A Long Night in Paris: The must-read thriller from the new master of spy fiction

by Dov Alfon

  Léger recalled Abadi’s response to the first kidnapping: “I don’t like blondes . . . and in a short red uniform, no less.” Maybe it was wiser for Abadi to ask to see her body instead of watching the footage again.

  “He wants to talk to you, Commissaire.”

  Léger could barely shake himself out of his musings. “Who?”

  “Colonel Abadi, Commissaire. He’s asking to speak to you. Should I put him through?”

  As every night at midnight, the Eiffel Tower performed its light show, delighting the tourists standing under Léger’s window. The camera flashes could be seen all along the Seine as Léger grunted his consent and listened with growing astonishment to Abadi.

  When Léger looked out of the window again, the Eiffel Tower was still sparkling at him from a distance, erect and defiant, gleaming and unattainable. And that’s when it hit him, the glorified commissaire, at one minute past midnight: Abadi was a messenger of the gods who had come to save him from his mistakes.

  Chapter 81

  Oriana switched off the Navran and glanced at the clock on the dashboard, trying to arrange her thoughts.

  “Ten minutes to 01:00, Commander.” Rachel’s voice was a whisper. “When are you going to give the order?”

  “Maybe I should give the order in French,” Oriana said, her mind elsewhere, it seemed to Rachel. “‘Soldats de Tzahal, à l’attaque!’ or something like that.”

  “Why in French?”

  Rachel said. “Because Abadi wants me to join him in Paris tonight, that’s why. I have to perfect my French.”

  Rachel was quick to respond. “Commander, can I work from home on some kind of project or other while you’re there? Boris will be the acting head of section in your absence and he can be an awful tyrant.”

  “I have another idea, Rachel. Why don’t you register for the officers’ course? The tests begin tomorrow.”

  “Me, Commander? I’m not ready to be an officer.”

  “Don’t talk that kind of nonsense in the interview, samelet. Repeat after me, ‘I will make an excellent officer.’ Look at me and say it. ‘I will make an excellent officer.’”

  “I can’t, Commander. You’re joking, right? I’d rather suffer under Boris for two or three days, or for however long until you and Abadi come back.”

  “If we come back,” Oriana said.

  “Why would you say something like that, Commander? Now you’re the one uttering nonsense. I mean, is it dangerous? Did Abadi tell you what your mission is there?”

  “For the moment he just wants what all men want from me,” Oriana said, “and that’s for me to help them with another girl.”

  “It’s because you scare them. You have a paralysing beauty,” Rachel said.

  “I have a what?”

  “Paralysing beauty.”

  “Oh my god, Rachel, where did you get that one from?”

  “Tomer explained it to the girls today when you were sleeping.”

  “Yeah, remind me to deal with Tomer and the shit he pulled today. But I have something else to deal with first.”

  “First you have something else, Commander, yes,” Rachel said, looking ahead through the windscreen.

  It was a minute before 01:00. In front of them, fewer than a hundred metres away, was the gate of the southern base, the largest, most powerful intelligence-gathering base in the world, sleepy as a ghost ship in the middle of a black ocean. Oriana drew the radio’s microphone to her mouth. “Force 24, this is Eagle. At my command we launch Operation Long Night. My vehicle leads, motorcycles at the rear and sides, and no-one goes in before the drone is above the gates. Acknowledge all.”

  The voices on the radio were so clear and confident, it was difficult to remember there was a real world out there too, not so far from the secret intelligence base in the heart of the desert, a world in which you did not give kids vehicles and weapons, and you did not let them play a game whose rules no-one really understood:

  “Falcon 1, Roger.”

  “Falcon 2, Roger.”

  “Falcon 3, Roger.”

  “Falcon 4, Roger.”

  “Hawk 1, Roger.”

  “Hawk 2, Roger.”

  “Hawk 3, Roger.”

  Oriana turned on the external speakers. “South base, this is a security inspection by Special Section, 8200 headquarters. Today’s password is ‘584210’. You have one minute to open the gate.”

