Krystal Scent (Krystal Vibration Series Book 2)

by Richard Corrigan

  “What plan does the French government have to protect the Louvre? And what would the impact be on France if the Louvre were destroyed?”

  “We haven’t been able to reach anyone in the State Department. As soon as we have concrete information, we’ll get back to you.”

  “Thank you Serge,” Slatterly said and then turned to the camera. “We’ll be following this breaking news story as it develops. We’ll be right back after a short break.”

  ***

  Deliveries for the Louvre were customarily received via the underground entrance beneath Le Jardin des Touleries. The area was always the scene of the heavy traffic of trucks and vans carting paintings, sculptures, and historic artifacts for planned exhibitions.

  Ahmed Fadhil and Mohammed Ally Atwah were waiting beneath the Touleries.

  ***

  At the Pangaea News Network in New York, the makeup and hair technician just completed adjusting Corinne Slatterly’s golden locks during a prerecorded segment and the director began counting down the live feed from Paris.

  “Three… two… one.”

  Corinne Slatterly began, “We now take you back to Serge Gion where only moments ago, terrorists detonated a car bomb outside PNN’s Paris location. Serge?”

  “Hello Corinne. This is Serge Gion with PNN Paris.”

  “Welcome back, Serge. Were there any causalities from the attack? Are the PNN employees all safe?”

  “There was only damage to the façade of the building which included the front windows on all three floors. A few employees received minor cuts, but they’ve all received medical attention from first responders and are in the building helping clean up the damage.”

  “We’re fortunate that no one was critically hurt. And no bystanders, either?” Slatterly asked.

  “None,” Gion said.

  “Good Serge. What more have you learned about the terrorist situation in France this afternoon?”

  “Well Corinne, it’s actually just past nine in the evening here. You had asked earlier about the protection of the artwork at the Louvre. The museum will be closed in a half-an-hour, and there are eighty, night-security officers ready to begin the work of guarding the vacant halls and rooms of the Louvre along with the twenty-four-hour surveillance of closed-circuit TV cameras, fire detection, computer networks, and all low-voltage, monitoring systems including unauthorized personnel intrusion.

  “The guards will file in through the security rooms, sign in, submit to palm-vein recognition and filter into the 230,000-square-foot museum.”

  In her ear, Slatterly heard her director ask a question. She echoed, “Serge, how does palm-vein recognition work?”

  Gion looked at his notes and read, “Palm-vein recognition was used first in 2010. It examines the particular vein patterns in a human’s palm. It uses the same infrared light of remotes for TVs. The system has a .00008 percent false-acceptance rate. A record is almost impossible to forge.”

  “So, the terrorists couldn’t infiltrate the Louvre by taking the place of some of the guards?”

  “No.”

  “Is it normal to have that number of guards on duty? And will more be added for extra protection?” Slatterly asked.

  “The captain of the guards is in the process of calling in as many employees as he can reach to assist in protecting the world’s art treasures.”

  “Does the French government know what’s going to happen?”

  “Only that the art at the Louvre is in jeopardy. Maybe a fire or explosions. Other than that, I was unable to learn any specific information, but I’m working my sources. This is Serg Gion with PNN Paris, back to you.”

  Corinne Slatterly thanked Gion, recapped what he had reported, and then continued with her previously-scripted broadcast.

  ***

  Atwah looked at his watch. It was 9:15 pm Friday and the museum was closing in thirty minutes. “How are we going to get past the guards in the shipping room? And all the other guards and people in the Louvre?” he asked.

  Fadhil said, “Thanks to PNN, the world’s been informed that they’ve received a demonstration of our sincerity. Thanks to social media and text communication, soon all the people in the Louvre will be in a panic, trying to get to safety.”

  “But how’re we going to get by the eighty, nightshift guards?”

  “We have help. The Mali Mourabitoune, a local offshoot of the operatives in Somalia connected through the al-Qa’ida network, is geared up to put into operation their segment of the plan.”

