As he rode in the backseat of the taxi, headed for his assigned destination, he thought about where he would go and what he would do when he got out of this terrible business. Maybe he would return to Texas he thought. He would be loaded with money from his share of their latest little venture. Sure, most of it would be tied up in offshore accounts for years, but he would find a way to launder a sizeable chunk of the money back into the United States through some little business venture in Texas. Something to occupy his time. Maybe he would open a baseball training facility and utilize his natural skills, working with kids. He would love it. And the money would guarantee he could live a cushy life. Most of those businesses dealt a lot in cash. It would be an easy front. Life wouldn’t be as stressful, and he could once and for all get off the drugs. Hell, he would even go into rehab if that’s what it took. He could have his pick of the best places — maybe some place that resembled a resort spa — and kick the habit once and for all. He would make a vacation of it. He could definitely make it work. Jorge smiled to himself that for the first time in a long time, he actually had a plan for his life that involved doing something good.
But first, he had to take care of this nasty assignment. How in the hell was he supposed to kill Rasul Aziz? If that weirdo old man with the white hair at the Islamic Center in Oxford he’d heard about couldn’t do the job, why did they think he could? Jorge assumed that whomever he was being sent to meet up with right now at Rue des Carmes would undoubtedly have more information for him, and hopefully hand off a weapon of some sort. He had shot a gun a few times, but never at a human. This whole assignment was ill-planned and ill-advised. Surely the liaison he was being sent to meet up with would know the best way to go about this. Maybe he would even help execute the plan. Whatever. Jorge just wanted to get it done and get back on a New York-bound plane.
If he played his cards right, he could be back in his office in New York by late tomorrow evening. He just needed to eliminate this guy quick, and get home before anyone even discovered the body. Jorge wondered again how it would feel, killing someone with his own hands. The fact that Rasul was such an evil guy would make the job infinitely easier to execute. And given the fact that Rasul had played such a direct role in the killing of all those innocent people on the train, he realized he wouldn’t feel too bad about getting rid of him. Jorge had always consoled himself with the idea that he was simply an indirect participant in all the bloodshed. He didn’t really have blood on his hands. But Rasul had always been much more directly involved. He was a cold- blooded killer, and the world would be a better place without him. He would actually be doing a good thing. It shouldn’t be too hard, Jorge told himself again. He would be doing a good deed, helping the world get rid of a really evil man. And with that, Jorge relaxed in the backseat of the cab, smiled to himself, and thought about how much fun it would be to be back in Dallas, helping kids learn to throw a fastball.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The dashboard clock read 9:52 p.m., as they sped through the streets of Paris in the black SUV. Annie and Rasul sat in the backseat with an AK-47 still trained on their heads. They were now crossing the Seine, and Annie recognized the ancient bridge they were on as they crossed the river. She had crossed the Pont Notre-Dame many times during her student days in Paris. The bridge, the oldest and she thought most beautiful bridge in Paris stood on the site where people had been crossing the Seine since the beginning of recorded time. This particular bridge had stood here, just as it had since its completion in 1507, providing an entry point to Ile de Cite’ and the magnificent Notre Dame Cathedral. And now, Annie thought to herself, it was the route taking her to her death.
Within moments, they were now crossing Petit Pont, onto the Rue Saint-Jacques. Annie knew these streets by heart. Where in hell were they taking her? Looking up, she recognized the magnificent Eglise Saint-Severin, the imposing Gothic Catholic Church that had stood on Paris’ left bank since the early thirteenth century. The gargoyles high up on the arches seemed to leer down at her as she was being whisked away to what she believed was certain death. With an AK-47 still positioned now at her chest, there was little hope she would escape from this deadly cab ride.