  It took ten seconds for four spotlights to light up simultaneously across the access road. Oriana regretted not being on the other side of the gate to witness the scene herself. The gate did not open. A further forty-five seconds passed.

  Again, she drew the microphone close to her mouth. “Force 24, commence raid on my order, on ‘Three’.” She turned off the microphone and switched on the speakers.

  “South base, you have ten seconds left. If you do not open the gate, you will be charged with disobeying operation orders.”

  No response. Oriana turned on the internal microphone. “Force 24, prepare for order. ‘One’.”

  As if from thin air, the drone appeared above them, its engines blaring above the gates.

  “Two.”

  The military police vehicles turned on their sirens, and two motorcycles drove up to her jeep. Rachel squealed in admiration.

  “Three.”

  She hit the accelerator and the military jeep hurtled towards the barrier. After a horrible screeching among the cacophony, the first barrier slid open.

  “I will make an excellent officer, I will make an excellent officer,” Rachel said in prayer, and the gate to the southern base started to open. The jeep lights illuminated the darkness, and the four, armed soldiers blocking the entrance came into view. In front of them, trying not to blink at the lights, stood a bespectacled segen. Oriana presumed that he was the network intelligence officer who had refused to answer her questions on the telephone.

  She stopped the jeep a short distance from the soldiers and jumped out. As she slammed the door, a cold desert wind hit her and banished her doubts.

  Chapter 82

  Ming waited inside his plane at Frankfurt International airport’s private jet terminal. The Boeing 747-8 had been modified for his needs by friends in the Chinese military aircraft industry, but the plane was not listed under his name. And in any case, Ming was not his real name.

  Out of precaution, he never flew directly to his destination, and today he instructed the crew, which included two pilots on this long-haul flight, to employ extreme measures beyond those he customarily used to pop surveillance. Over German air space, the acting pilot requested permission for an emergency landing in Frankfurt “due to a mechanical failure in one of the engines”, and they were now waiting for the verdict from the mechanics at the

  V.I.P. wing of the Frankfurt Aviation Service.

  There had been no mechanical failure of course. But now Ming could register a new flight plan from Frankfurt to Le Bourget. It was an internal European route governed by the Schengen Agreement and there would be no customs search upon landing in Paris. The weapons hidden behind a fake panel in the bar were well concealed, but he did not want to take unnecessary risks. Not today.

  Ming read Erlang Shen’s report carefully. “????”, determined the Book of Qi, which he had established as the guiding set of principles for the Ming organisation: “Lure your enemy onto the roof then take away the ladder.” The enemy was definitely on the roof. This was not supposed to happen, certainly not on the roofs of Paris, a dangerous city which promised the sublime but which never delivered.

  When he had first received the eight-second audio clip on his mobile, he had understood at once the magnitude of the threat. Only six people knew his telephone number and he trusted them all. But on listening to the file, on hearing his own voice in the recorded conversation, the danger had become clear and present.

  The anonymous sender knew about his payments to the high-ranking official in exchange for control of Macau’s gambling heart. The sender knew
more, and he was demanding a huge sum of money for his silence and the return of the audio file. Ming had originally thought the blackmailer was Chinese, but then the payment number had come through, a long, obscure and anonymous string of characters. Anonymous for most people, but not for Ming, who counted members of the Chinese secret services among his friends.

  And so it turned out that behind number 13uEbM8unu0ShB4-TewXjtqbBv5MndwfX6b was an Israeli named Vladislav Yerminski.

  “How could an Israeli have hacked into my secure e-mail and phone?” Ming was stunned for all of two brief seconds before reason returned, and he answered his own question. “The tone signals on the file itself should provide that information.”

  Ming had no wish to pay for his own e-mail correspondence. However, now that He Xiangu had botched the plan, had failed to catch Yerminski and had endangered his best xiake, he had no other choice.

  He checked the long number again and clicked “Approve payment”. He was counting on Erlang Shen to get the money back for him, but first he needed the audio file. And then he needed to make He Xiangu pay for it. Erlang Shen would know what to do.