  ***

  Paul Durran, the head of French Intelligence, summoned Jacques Lamboise to his office. As soon as the door opened he said, “We’ve intercepted some chatter from the Mali Mourabitounes. You know who they are, Lamboise?”

  “A West African group bent on avenging France’s military involvement in Mali. They’ve been recruiting members in Paris,” Lamboise said. “Stensel’s one of them.”

  Durran said, “The Mourabitoune group is ruthless. Their website operated by local jihadists posts continual edicts and directives for the outside world to read and digest. The Mourabitounes were responsible for killing the hostages at an Algerian gas plant last year where hundreds of innocents were imprisoned. During the French army counterattack, forty Mourabitounes were killed.

  “Since then, they’ve grown in number and have spread throughout France. They’re on a jihad.”

  “Are they going to storm the Louvre?”

  “Our sources are showing that they’re milling around the nineteenth arrondissement near Parc de la Villette.”

  “And the Louvre is in arrondissement one.”

  “Find out what they’re up to. I want you to contact Krystal, pick her up at her hotel. I’ll call her and fill her in. Durran picked up the phone, and Lamboise knew the meeting was over.

  ***

  Fadhil lit a cigar and continued his explanation to Awtah: “Right now, a group of Mourabitounes are at the CPCU facility in the nineteenth arrondissement near Parc de la Villette. They’re armed with canisters of Sarin gas. They have the plans of the ductwork and know which transmits heat and cool air into the Louvre.

  “Soon, they’re going to expel all the gas in the containers, and within minutes, the Louvre will be filled with enough fucking gas to kill anyone who comes within thirty feet of a vent. Everyone in the Louvre will be dead in about thirty minutes.”

  Fadhil checked his watch and said, “We need to wait in the truck and out of sight until the guards are dealt with. Then we need to load the bombs into the elevator and distribute them throughout the Louvre.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Not everyone watched PNN news, but the other networks did. Within moments of the broadcast, all the newsrooms around the world were having their reporters make calls to verify the information. Within thirty minutes, all radio, TV and Internet news channels were broadcasting the threatened imminent catastrophe to befall France by means of an attack on the Louvre.

  Brianna Martin was in the famed museum with her family. And although she, her three children and spouse, had already reached “art overload” two hours ago, she was trying to squeeze in a few more masterpieces before the museum closed at 9:45 that evening.

  She was studying one of the rare pieces by French artist Georges de La Tour: Joseph the Carpenter, a 1645 oil painting. She was too tired to realize that the young child in the masterpiece was Jesus. Her phone sounded, alerting her that she had a text. She reached into her purse and looked at the screen.

  “John, look at this,” she said to her spouse.

  John, thankful that he could look at something from the twenty-first century, studied the screen. “Who sent this?” he asked.

  “My sister.”

  “Is this a joke?”

  “Here’s another message. This is from our next door neighbor.”

  “We’re going to be bombed?” John asked.

  Simultaneously, numerous other patrons began to raise their voices. There was a sudden mass movement for the exits. Brisk
walking soon became running.

  Brianna called out, “John, grab Alana’s hand, I’ve got Evan and Lillia.”

  John shifted the bag of books to his left hand, took hold of Alana, and yelled back, “Stay together.”

  They were immediately caught in a mob of people all trying to exit the buildings at the same time.

  A panic to escape the museum ensued. Bottlenecks occurred at all four exits.

  The guards were powerless to control the pushing and shoving. Some people fell to the floor, fights broke out. People screamed and tried to move ever faster to safety.

  Brianna called out, “John, are you there?”

  “Over here,” John yelled above the clamoring of the crowd.

  Brianna looked back and Lillia slipped from her grip. “Lillia!” Brianna called out. “John, I’ve lost Lillia.”

  John heard Brianna but he was powerless to turn around and plunge into the crowd. He tried while hanging onto Alana, but the press of human bodies prevented him from immediately seeing and connecting with his youngest daughter.

