Grant nodded.
‘Tell me where Marie Bisset is, and I’ll have her arrested. She’s no longer leverage,’ Helen said. The bitch could roast in hell as far as Helen was concerned, and when finally in her custody, she was tempted to hand her over to Fawaz to give herself enough rope to hang. But, alas, that wouldn’t be the case. He gave her the address.
‘Give me an hour to warn my man to get out of there,’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Come on,’ she said to Grant. ‘I’ll give you a lift.’
They walked towards the car and got into the back seat. She gave the driver the address of her apartment. They didn’t speak. The physical effects of the adrenalin rush of the last twenty minutes were draining and they were weary. On route, Colonel Palmer called her, but she ignored it. The last thing she needed right now was a smarmy colonel fawning over her and backtracking to save his skin. An overwhelming sense of peace came over her: she’d achieved her mission to find the boy. But – and there was a big but – now she had to find Fawaz and make sure the summit was safe. She’d had to choose one over the other, and she hoped that time would prove her choice justified.
The car pulled up outside her address and she told the driver to wait. Grant followed her up to her flat. Inside, she grabbed a bag and threw clothes in, as well as toiletries, which she always kept packed and ready. She left her weapon in the safe: she’d be re-issued in good time. Grant lingered in the doorway.
Helen turned to him. ‘What will you do?’ she asked. They’d spent less than twenty-four hours together, but it felt like days. Her dread that ever seeing him again would turn her world upside down hadn’t happened. In fact, the opposite. She didn’t want this to be goodbye.
‘I’ll go and see Hakim in hospital and ask Khalil for some time off. I won’t head back to North Africa just yet. I’ll go back to London and do normal stuff like sit by the Serpentine and read a paper.’
‘Well, you’ve earned it,’ she said. ‘Interpol will still need to interview both of you,’ she said.
She was packed and ready to leave. She walked towards him and stopped a foot away. He closed the gap until their bodies were touching. He reached over and kissed her forehead. She didn’t pull away, but leant on his body and closed her eyes.
‘I want you to come with me,’ she said.
‘I can’t,’ he replied.
‘I know,’ she said. She looked up. He put his arms around her and bent his head, and she opened her lips. His hands ran underneath her hair and held her gently as they kissed. Moments later they parted and Grant let his hands fall.
‘You need to go. I’ll have time between connections in Paris if you want to see me before I go back to the UK. I’ll head there tonight,’ he said.
‘I do,’ she replied.
They left her flat and locked the door, and they got into the waiting car. She gave the address of the hospital to the driver and they travelled in silence. Only once did Grant reach over his hand to touch hers, and she let him.
Chapter 52
The car drove on to Lyon-Saint Exupéry Airport and dropped Helen by the private entrance reserved for security and first-class celebs. She was escorted straight through security and onto a waiting plane that had been delayed twenty-five minutes for her. She took her seat in first class and ignored the irate stares of the few privileged passengers around her who clearly didn’t approve of being held up.
As the plane took off, Helen watched the city below getting smaller and smaller as they banked north and then east, west and then north again. Only clouds could be seen down below as they climbed even further.
The flight took a mere hour, and it was as if they’d reached cruising altitude only to begin their descent into Charles de Gaulle. Within twenty minutes, they were on the ground and she heard the scream of the reverse thrusters.
She was escorted off the plane before any of the passengers were allowed to unfasten their belts, and a car waited on the tarmac to take her to the US embassy in the city centre where she was to brief Special Agent White. She made contact with Peter to see if she’d missed anything while travelling. She had. The Transit van had been picked up again, driving around the same industrial estate, in an area of Gare du Nord. It had been stopped and a secure perimeter was in place on the estate. The drivers of the van were in custody and the search was about to begin.
‘I’m on my way,’ Helen told him.
The Paris traffic was more forgiving in July and it didn’t take the driver long to negotiate his way south through the ninth arrondissement to Avenue Gabriel and the graceful white stone building of the US embassy. Cordons were in place all around the perimeter, something that the Americans did year round as a matter of course, and guards looked solemn and proficient.
The car sped through two gates, manned with pristine-looking US soldiers in full uniform. She was taken to a back entrance, and her door opened for her. The driver carried her bag and after entering a corridor, he handed it to another soldier, who escorted her to a flight of stairs. She followed him two flights up to a lavish landing carpeted in red, white and blue. He knocked on a double door, which was closed. It was the first time he spoke.
‘I’ll take care of your bag, ma’am.’ His voice was formal and direct. She reckoned he was from Texas or somewhere nearby.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him and heard the door open. Peter greeted her warmly. She entered the room and scanned
