“No heat signatures on any level above the third floor,” Ace said, interrupting us over the com. “Lasers down. Mark the time.” His voice was clear and confident; he had switched into mission mode.
I put the countdown on my watch. “Going in.” I lowered myself into the ventilation system, using my grippy footies, just as we’d planned. I’d be cut off from all communication until I was in Dufor’s office, which shouldn’t take me more than five minutes.
I hated ventilation ducting. I’d had to crawl through a couple of different systems while in D.C. plus another in South Dakota, because I was the smallest and most likely to fit. It’s not like there was training for that. I had to find my happy place and pretend I was in an open field of flowers the entire time I was in them or terror would crush the breath out of me from the inside out.
It was good they didn’t have sound alarms, because I banged my way through the venting as fast as I could. Speed was more important than stealth right now, and I bonked my head three times trying to navigate one particularly tricky turn. Since there were no heat signatures of others within three floors of me, no one would hear. The patrols weren’t scheduled to walk through the building for at least another fifteen minutes.
Once above Dufor’s office, I unscrewed the vent cover and dropped to his desk using a rope coated in the same fabric I had on. Had Ace’s new jamming technology not worked, the fabric would have at least made both the rope and me invisible to the cameras.
“I’m in.” I leaned back and took several deep breaths.
“Right on time. Ten minutes and counting.” Rosabella’s sure voice encouraged me.
“Camera’s masked. Feel free to move about the room in that awesome suit that just earned me an eight-euro soda in a Paris café.”
It did bother me somewhat that they could see everything I did. For most people, it would be a comfort, but I didn’t like the sensation of being watched. I tried to focus on the idea that they might see something I missed. I’d find Dufor’s laptop or possibly a drive with a copy of the information he’d planned on giving to us as fast as I could and get the heck out.
Dufor’s desk was clear of any clutter, and everything seemed to be in its proper place. In and out boxes, two books with bookends, and a small, shallow bowl with a lighter in it. No laptop. I pulled open the drawers and discovered the same complete and total order in the interior. Everything had its spot. Not a smidgen of dust was present anywhere.
Replicas of three Matisse paintings hung on the walls along with a thermostat and a few shelves with statues and other pieces of art from various countries. Dufor obviously appreciated art and seemed to collect various pieces as he traveled. I carefully, but quickly, searched every inch of wall space and the objects on or near it. Nothing.
“He didn’t seem like a Matisse kind of guy,” Rosabella said, obviously watching my progress along with the others. Getting into the building had been so easy, but nothing was ever this easy. No wonder I’d found nothing.
“Two heat signatures heading your way.” Ace’s voice was soft in the com, almost like he thought if he spoke louder the people approaching would overhear. I checked under the rug and two soft chairs across from the desk before voices filtered into the office from the hall. My watch told me it was one of the three possible times for the regular security sweep. I flipped off the flashlight. I had to hold still until they passed, wasting precious time.
Once the guards were past me, I flipped the flashlight back on and resumed the search. Not a single dust bunny floated in the corners of the room or under the chairs or desk. Dufor had been meticulous. I moved back to the desk. Not a piece of paper out of place. Seeing his things and the care he took to keep his space clean and organized made me see him even more clearly and mourn his loss. He’d been a good man. He’d risked everything in an effort to help his country, and I had to love him for that.
I looked in the trash, expecting to find nothing, but instead noticed a black residue on the bottom and sides of the can. I ran a gloved finger over it and then smelled it.
“Uh, C’est dégoutant, ça!” Halluis said. He was grossed out by stuff like that. It didn’t bother me if I was on a mission.
I took some tape from Dufor’s drawer and got a sample of the black stuff. I looked back at the desk, taking note of the lighter in the shallow dish. I examined it closer and thought I found traces of that same black residue on its plastic carapace. I snagged another piece of tape for a sample and then put both samples into an interior pocket of my suit. “The pockets were a nice touch, Ace…”
“I thought you might find a use for them,” he replied.
“Think Dufor is a pyro?” I asked into the air, glancing again at the Matisses. They were the only things that spoke “uncontrolled” to me. No one replied, and I scanned the room again. “Can you think of anything that I’ve missed?” I hoped my team could see something.
Noes rang out in my earpiece.
“Please tell me I didn’t get in the ducts for nothing.”
Silence greeted me.
“In two minutes you’ll need to get back in them. Sorry.” Rosabella truly sounded apologetic.
Feeling a bit depressed by my inability to find what we needed, I sat in Dufor’s chair and leaned back, knowing I needed to hurry.
If I were Dufor, would I record anything about the criminals? And if I did, where would I record it?