  John let the books fall to the floor and pushed with all his might to get Alana to safety so he could return to save Lillia.

  To prevent from being trampled, Lillia ducked beneath a table that was attached to the wall and watched people of all walks of life: foreign visitors, children, and security guards pass by on their way to safety. As the crowd lessened, Lillia rushed deeper into the museum to find her parents.

  They wouldn’t leave without her, she was sure of that. They must be looking for her. She was unaware of the imminent danger. She figured she’d find her mom and dad once the crowd disappeared.

  “Mom? Dad?” Lillia called out in her tiny voice, but there was no response.

  John and Brianna Martin were trying to get their two older children to safety so that John could go back into the Louvre and find Lillia. They struggled, pushing and shoving their way up the stairs through the pyramid exit.

  John made it out first and waited for Brianna. She soon exited the crowd and John grabbed her. “Stay with the kids. I’ll go find Lillia,” he said.

  John began making his way back against the flow of the crowd, returning to the pyramid entrance. He pushed through the opening and was immediately stopped by a guard.

  “Sir, you can’t go in.”

  “My daughter’s in there somewhere,” John said, breathing rapidly.

  “The guards are doing a complete sweep of the rooms. If she’s here, we’ll find her. Are you sure she didn’t go out one of the other exits?”

  John thought for a moment and then said, “I don’t know. She became separated from us when we were downstairs.”

  “All four exits are accessible from that level. Do you have a photo of her?”

  John pulled out his wallet and showed the guard a picture of Lillia.

  “Take it out of your wallet,” the guard said.

  John handed the man Lillia’s headshot and the guard took out his cellphone and copied Lillia’s image. “It’ll be sent to security and they’ll forward it to all our cellphones. Everyone here will have this photo within sixty seconds. We’ll find her. Where will you be?”

  John felt helpless. His shoulders slumped and he said, “Outside the pyramid, right out there,” he said, pointing to Brianna, peering into the glass enclosure with their other two children. He could see the tears running down her face.

  The guard looked at Brianna and said to John, “We’ll find her. What’s your phone number and address?”

  John gave the guard all the information and then reluctantly turned and walked out the Louvre entrance and back to Brianna.

  “What happened?” Brianna asked.

  “They won’t let me back in,” John said, narrowing his eyes and squinting to see every little person’s face in the crowd, hoping to spot his daughter.

  “What did the guard say?” Brianna asked, clenching her fists.

  “They’re posting Lillia’s photo on their security site which will transmit it to all the personnel in the Louvre. He said she might have exited through one of the other entrances. I gave the guard my phone number and our address,” John said, shaking his head.

  “What are we supposed to do?” Brianna asked, her eyes blinking rapidly.

  “All we can do is wait,” John said, looking down and then back into the exiting crowd.

  ***

  Paul Durran placed a call to President Charpentiér.

  “You’re calling about the terrorist threat,” President Charpentiér said.

  “Yes, sir. I feel the threat is viable, and I want to react on the side of caution,” Durran said.

  “What’s your plan?”

  “I’ve checked, and all the guards are in place at the Louvre. More are being called in as we speak. They’re on high alert. But in case the terrorists are successful and cause damage to the collection, I want to give them no route of escape.”

  “What are you proposing?”

  “I want to close down Paris. I want to post military guards at every Metro stop and at every street and alley leading out of the city. I want to close down Charles de Gaulle and Orly Airports and all RER stations out of Paris.”

  “Do you realize how expensive that’ll be?”

  “What other choice do we have?”

  President Charpentiér thought for a moment and then said, “Do everything but close the airports. Post guards at all road entrances. Do the best with that. If they try to circumvent airport security, they’ll be stopped.”

  Durran got off the phone and gave orders to shut down Paris.

