I wasn’t sure what disguise to use, where I should go. My eyes drifted around the room, looking for inspiration. The clothes I’d worn the day before were still on the floor, so I gathered them up and pushed them into my laundry basket. A piece of paper fluttered out of the jacket pocket, and I reached down to pick it up. It was the museum ticket I’d taken from Dufor’s pocket. He’d been to the Musée de l’Orangerie that day. I sighed and started to put the ticket stub on my nightstand, and a buzz of electricity shot up my arm. At the same time, a tingle spread through my chest.
I stared at the ticket stub. What could it mean? What could the museum possibly have to do with the information Dufor had wanted to give Division 57? It didn’t make any sense. Still, I couldn’t deny the feeling that had rushed over me. The museum was important. I might not know why, but I knew enough to trust my instincts. I put the ticket stub in my pocket. It was somewhere to start, at least.
I chose a minimal disguise—nothing that would make me stand out or make me memorable in any way. I decided against wearing a wig, and tucked my long blond hair back into a simple ponytail. I used makeup to make my face look paler and thinner, and donned a pair of glasses. Jeans and a non-descript t-shirt finished off the outfit. I tucked Ace’s phone deep into the backpack I would use as a go bag for the day, along with an alternate disguise and some cash. I strapped a knife to each ankle and one to the small of my back, where it was out of sight, but could be easily reached.
I left my apartment out the back so no one would see me leave.
On the way to the station I bought a baguette, feeling a pang as I remembered joking around with Ace the day before. I pulled out the phone he’d given me and sent a quick coded text to the first number in the address book. I’m on it. Then I punched in Jeremy’s number and sent him a coded message as well. It’s Christy. We need to talk. Contact me ASAP. Hopefully, wherever he was, he had his phone, and I’d get through to him. As I paid for my bread, a storefront across the street caught my eye. I’d seen it before, of course, but never paid it much attention. It was an electronics store.
Before I could think about what I was doing, I slipped across the street, entered the store, and quickly located what I needed at the checkout—a flash drive. Division thought I’d sit on my hands and wait around for them to punish me—no way that was going to happen.
A second later, Ace replied. I knew she couldn’t keep you down for long.
I slipped the phone into a hidden pocket in my jacket and ran down the stairs to the train station. I caught the crowded metro and had to hold onto the pickpocket pole, along with many other Parisians and tourists. That’s when I felt a hand expertly probe for any valuables I might have on me. Again! That same rage boiled up in me. Could I not go one day without having a bad experience here in Paris? It was such a breach of personal space and protection; I had to do something.
I grabbed the would-be thief hard, where I knew it would hurt, and squeezed. He conveniently bent over so I could whisper as quietly as I could on a clacking, roaring train, “If you promise to be a good little boy, and not pickpocket another living soul as long as you live, I’ll let you leave this train with them intact.” The threat seemed more ominous when said in French. He groaned and grunted, but I could make out a “Oui.” So, as the train jerked to a stop, I let him disembark. I put my hand over my mouth, hiding a smile as I watched the offender shuffle off the train, still bent over, obviously in a bit of pain.
It felt good to finally be fighting back. Sure, this kid would be back to it in a few days, we all had bosses after all, but at least I’d made him stop for a little while.
I disembarked at the Louvre instead of the Place de la Concorde so I had an excuse to walk through the sprawling masterpiece of the Tuileries Gardens on my way to the Musée de l’Orangerie. Exactly four fountains graced the garden, and trees lined the wide pathway to the staircase leading to the museum. It was definitely one of my favorite places in Paris and took my breath away. If anything could get my mind off my woes, it was the beautiful gardens, and the museums around them.
Once at the top of the stairs, I looked over the gardens and watched the thousands of people moving about and marveled that the park still didn’t seem crowded. I discretely removed all the knives off my body and put them into my backpack before walking along the side of the building to the glass-lined entryway.
Inside, after waiting in a lengthy line, I went through