Beside her in the backseat Rasul Aziz was whimpering. He had been blathering in Arabic or some Middle Eastern language for much of their dizzy trip through Paris, but he was obviously not getting anywhere with his diatribe. The man with the gun and the driver mostly ignored him, but occasionally they told him to “shut up” or sneered something in Arabic at him. Rasul was growing increasingly frantic, and Annie was growing increasingly quiet, except for the occasional sniffle as tears flowed freely down her cheeks. She tried to devise an escape plan, but the long metal barrel aimed at her heart left little room for an escape plan.
Within moments, the car swerved into a hard left onto Rue des Ecoles, and then two quick rights in succession, and then another right onto Rue des Carmes. They were mere blocks from the Sorbonne, and somehow the familiarity of the streets was a strange counterpoint to the terror she felt trapped in the backseat with a gun aimed at her. She kept trying to discern where they must be going, but nothing made any sense. Why did they want her and Rasul both? What in the hell did he have to do with this? She knew that her relationship with Andrew had somehow made her a target, but why Rasul Aziz? Nothing made sense.
In a moment, the car stopped short in the middle of a dark block. Although the Rue des Carmes was usually a busy street, it was almost 10 p.m. now, and except for a couple walking far down the block, it was deserted. The driver said something in Arabic to the gunman, and Annie picked out the gunman’s real name — Akeem. So, he wasn’t Tom Khan after all, and he obviously wasn’t a businessman in Paris for work. In fact, everything about him had been a charade — for her benefit? Had she somehow been a target since arriving in Paris? In shock, it suddenly dawned on Annie that all of this was so much bigger than she had ever imagined. Andrew’s death, the terrorist attack, Rasul, the robbery at her house, the man with the gun in London, the stolen folder — it was all part of a much larger puzzle that she was somehow caught up in. But right now, these seemingly disjointed facts were all a jumble in her brain, and all she could focus on was the gun now again aimed directly at her head.
Akeem and the driver motioned wildly for them to get out of the car. For a split-second Annie thought that maybe they were going to leave them there on the sidewalk, alone. She held her breath as she and Rasul sprang out onto the sidewalk, hoping against hope that the car would speed away. But instead, she heard the slam of the SUV front door as Akeem stepped out behind them, the gun tucked discreetly into his jacket, but with his finger still poised securely on the trigger.
They were standing on the street, with large white French Baroque buildings lining the sidewalk in front of them. Akeem motioned for them to walk between two of the large buildings, still mumbling Arabic under his breath. Rasul had largely given up his rant, and was now attempting to talk to Annie, low under his breath. He was obviously devising some new alternative plan, but Annie had the distinct feeling he couldn’t really be trusted either. His eyes had returned to the angry menacing look they had the first time she saw him, and his gestures in the car while he was rambling at Akeem in Arabic didn’t look too much like he was too worried about Annie’s fate at all.
For a moment Annie considered making a wild, last minute attempt at escape — just making a break for it as hard and fast as she could run. What was Akeem going to do? Shoot her here on this Paris street? He couldn’t shoot her, and keep the gun trained on Rasul at the same time. In desperation, she thought that at least she would have a fifty percent chance of surviving.
Turning in the direction Akeem was forcing them to walk, Annie noticed a tall wrought iron gate spanning the middle of the three meter fence that bridged the space between the two buildings. The fence loomed ahead as the threesome made their way toward the gate and a courtyard beyond. Akeem motioned for them to proceed through the gate. Rasul pushed the
metal door open, and he and Annie walked through, with Akeem close behind. He pushed the gate closed, and motioned for them to proceed.
Despite the dark, after a moment, Annie began to make out the shape and details on the old building in front of them. It was a beautiful old stone church. The exterior façade was one large Corinthian arch, with a small cross positioned directly above it. For a French church, it was very small, and unusually set back from the street in this gated courtyard. For a moment, the site of the cross gave Annie a comforting, sheltered feeling, as if the church walls themselves could protect her somehow.