  Chapter 83

  To: 8200/US Intelligence Liaison Unit From: 8200/Head of Special Section, via Navran 008

  Priority: Urgent/Top Secret Clearance: Black

  cc: 8200/Commander

  cc: 8200/Chief Network Intelligence Officer cc: 8200/Special Section/Navran 012

  1:704-01:00 U.T.C.

  Following operation order Long Night presently in system, request transfer to me all electronic correspondence conducted via Le Grand Hôtel Paris’ own network within order’s defined time-frame.

  Network: DHCP wi-fi: legrand inter guests Time: 10:00–14:00 U.T.C.

  This request overrides any other request in or outside the unit.

  To: 8200/Head of Research Division From: 8200/Head of Special Section, via Navran 008

  Priority: Urgent/Secret

  17:04-01:00 U.T.C.

  Following operation order Long Night presently in system, request transfer to Special Section any/all anomalies in data transferences from Paris yesterday at 10:30 to current time. Special attention to deviations from norms: cellular communications, flight bookings, financial transactions, signal mixing, data scraping related to China.

  This request overrides any other request in or outside the unit.

  To: HATZAV OSINT/Social Networks Department From: 8200/Head of Special Section, via Navran 008

  Priority: Urgent/Secret

  17:04-01:00 U.T.C.

  Following operation order Long Night presently in system, request transfer to 8200 Special Section any/all social media posts, texts, photographs, location, reviews from Le Grand Hôtel, Paris incl. surroundings, possibly related to abduction described in updated operation order.

  Requested location: 48°52’15.1’N 2°19’49.8’E

  Requested time: 13:00–17:00 U.T.C.

  This request overrides any other request in or outside the unit.

  To: 8200/Chief Network Intelligence Officer From: 8200/Head of Special Section, via Navran 008

  Priority: Urgent/Top Secret 17:04-01:00 U.T.C.

  Following operation order Long Night presently in system, request transfer to Special Section any/all recent electronic correspondence to & from Corinne Lemarquer, Paris. Mobile: +33-6-4481043; e-mail address unknown.

  This request overrides any other request in or outside the unit.

  To: 8200/Bureau Chief, HQ

  From: 8200/Head of Special Section, via Navran 008

  Priority: Immediate/Restricted cc: 8200/Commander

  17:04-01:00 U.T.C.

  Request order one plane ticket for deputy head Special Section, Segen Oriana Talmor. Flight: next El Al departing Ben Gurion airport 05.25 for Paris-Charles de Gaulle. Segen Talmor currently leading unit operation, South. Request any/all possible assistance to guarantee arrival, clearance to board. Please confirm upon execution.

  Chapter 84

  How many traits did he have in common with an investigator like Commissaire Léger? Abadi tried to gauge them. They were both methodical, certainly. Stubborn, absolutely. They were suspicious of their commanders, and of the system at large. As was every good investigator. But as for the most fundamental trait of any investigator in any field – openness to possibilities – Abadi had to acknowledge the fact that his French colleague had nothing but contempt for it.

  Abadi tried again. “Commissaire, all I’m asking is that you take a look at this short scene from the kidnapping of Vladislav Yerminski,” he said and rewound the clip he had edited.

  Like most hotels on such a scale, Le Grand Hôtel had a network of synced cameras, sixty-four, of which sixty-one were in working order. Unlike the El Al camera, the hotel’s system operated on time-lapse technology, one image every two seconds. It added to the viewing experience a vague sense of awe, the same feeling of reverence inspired by movies from the early days of film-making.

  The real problem was positioning them. There were cameras in every lift but none in the stairwells. Four cameras were installed at the reception desk, but the giant lobby was full of blind spots. And on the convention floor, where the blonde had gone to get dressed, there was not a single camera. Presumably out of respect for business confidentiality.

  But the system was synchronised, providing Abadi with the ability to cross-cut footage from the various cameras in a relatively short period of time.