  ***

  Inside the Louvre, the sounds began to lesson. Lillia ducked beneath another table. She listened, holding tight to her Teddy. She was squeezing so hard, a few pellets of charcoal fell out of the hole in the stuffed animal’s back. When it became completely quiet, she crawled out from beneath the table, stood and listened. It was quiet. Very quiet.

  She called her mom. Then her dad. Then her mom again. Nothing.

  Lillia began to walk to the stairway that led to the second floor. She didn’t want to spend the night in the museum. She knew what that was like from the movies she’d seen. She knew she didn’t want to be in the basement or anywhere on the floor.

  How could her parents leave her? They must be lost.

  She knew that the Louvre, being as old as it was, must have millions of mice. She hated mice. And rats. She had to find a safe place, high up where she could hide until morning and the Louvre opened up again. She began to yawn.

  “Come on Chabby,” she said to her Teddy. “We have to find a place to sleep. I know you’re tired. I am, too. Don’t be scared. Everything’ll be all right.”

  Lillia climbed to the third floor of the Sully wing and ducked under the yellow caution tape that was stretched across one of the doors. She stepped into the room and stopped in front of the scaffolding in the far corner. The workers had been repairing the ceiling.

  Lillia climbed up the ladder and then held onto the rails so that she could reach the uppermost section. Once there, she found a pile of paint cans, wood, and metal that was covered with a tarp. She crawled beneath, exhausted.

  “This is like a tent, Chabby. We can sleep here. We’ll be safe from the rats and mice.”

  Folded paint cloths were on the scaffolding’s wooden floor. Lillia spread them out like a small mattress and laid down her head on her stuffed animal. Soon, she was fast asleep, her face buried in Chabby’s belly.

  ***

  19th Arrondissement, Paris

  Gautier Fournier, the Parisian leader of the Mourabitoune cell, gave a hand signal to his team. They moved swiftly through the unlocked backdoor of the CPCU building near Parc de la Villette. There was a single security guard on duty until his shift would end at 3:00 am.

  Fournier and his men would be long gone before the utility department learned that there was something wrong. Way before then, the Sarin gas would have been sent through the system and saturated the air in th
e Louvre.

  Fournier waved his men into the rooms that were crisscrossed with myriad ductwork. Simultaneously, two terrorists entered the lobby of the facility. The guard turned, and before he could react, he was riddled with a dozen bullets. He was dead before he hit the floor.

  Fournier’s radio sounded, “Guard down.”

  “Good,” he said to his men. “Rip out the sections of the ductwork. Put on your masks and protective suits.”

  Within seven minutes, they were implementing their portion of the plan.

  ***

  1st Arrondissement, Paris

  In the Louvre, the air being forced through the vents in the ceiling quickly became saturated with Sarin gas. Within seconds, Lillia’s nose began to run. She coughed, grabbed her stomach, but didn’t wake up. She then tightened her arms around Chabby’s body and buried her face deeper into his fur.

  ***

  Normally, eighty guards are on duty at the Louvre in the evening. But as a result of the imminent terrorist catastrophe, and the call for additional support, when the Sarin gas was released, the guards numbered one hundred and twelve.

  Benny was walking in the hallway of the Denon section when his nose began to run. Suddenly his vision blurred. He grabbed his chest. He switched on the microphone of his radio and called the command center.

  “Guys, I think I’m having a heart attack.”

  They switched to the Denon hallway camera and saw Benny on his knees. “Stay right there, we’ll get someone to help you.”

  Before a call could be made for emergency help, the control room guards began experiencing sever cramps. “I can’t control my bladder,” one said and urinated all over himself and onto the floor.

  “What the hell’s going on,” another said, grimaced and grabbed his head in pain.

  The guard on his way to help Benny fell as he turned the corner. He raised his head and saw Benny reach out to him and then fall onto the floor.

  “Benny,” he said before collapsing.

  Throughout the museum, the guards were falling to their knees, some experiencing tightness in their chest, pain in their eyes, drooling, confusion, drowsiness, coughing, runny nose or everything.