As they neared the building, Annie saw a small sign with the name Eglise Saint-Ephrim etched on it, and recognized it as the name of an old Syrian Catholic church on the outskirts of the Sorbonne, one she’d visited once while she was a student. She’d had a friend at the Sorbonne who was a music student and Annie remembered that she’d attended her friend’s recital here one warm summer night twelve or so years ago. Annie had not wanted to attend the recital but felt obligated for her friend’s sake. Annie remembered being mesmerized by the unusual mix of Catholic and Middle Eastern imagery in the church. She remembered hearing that they conducted services in Aramaic and Arabic, which always struck Annie as being so odd. Either way, it was a beautiful church, which made no sense to Annie, but eased her fear a little all the same.
Akeem grumbled something indecipherable to Rasul, and he opened the front door of the church. Completely dark except for the soft yellow flickering of a dozen or so candles burning along the wall, Annie’s momentary calm vanished as she realized the church was deserted. The interior, with its gray stone walls and floor was vacant except for some statutes of Catholic Saints positioned along the side corridors. There was no one here to rescue Annie, or help her make her escape. She broke into a cold sweat of terror as she realized once again that she was trapped.
Pushing them forward with the barrel of his AK-47, Annie and Rasul stumbled up the main aisle of the small chapel. Stained glass Saints watched from the windows above as she and Rasul were prodded up the aisle like wayward sheep being led to slaughter. Annie’s tears were running down her cheeks by now, and made it all the harder to see where she was being herded. As the threesome neared the altar, Annie turned and made one last plea for her life.
“Please, Akeem, or Tom, or whatever your name is. I don’t know what you want from me. I have no idea why I’m here or why you’ve been following me. I swear to you, I don’t know anything about anything that you might be involved with. If it’s something to do with Andrew, I swear he never told me anything. I’m a married woman — married to someone else. Andrew was just my …,” and Annie realized she had no idea what to call him. “Lover” sounded so trashy, and “boyfriend” sounded juvenile. She settled on “friend”, which was true enough.
“He was just my friend,” she said, and realized at that moment how sad and true that statement really was.
“Please, if you let me go, you’ll never see or hear from me again. I will tell no one what has happened here tonight. I want nothing to do with any of this. I just want to go home to my husband.”
And with that, a wave of sadness swept over her at the thought of poor Richard, how innocent he was in all of this, knowing absolutely nothing. He was probably home right now, discovering the break in, and wondering where she was. Unable to make contact by now, he was no doubt worried sick at this point. When he found out everything that Annie had been involved in, it would devastate him, ruin his life. And for the first time since starting her affair with Andrew, she felt a giant wave of guilt wash over her at the thought of her unsuspecting husband.
But her words fell on deaf ears. Akeem couldn’t care less. He pushed the barrel of the gun into her chest and gave her a hard push. With that, Annie stumbled backward against Rasul, who gave her a second shove to return her to her feet. And with that one gesture, Annie knew for certain that Rasul Aziz was no friend of hers either. They were two unwitting victims being led to their death side by side, but neither knowing nor caring about the other.
As they approached the front of the church, Akeem motioned for them to walk through a small door positioned to the far right of the altar. Rasul led the way, and they entered a small room, dark and dank, with the smell of mold emanating from the thick stone walls. Akeem turned the metal lever on a wall sconce, and a small dim flame illuminated the room. The room was empty except for a small wooden prayer altar that looked like it had been a very long time since anyone had offered up any petitions to God from this room.
Without fanfare, Akeem walked over to the wooden altar and kicked it aside. Only then did Annie see the little metal door on the floor. Old and corroded, the door was only about half a meter wide and half a meter long. Akeem grumbled something to Rasul and motioned for him to open the hatch. Rasul launched into a tirade in Arabic, which prompted Akeem to raise the barrel of his gun straight at Rasul’s head and deliver a severe blow across his forehead. With that, Rasul dropped to his knees and began pleading for his life. Annie closed her eyes, unable to stand the site of what she thought was about to happen. This was obviously the end for both she and Rasul, and below this metal door obviously laid their graves. She would spend eternity here under the floor of this ancient church, and no one might ever even discover her body. Her short life was ending right here in this chapel, with two men who didn’t even bother explaining to her why she was being executed so summarily.
