by DV Berkom
“You two haven’t been formally introduced. Leine Basso, may I present Valerie Swain, assassin-in-training.” He swept his arm wide and bowed his head.
“Ah. So that’s it,” Leine said. “I thought there was something different about you.”
Henri grinned. “Two of a kind, no? You recognize a fellow traveler, shall we say?” He sat in the other wingback chair and took a sip of his champagne. “Are you in Paris long? Perhaps you could share some of your expertise with this lovely student of the dark arts.”
Leine shook her head. “I’m afraid this isn’t a good time, although I’d be happy to return once I’ve completed my assignment.”
Valerie’s gaze held Leine’s for a moment. “I would be most appreciative.”
“Does this assignment have anything to do with the attack on Notre Dame?” Henri asked.
“That’s a possibility,” Leine replied. “Although I wouldn’t bet the farm on it.”
Henri guffawed. “You and your quaint American sayings. So.” He leaned forward and rubbed his hands together. “What can I do for The Leopard today?”
“No one has called me that in years, Henri.”
He shrugged again. “So I am an anachronism. I prefer to use your moniker from the glorious days of old. There’s a certain respect in that, I think.”
Leine nodded, acknowledging the compliment. “I am here for two reasons. The first of which is information.”
“You have led with the most priceless of requests. Information is jealously guarded here.” He wagged his finger at her in mock seriousness. “You should have begun with reason number two, which I assume is weaponry?”
Leine laughed. “Astute as always. I do need a few small items, if you can spare them.”
Henri matched her smile and spread his hands wide, indicating the wares decorating the Lucite displays. “Anything I have is yours. For a price,” he added.
“Not a problem. I will transfer the money into your account as soon as we conclude business.”
“I should tell you that Lou Stokes called not ten minutes before your arrival, urging me to disregard your request should you find your way to my establishment.”
“Really.” Dammit, Lou. Stop butting in where you’re not wanted. “And what did you tell him?”
“That I would take his concerns under advisement.” He gave her a conspiratorial grin. “I must keep my options open, must I not? SHEN business has been lucrative in the past, and he and I have a long history.”
“Of course.” She eyed him, wondering if he’d report back to Lou after she left. She decided it wouldn’t matter if he did. She was working freelance, this time. She hadn’t signed anything with SHEN that precluded her working on her own.
“Before you give Valerie your order, I’d like you to try out a few of my newest acquisitions.” He rose and held out his hand. Leine stood and followed him to the other end of the warehouse where he led her through a red door with white lettering that read Firing Range – Enter at your own risk.
Inside the room was a small but comprehensive firing range, complete with a target retrieval system. He gave her ear and eye protection and showed her the weapons. She chose a compact submachine gun, or SMG, that was new on the market.
“I noticed you had one of these out in the showroom.”
“Ah, yes. Good for close quarters.” Henri handed her the gun and she fired it several times, trying different ranges. It performed well, but was too compact for her liking, and no suppressor was available yet. Then she tried a newer, Russian-made SMG with a suppressor attached. Response was good, but again, Leine preferred to work with familiar equipment.
She handed the SMG back to him and removed her protective gear. “Nice. But I think I’ll stick to my usual.”
They walked back into the showroom, and Leine noticed that one of the compact SMGs was on display, fully loaded, in one of the cubicles. Back in the day, Henri had kept several loaded weapons in his showroom ready to fire in case someone tried to rob him. Apparently he still did.
Leine told him what weapons she required and Valerie jotted them down on her phone, which she took with her into the back room. Henri freshened their glasses and leaned back in his chair.
“Now for the interesting part.”
“You mean the expensive part, don’t you?” Leine asked.
“That depends on your requirements.”
“You asked if my assignment involved the bombing of the cathedral. It does. Will that be a problem?”
Henri’s eyes darkened and he slowly shook his head. “No. As a matter of fact I was hoping you would say this. I assume you are searching for the vile dogs that defaced Our Lady?”
“In effect, yes.”
Henri nodded. “Then this will be on the house as you Americans say.”
“You won’t report this conversation to our mutual friend?”
“Of course not. As I said, I had hoped this was your assignment. There is just one thing.”
Leine groaned inwardly. She knew his acquiescence was too good to be true. “What would that be?”
Valerie returned, pushing a cart containing the hardware Leine had specified. Henri placed his champagne glass on the coffee table and stood.
“Valerie is coming with you.”
26
BLANCHE LA POINTE ended the call and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. The imbeciles waited too long to detonate the vest. Only six dead in the blast and superficial damage to the cathedral. Unacceptable. Timing the bomb to coincide with the Christian religious holiday should have resulted in casualties well into the hundreds. Even now, the ever fickle news cycle was showing signs of moving on to the next big story.
Not only that, but the SHEN operative survived.
That woman has the lives of a cat.
Her hand shaking, she set the phone on the desk. The American girl, Chessa, was only one operation among several. Obviously, she’d chosen the wrong recruit to carry out the bombing. From what the incompetents in La Courneuve had told her, the girl’s mother arrived at the scene when she was about to detonate, and was apparently successful in changing the young woman’s mind.