  0:00 – The door to Vladislav Yerminski’s room is still closed (camera no. 43).

  0:02 – The door opens, the image sharpens above Yerminski, who looks to his left and then to his right (cameras no. 42, 43, 44).

  0:05 – Yerminski exits the room with his hands raised and stands in the hallway facing the lifts (camera no. 42).

  0:09 – The blonde comes out and slams the door behind her. The “Do Not Disturb” sign swings from the impact. In her left hand is a Printemps shopping bag (camera no. 43).

  0:15 – Yerminski starts walking towards the lift (cameras no. 40,

  42). Behind him the blonde is seen taking a gun out of the bag with her right hand, pointing it at his back and talking to him (camera no. 40).

  0:17 – Yerminski lowers his hands and starts running towards the lifts (cameras no. 38, 40).

  0:22 – She runs after him. She transfers the gun to her left hand to conceal it in the bag (cameras no. 35, 38).

  1:15 – They both run down the hallway and turn left. She’s holding the gun inside the bag, switching again to her right hand. She puts her left hand in her pocket (cameras no. 31, 33, 35).

  1:23 – They stand in front of the lifts (cameras no. 20, 27).

  1:25 – Yerminski presses the lift button (camera no. 20).

  1:40 – The doors of the left lift open. There are people inside the lift. They enter, Yerminski first, the blonde immediately following (cameras no. 8, 20).

  1:50 – The camera in the lift captures only the upper half of their bodies. They stand among a family, probably Americans. The blonde is close to Yerminski (camera no. 8).

  1:57 – The camera in the lift registers her moving the bag. She’s now holding the gun at a sharper angle towards the lift ceiling (camera no. 8).

  2:03 – They are the last to leave the lift. Yerminski exits before her. She straightens her hand, holding the gun at an upright angle behind him (cameras no. 5, 8).

  2:20 – They exit the hotel through the main entrance and run to the taxis, skirting the line of limousines and skipping over a puddle on the way to the opposite side of the street (cameras no. 5, 15).

  2:40 – They get into a taxi, he first, then her. She pulls in the bag after settling in her seat and closes the door with her left hand (camera no. 15).

  “So, what did we see?” Léger said.

  “It’s the gun they had in ‘The Matrix’ movies,” his deputy told him.

  “That’s right,” Abadi said. “And in a lot of other movies, not to mention computer games. But that’s not what I wanted to dr
aw your attention to.”

  “Then what is it?” Léger said.

  “Commissaire, if you focus on the two clips I just showed you, you’ll see for yourself that the blonde girl moves quickly and confidently in her heels, she even runs and skips over puddles on the way to the taxi, while in the airport she struggled to walk in the same heels and got rid of them the moment she could.”

  “So what does that mean, Colonel, that in the meantime she learned how to walk in heels?”

  “No, Commissaire. It means it’s not the same girl.”

  The reaction of Léger’s men alternated between cries of surprise and whispers. Léger himself struggled to follow what his Israeli colleague was saying.

  “Not the same girl?”

  “Not the same girl.”

  “Just because she can walk in heels in the second video?”

  “They look alike, but it isn’t the same girl. If you compare the camera angle in the airport lift to the one in the hotel, you’ll find that the blonde in the hotel is taller, actually, than the one in the airport, and there’s scarcely any facial resemblance. They’re both tall, thin, fair-skinned blondes in short red uniforms – that’s all they have in common.”

  “It can’t be a coincidence.”

  “Not at all. It was the leaking of the footage of the first blonde that brought on this copycat.”

  “I accept what you’re saying, Colonel,” Léger said in a hesitant tone, “but I assume that as we speak the assassin is busy taking out the second blonde, so it doesn’t really help us.”

  “We can find her before he does,” Abadi said. He wanted to add that it was Oriana’s discovery, so he added, “Obviously I did not figure this out by myself.”

  The officers looked at Léger as if Abadi had just credited him with the discovery. Abadi wanted to correct himself and explain about Oriana, but he seemed to have lost his way with words, and just shrugged.