Annie put her hands to her face and braced for the inevitable. Her tears rolled down through her fingers, down her forearms, and onto the front of her blouse. She thought of Richard, she thought of Andrew, and she thought of Jeffrey, her boss and friend, who would be mystified by what had happened to her. She stood there bracing for death, and wondering what she would feel when the end came.
She stood there holding her breath, tears stinging her eyes, until finally she realized she had been standing there for quite a while. Nothing was happening. Slowly, she pulled her hands down, just low enough to peek out above her fingertips. There, flickering in the soft glow of the lamp, she was shocked to see Rasul descending a ladder through the gaping hole in the floor. Akeem was glaring at her, and she realized that she too was expected to descend the little ladder below the floorboards. What was this? A hallucination? Her mind’s last ditch effort to soften the reality of death? But as Rasul descended further, she could hear the faint sound of water dripping, and softly splashing as it hit more water.
And in an instant it hit her . . . the Tunnels.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
They run all through this part of Paris, deep under the city streets, even far below the Metro lines. Lined with the bones of millions of Parisians from the Eighteenth and Ninetieth centuries, the tunnels became the burial grounds during the Plague when the city’s cemeteries were overrun with death. Now, the tunnels and catacombs snake all through the underground city for hundreds of miles, giving rise to an underground labyrinth that has drawn criminals, curiosity-seekers, and even tourists on occasion.
Annie had never descended into their dark caverns herself, but had known many people who had. Some of her student friends during her summer in Paris had even thrown a party somewhere down here once, entering through a little known and long forgotten entrance in the basement of one of the university libraries. She’d heard plenty of stories of the cavernous tunnels. There were even the occasional stories of people getting lost in the dark tunnels for days or even weeks, and some never heard from again. She had never desired to see the ominous warren during her time in Paris, but now she was being forced to at gunpoint.
Descending the long, corroding metal ladder into the tunnel, she could hear Rasul’s heavy breathing below her, and the sound of the gun clanking on each rung as the trio descended into the darkness. Annie’s blood ran cold with each descending step, knowing that what lay below would no doubt be her grave, hundreds of feet below the streets of Paris.
Each succeeding step took Annie further and furt
her from the surface, and from any available light source. The world below was frigid, dark, and menacing. Other than their heavy breathing, as the sounds of the world above faded further and further in the distance, the only sound she could hear was the steady drip, drip, drip, of a trickle of water somewhere far down below. As the source of that sound grew increasingly louder, Annie knew that they were close to the bottom. Peering above her head, she could see the faint rim of light around the trap door that had been pulled closed over their heads. With each step down, the air grew icier, and her panic increased.
Annie heard Rasul’s foot hit solid ground, and then a scuffle. She imagined that he was trying to make some sort of last ditch get away in the pitch dark. Given the fact that she could barely see her hands in front of her face at this point, she knew any escape attempt would be futile. You can’t flee when you don’t even know which way to run. The next sound she heard was a thud, and realized Rasul had already fallen to the ground, bringing his desperate escape attempt to a halt. With her next step, Annie’s left foot hit the dirt as well, and she stumbled out of the way to avoid being hit in the head by her captor as he descended the final few rungs.
Annie stood still in the dark, waiting on the inevitable. What would happen next? Would he kill them right here and leave their bodies to rot in this little stream of water running underneath her feet? She waited in the pitch blackness, until she heard the third set of feet hit the ground, and knew that the end was almost here.
In a moment, a light pierced the blackness. Akeem had pulled a large battery operated lantern off of a hook on the wall, and had flicked on the bulb. The light was so bright, Annie winced at the purple spots that clouded her vision. It took a good sixty seconds for Annie’s eyes to adjust to the light, and allow her to have a good look at her surroundings. Once her vision cleared, she could make out the muddied walls of the tunnel, but there was little to see otherwise.
The Cornmarket Conspiracy Page 20