another. Quiet.
He circled the block where the bar was located a couple of times, checking for anyone waiting who looked out of place. If the broker had been successfully shadowed before, she could be so again. It was not the kind of area where people would choose to just sit parked along the kerb. He saw no one.
The bar was a run-of-the-mill drinking house. Linoleum-covered floors, faded wallpaper, and a long polished bar, marked and scuffed from thousands of glasses and bottles. The broker was sitting in the corner, facing the door. He expected she did so in order to see him enter instead of to look out for any threats like she should be doing.
Victor sat down on a stool next to her, adjusting it so he could watch the entrance and see the broker without moving his head. She had smartened herself up, cleaned her face, and reapplied her make-up. She was dressed differently too. There was a shopping bag next to her feet.
‘I got us both a vodka tonic,’ she explained, before adding with her eyes lowered, ‘I drank both though. Sorry.’