She’d been so sure of the girl’s ambitions—that she yearned to be martyred for the cause, to show the man she’d fallen in love with that she was the better fighter.
Lesson learned. There was no need to rely on anyone with familial ties next time.
The setback was just that, a setback. With each attempt at targeting important landmarks in the West, especially religious ones, Blanche La Pointe was certain that public opinion would reach such critical outrage that soon a holy war would break out between the extremist arms of the Christians and Muslims, fueled by the fairy tales cited in the Bible and Quran of a great fight between good and evil.
Armageddon.
Blanche shook her head. They were fools and would destroy themselves with their beliefs. She would just help them along on their idiotic journey. She thought back to her first foray using extremists as tools for destruction, and the work she did with the Russian general. She’d been excited to have such a large role in pitting Russia and the United States against each other. Sadly, after the failure of his vision the general had to be eliminated, which she’d done without remorse and for a huge amount of cash. Blanche La Pointe was called Salome then, but she’d easily discarded that persona and shouldered the present one as the compassionate head of We Care International.
A much better cover for her than as a shadowy assassin. A week after she murdered Tsarev she’d staged her own death, and the ruse had gone exceedingly well. Now, no one hunted Salome, believing her to be dead.
La Pointe picked up the phone and called Damil. He and Saafir had been the most loyal in her organization, although that wasn’t saying much. Both traditional Arab men, they’d had a hard time taking orders from a woman, though once she proved herself a ruthless strategist by killing a suspected leak within the organization, they’d fallen in line. A pity Saafir had been kille
d when they were trying to retrieve the phone from that street urchin, Jinn. She narrowed her eyes at Damil’s insistence that he’d been hit from behind, giving him a convenient excuse for not pursuing the assailant. La Pointe sighed. She’d deal with that mess later.
First, she needed to put the next phase of her plan in play.
LEINE MOTIONED FOR Valerie to join her in the shadow of the building where the florist was located. In exchange for allowing his protégé to tag along, Henri supplied all the information he had regarding the small terrorist cell working out of the flower shop in La Courneuve, as well as whatever weapons she and Valerie would need for the operation. Valerie proved her proficiency on Henri’s shooting range, and Leine had grudgingly complied with his request.
Also, at her insistence, Henri wiped the surveillance video of her visit to the warehouse. Leine didn’t want any images of her floating around. The less she was known, the better.
The two women had been watching the flower shop since it closed a little over two hours before. So far, there appeared to be only one gunman patrolling the fenced delivery yard. At close of business, three men had entered the shop through the back door. Fifteen minutes later, one man reappeared and drove off in the black van.
“Eliminate any threats,” Leine said to the assassin-in-training. “But leave at least one of them alive for questioning.” They both wore ear mics, compliments of Henri, but there hadn’t been a need for them yet.
Valerie nodded that she understood and followed Leine to the back entrance.
Dressed in black, both wore body armor underneath their clothes and carried flash bang grenades and extra magazines. Valerie favored a mini Uzi submachine gun, while Leine had gone with a suppressed MP5. In addition, they both carried their preferred model of backup pistols. Leine had added a tactical knife.
They climbed the steps to the loading bay and stopped at the rear entrance. While Valerie kept watch, Leine checked the door to see if it was locked. It wasn’t. She eased the door open and slipped inside. Valerie followed a few minutes later.
“Where were you?” Leine asked in a low voice.
“The guard,” Valerie replied, indicating she’d neutralized the security guard patrolling the fenced area.
They moved through the dark room, sidestepping pallets of floral supplies and flower vases before coming to a pair of swinging doors that led to the front of the shop. Leine cracked the door and peered through. A skeletal man of medium height with thinning black hair stood at the front counter with his back to her, excitedly chattering on a cell phone in French. A strip of track lights clung to the ceiling above him, spotlighting the back wall and counter. The glow from a streetlamp outside streamed into the showroom, illuminating the interior. A walk-in cooler stood to the left, filled with vases of flowers. Shelves along one wall displayed all manner of plants, both potted and freshly cut, with a section dedicated to climbing vines sporting showy flowers.
“What do you mean, your employer is not happy? We did exactly what was asked of us.” The man’s voice betrayed his anxiety. He paused for a moment, listening to the person on the other end. “No. I held up my end of the bargain. I am owed the rest of the money,” he hissed, hunching his shoulders forward. “Is it my fault that the girl didn’t detonate the vest in time?” Another pause. “Yes, yes, I know that we should have acted sooner, but the message was still delivered.” He nodded, as though the other person could see him. “I’m telling you that it happened too quickly. We were caught by surprise at her hesitation. We were both convinced that she would go through with it.” He waited a moment before saying, “Of course, of course. I will wait for your call.” He jabbed the screen with his finger and placed the phone on the counter.
Leine eased the door open and they entered the room. The place smelled of potting soil and jasmine and dust.
