smoking a cigarette. Bill quickly scanned around and then came back to the man. He watched him for a few minutes, occasionally checking elsewhere. The man then took a broom from a doorway and began sweeping the gutter. A street cleaner. Bill stepped back into the room as another bout of paranoia rushed through him. He was experienced enough to control it but could not suppress the fear of the risk he was taking. He had asked himself the same questions at least once a day for the past ten years: what was he doing? Why was he risking absolutely everything for it? But asking himself these questions was part of the game of assurance Bill played with himself. He was ninety-nine per cent certain about what he was doing. Well, ninety-eight perhaps. He reasoned that the doubt represented his moral obligation to question his actions. He checked his watch. Sixteen minutes to ten. He would give his meeting till exactly ten o’clock. If he did not show, Bill would head for the airport.
Hank sat beside Stratton in a cafe, at a table in the back where it was gloomy and unpopulated. He had not seen the rest of the team since they arrived at Gare du Nord, and then a couple of them only briefly before they disappeared in different directions. Stratton seemed to know this part of Paris well. He had given the taxi driver the name of the street in what sounded to Hank like fluent French, and then on arrival he led Hank down several back streets directly to the cafe, all without consulting a map or notes.
Hank checked his watch. It was quarter of ten. He was on his third cup of coffee, having polished off a sandwich jambon and was considering another. He decided to wait until Stratton finished his, although that didn’t look as if it would be any time soon. He’d taken just two bites and the rest was getting cold on his plate. The front of the cafe was doing a fair morning’s trade, the waiters moving quickly about delivering coffee, croissants and toasted sandwiches; he and Stratton could remain where they were for hours without drawing undue attention.
Stratton had not said a word since they’d left the train. Hank had no inclination to talk either, at least not to Stratton. That was too much like hard work. He wondered what Stratton was like socially, whether he drank and hung out with the guys in bars. Hank was sure Stratton didn’t dislike him. He felt his coldness was a combination of the pressures of command and that Hank was still a stranger, not to mention a foreigner.
Hank looked around at the people in the cafe with curiosity, the way they dressed, how they talked to each other, their body language. He noted the things that made them different from Americans, how they communicated with their hands and facial expressions for instance. A flush of contentment passed through him. He was actually enjoying himself, as if he were on holiday. Everything was being paid for, he had no responsibilities, no worries concerning the op, and he was with the ground commander himself, which meant he didn’t even have to think, just follow. He would have preferred being more involved in the operation, of course, part of an actual surveillance team, not just a spectator, but all in all he was having a very pleasant time.
Stratton’s cell-phone vibrated in his pocket and he buried the earpiece in his ear, checked the caller ID and pushed the receive call button.
‘Go ahead,’ he said as he took out a street map that was neatly folded to display a couple of square miles just north of the river, with the Louvre bottom centre. ‘No one can make that call but you,’ he said. ‘If you think you’re warm, back off. The rule is, if in doubt, get out.’
Stratton disconnected and studied the map as he hit a number; he then talked calmly into the small mic in the wire that dangled from his ear past his mouth. ‘Alan? Where are you?’ he asked, then listened a moment. ‘Dave thinks Henri might have made him. He’s pulling off. Move up to the south-west corner of Place Vendome and support Jeff. Henri should be entering the square in the next two minutes . . . The Ritz, that’s right.’
Stratton disconnected and scrutinised the map. His phone vibrated again and he checked the caller before hitting the button. ‘Go ahead,’ he said and listened for a few seconds. ‘If he goes left or straight, leave him. If he goes right or doubles back, you have to take him, but don’t get burned.’
There was a long pause, then he confirmed what he heard: ‘He went left toward Vendome, is that correct? . . . Okay, out.’
Stratton hit the end button and then a memory dial button. A few seconds later his call was picked up. ‘Jeff? . . . He’s towards you from the north entrance, understood?’
Stratton disconnected and hit another memory key quickly. ‘Brent? . . . He’s into Vendome . . . That’s right. Hold your position.’
Stratton ended the call and stared ahead as if in intense thought, but he was waiting, holding the phone, expecting it to vibrate any second. It took a couple of minutes before it did.
‘Go ahead,’ he said and listened for a moment, then suddenly looked annoyed. ‘You’re bunching. You can’t get that close if you’re in support . . . I don’t care how crowded it is.That’s two more we’ve lost now.’Another pause to listen, then: ‘No, I’ll do it. Call Brent and Doles. Tell them I’m covering the church at Barres.’
And with that, Stratton pocketed the phone, stood up and tossed money on to the table. ‘Let’s go,’ he said with urgency and Hank quickly followed him out of the cafe.
They moved along the street at a brisk pace. Hank walked beside Stratton when he could but he had to repeatedly step back to let oncoming pedestrians pass on the narrow, busy pavement. Stratton walked like a dart with fixed determination. Hank had to run around a parked car at one point to catch up with him. He felt as if he could be hit by a grand piano falling from the roof of one of these buildings and Stratton would just keep on walking. They turned a corner into another equally busy street lined with shops. Hank wanted to know where they were rushing to but chose not to ask. Then, as if Stratton had heard him, ‘Henri did a double-back behind a group of people leaving a shop. Jeff was following too close and got burned. So did Joe who was backing too closely.’
‘He knows they were following him?’
‘No, but if he sees either of them again he will.’
‘If he’s doubling back maybe he already thinks he’s being followed.’
‘Not necessarily. Doubling back is a standard anti-surveillance move. Anyone who’s been in this game long enough checks who’s behind them just about every time they take a walk, on or off duty. Recognise anyone behind us?’
Hank wasn’t sure if Stratton was kidding or not. He looked back as they walked and checked the dozens of people behind them. Parked cars were crammed along every inch of pavement both sides of the street. Stratton sidestepped through a gap between two and crossed the road. Hank looked forward again, saw Stratton was over the road and hurriedly caught up.
‘We’re not as good at this as we should be,’ Stratton continued when Hank came alongside him.‘Six experienced guys could do this task all day without getting burned.We’ve already lost four.’
The phone went again. Stratton didn’t break stride as he answered it. ‘Yes.’ He listened for a moment then: ‘Okay, that’s good. Move out of the area. Your day’s finished.’
Stratton disconnected and speeded up a little. ‘Jeff now thinks that when Henri did his double-back he was actually doing a pass of the meeting point. He just doubled back again past a cafe. That’s twice he’s passed it. Odds are we’ll house him there any minute. We’re gonna have to cover one end of the street while Brent moves to the other until Henri goes static and the rest of the team can move into position.’
‘How far?’ Hank asked.
‘Rue Cambon. Just around this corner.’
They continued at a brisk pace to the next junction where an old church took up one corner; it was built back from the road so that the corner itself was a small open square, a relief of space from the claustrophobic streets. Stratton crossed into the square and stopped on the corner where Rue Cambon continued on its narrow course for a couple more hundred yards towards Rue de Rivoli. Stratton studied the street, which was comprised of shops, a couple of bars and a cafe. Hank kept behind him, looking around, trying to act natural, seeing if there were any familiar faces, friendly operatives or otherwise.A pretty woman in sexy tight pants walked by and looked at him, oozing lasciviousness. He realised he was staring and quickly looked away. And then he could not resist looking back to watch her shapely rear.When he turned back Stratton had gone. A rush of panic popped inside his chest before he caught sight of Stratton heading down Rue Cambon and he sped off to catch up.
Stratton reached the next crossroads, the last before Rivoli a hundred or so yards away. Hank moved in behind him and took a peek up the street. He could see a small cafe on their side of the road with a couple of tables
