“Never mind,” Stansfield said. “You have everything in place for our guest?”
“Almost done. Maybe another thirty minutes.”
“Good. Call me when he shows up.” Stansfield hung up the phone and turned to Kennedy. “It’s not Ridley.”
“Then who in the world could it be?”
“I don’t know, but let’s not worry about it. We have bigger issues to deal with. Have the document people put together a diplomatic passport for Mitch. I don’t want any glitches if we get stopped by the Directorate. And how are we for vehicles?”
“I assume the Range Rovers are too high-profile?”
He nodded. “No bodyguards. Just you and me. Let’s use something from the motor pool that will blend in. We’ll send the Rovers out first. Dr. Lewis can take a nice scenic drive around Paris with the DGSE trailing him.”
“Good idea,” Kennedy said. “I’d better get upstairs, my cell phone doesn’t work down here.”
“I’ll go with you.” Stansfield then said to Talmage, “I’m going to initiate a lockdown on this floor. No one enters or leaves without my knowledge.”
“Understood.”
Hurley came bursting into the room with his small clamshell phone in his hand. “My phone doesn’t work down here,” he said, slightly out of breath.
“I know. Irene just said the same thing.”
“Well,” he started with a shake of his head, “I completely forgot that I had ordered two assets to relieve Victor and his team last night. Remember Bernstein and Jones?”
“The reporter and the cameraman,” Stansfield answered.
“Yeah, they’re the ones.”
Stansfield gave a disapproving frown. “They don’t seem like the right choice.”
“It’s a longer story than we have time for right now, but I asked them to work their contacts with the police. Beyond that, Victor and his crew had been working all day without a break, so I sent them over to sit in the van and relieve the guys for a few hours.”
Stansfield didn’t think this was the brightest idea, but he got the sense that there was something more important that Hurley was trying to get to.
“I was down here all night and all morning and when I went upstairs, my phone started beeping like crazy. Bernstein had left me four messages so I called him back. He said that when they showed up last night two men had been shot. Turns out it was the two Directorate boys. One dead and one alive. He tells me there was a guy who was administering first aid to the wounded agent. I asked him to describe the guy. He said the guy was midtwenties, thick black hair, fit, and he’s pretty sure he was French.”
“Why?” Kennedy asked.
“He said he spoke French like a native. Started barking orders at Bernstein and Jones. Told them to sit with the agent while he went and got help.”
“And?” Stansfield asked.
“He never came back. Bernstein, who’s been in almost as many war zones as I have, said this mystery man used Quickclot on the wound and field bandages to stop the bleeding.”
“You think it was Mitch?” Kennedy asked.
Hurley couldn’t speak for a moment. He looked at the floor, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on. It sounds like it could be him, but why the fuck would he shoot a DGSE agent and then patch him up?”
Kennedy and Stansfield shared a quick look, and then Stansfield said, “Because he didn’t shoot the agents. Someone else did?”
All eyes turned to the man sitting in the interrogation room. There was a lengthy silence and then Stansfield said, “Stan and I need a moment alone. Irene, I’ll meet you upstairs. Jim and Tom, stay close. This isn’t going to take long.” Once they were all gone Stansfield said, “I need an honest answer from you.”
Hurley nodded.
“I need a verbal commitment. You need to look me in the eye and swear that you are going to answer this question honestly.”
Hurley hated being penned in like this. “Fine,” he said, looking his old friend in the eye. “I won’t bullshit you. Ask away, and I’ll tell you the truth.”
“Remember when we made out the list of targets?”
“Yeah.”
“And we memorized them, and then I shredded the list and put it in my burn bag?”
“Yeah.”
Stansfield could already tell by the way Hurley was fidgeting that he’d done something wrong. To strangers or adversaries he was a world-class con artist and liar, but when it came to his closest friends he was lousy. “When you got back down to the farm, did you by chance re-create that list?”
“How do you mean?” He took a half step back and folded his arms across his chest.
“By writing the names down again?”