She walked up behind him. “There’s a gun aimed at your spine,” she said in French. The man stiffened and slowly raised his hands. Valerie went to the front windows and pulled the blinds.
“Take what you want. Whatever I have is yours.”
“We’re not here to rob you. We want information.”
His shoulders inched down. “Please don’t kill me.”
Valerie walked back to the counter. “Where does that door lead?” she asked, indicating a closed door at the far end of the room.
“That is my office.”
“Is anyone in there?”
He shook his head. “No, I am alone.”
Leine sighed and rolled her eyes at the blatant lie. “Go take a look,” she said to the other woman.
Valerie silently crossed the floor and disappeared through the door. There were two rapid pops, followed by a thud as something or someone hit the floor.
“Alone, did you say?”
“I can explain.” Dark stains of perspiration had formed under the man’s arms and down his back.
“What’s your name?”
“Rashad.” His reply came fast. “Please don’t kill me,” he repeated, his voice trailing off into a pitiful whine.
Leine took a step back. “Turn around. Now.”
He did as he was told.
“Your store’s delivery van was at Notre Dame yesterday afternoon at the time of the bombing. Tell me why.”
His eyes wide, he said, “A delivery. We had a delivery.”
“Really? Why would someone in the fourth arrondissement order from a florist in La Courneuve?”
He managed to appear indignant. “We deliver to all of Paris. Is this so hard to believe?”
Only in Paris would a small-time terrorist be insulted if someone called the popularity of his business into question. Valerie walked back into the room and flashed two fingers, meaning she’d neutralized two of his compatriots. Rashad caught the signal and his knees literally began to shake. Leine took a step back in case he pissed himself.
“Please, I don’t know what you want.”
His whining was beginning to grate on Leine’s nerves. “You need to stop lying. I overheard the conversation you just had about the bombing at the cathedral yesterday. I know you’re involved. And I know you have the answers I need.”
Rashad’s expression morphed from pleading to disbelief to resignation in a matter of seconds. His shoulders slumped forward and he bowed his head.
“I am going to die tonight, yes?”
“Not necessarily. If what you tell me is useful, then I might be willing to let you go.”
Hope lit his eyes. “Yes, all right. What do you wish to know?”
“You mentioned that the employer wasn’t happy with the way the operation turned out yesterday. Who is the employer?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know his real name.”
Leine gave him a look. “Right.”
“I am not lying, I swear to you,” he assured her. “I have not been told who this person is, other than the leader of a growing group of believers dedicated to destroying the infidels.” A fierce pride flared in his eyes at the mention of what Leine assumed was his own personal jihad.
“You’re going to have to do better than that, Rashad.” She emphasized her point by aiming the submachine gun at his chest. “Tell me something that I can use.”
Rashad’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he attempted to swallow. Beads of sweat rolled down the sides of his face. He visibly trembled but stubbornly refused to answer.
Valerie blew out a breath and left her position near the swinging doors.
“We do not have time for this,” she said, clearly exasperated. She moved around the end of the counter. “I will make him tell us what we need to know.”
Leine stepped back to allow her room and slid her knife from its sheath. “Use this. It’ll be faster.” She moved into position so she could cover the door to the back room and still keep the two of them and the front of the store in view.
Valerie smiled and took the knife before she turned to face Rashad. Fear flickered in his eyes.
“No,” he cried.
“I will tell you.” With a wheeze, he put both hands on the counter and leaned forward, trying to catch his breath. The wheezing intensified.
“Is this a trick?” Valerie asked with a frown.
“I think our terrorist has asthma,” Leine replied. “Where’s your inhaler?”
Still gasping, Rashad dug into his pants pocket. Alarmed, Valerie stepped forward. Leine shook her head, indicating she should stand down. He pulled out an inhaler, brought it to his lips, and took a deep hit, followed by another. Seconds later he sighed with relief.
Leine asked, “You all right?”
The terrorist nodded. “Yes, I think so.”
“You should really find a different business, Rashad. Working around plants and soil with your condition isn’t very smart.”
“I dislike flowers, but I inherited this shop from my father. It’s the perfect front—” He stopped midsentence, realizing too late what he was about to say.
“The perfect front for what, Rashad? Terrorist activities?”
His features hardened. “And what would you know of our cause?” He sneered at Leine. “Not only are you my enemy, but you are a woman.”
Huh. Not too bright, she decided. Leine nodded at Valerie. “Carry on.”
Brandishing the knife, Valerie stepped toward him. Rashad’s eyes saucered and he raised his hands.
“Wait. No. Please.” He closed his eyes as though waiting for the sting of the blade. Valerie looked a question at Leine and nodded toward the terrorist.
“We’re waiting, Rashad.”
He opened one eye, his gaze riveted to the knife. Valerie brought up the blade and nicked his throat. A thin line of blood appeared next to his Adam’s apple. Clearly alarmed, he opened both eyes and the words rushed out. “Stop. I will tell you.”
“Yes?”
He swallowed again. “There is a dead drop near the Eiffel Tower—a site where we exchange messages. It is also near the meeting place where we received the first payment.”