They stopped for a moment midway across the bridge and gazed upriver. “Paris is such a beautiful city,” Sarah sighed. “It’s hard to believe that it would have such an ugly side to it.”
Aaron put his arm around Sarah’s shoulder. “Unfortunately, there’s a seedy underside to every great city. The vendors here are stuck in a bad situation. At the top are Chinese gangs. These guys are basically indentured employees to the Chinese. The vendors live in squalid conditions and make very little off what they sell. They are probably forced to live off a few euros a day.”
Aaron took hold of Sarah’s hand and he started walking toward the Eiffel Tower. He said, “Let’s go. I have an idea.” They walked past the tiny carousel and across Quai Branly to the square under the tower. “The vendors are afraid to talk but there is one thing that will loosen their tongues.”
“Money,” Sarah finished his thought.
“Exactly,” Aaron continued. “Imagine what one of these guys might be willing to tell us for a hundred euros.”
They spent the next ninety minutes milling about in the tourist crowd and talked to a few dozen more street vendors. Aaron made it clear to the vendors he talked to that he was willing to “pay a good price” for information that would help him find his daughter.
Sarah also added that their daughter had been looking at jihadi and ISIS websites on the Internet and she was concerned that might be connected to her disappearance.
Six American girls who appeared to be in their early twenties stopped next to them. Two of the girls lay on the pavement under the center of the Eiffel Tower and each attempted to take a photo with their iPhone pointed up toward the axis of the tower. Three women in burkas walked past the girls and pointed at them while speaking in Arabic.
A vendor wearing a light blue windbreaker, worn jeans, and white ball cap approached Aaron and Sarah. He showed them a cheap dish towel with pictures of Paris landmarks. “My friends say you will pay much for information about a young girl gone missing.”
Aaron swung his gaze toward the vendor and assessed his body language. The vendor’s gaze shifted nervously and his shoulders slumped as he leaned forward. “Yes, I will,” Aaron answered. “What can you tell me?”
“Not now. Six o’clock at the coffee stand on Champs de Mars near the Marionettes Theater.” He folded up his towel and walked away.
“Wait,” Sarah called out to him before Aaron grabbed her arm to silence her.
The vendor looked back and Aaron nodded.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
PARIS, FRANCE
MONDAY JUNE 20TH
5:55 P.M.
The street vendor was seated on one of the many green park benches that surrounded the coffee shop. Several young mothers lingered while their children played on swing sets or rode the tiny carousel. As Aaron approached the bench the vendor stood and asked, “Will you buy a sandwich for me?”
“Sure, but you said you have information.”
“I have very good information,” replied the vendor. “Please, just a sandwich.” His smile showed a gap in his top incisors.
Aaron stepped up to the small, decorative, green kiosk that was constructed in the early 1800’s as part of Napoleon Bonaparte’s beautification program and still looked almost new. A young woman with a clean and smooth complexion and blonde hair pulled up under a net and a white paper hat greeted him.
“Puis-je vous aider monsieur?”
Aaron tried to remember how to answer in French as the young woman asked in a sing-song voice, “May I help you, monsieur?”
“Yes. Thank you. May I have a ham and cheese sandwich?”
“Jambon et fromage sur une baguette. Yes, monsieur.” She reached under the counter and retrieved the iconic French sandwich wrapped in cellophane, which Aaron paid for.
“Merci,”M she chirped.
Aaron returned to the bench where Sarah and the vendor were seated. As he approached, the vendor stood, followed by Sarah. Aaron handed the sandwich to the vendor and noticed the vendor was trembling slightly.
The vendor accepted the sandwich and quickly placed it in his backpack. “Can we walk away from here?” asked the vendor as he slipped his arms into his backpack straps. “I will tell you what I know as we walk.”
A flock of pigeons in front of them flew away as they walked on the dirt path toward the tree-lined walkway through the Champ de Mars. Aaron turned his gaze toward the vendor.
“I came here because you told me you had information that might help me find my daughter. Now tell me what you know.”
“You said you would pay well for information.”
“And I will. I’ll give you one hundred euros.”
The vendor stopped walking and Aaron and Sarah stopped as well, then turned to face him. “You are looking for your daughter. More money than that,” demanded the vendor. He stood with crossed arms and his lower lip trembled.
“Alright, I’ll give you two hundred euros.”
“You pay me now.”
“Okay.” Aaron counted out two hundred euros and handed them to the vendor who quickly pushed them into his jeans pocket.
“If you’re scamming me, I will come back here and kill you.” The vendor’s eyes grew wide. “Tell me what you know,” Aaron demanded.
“There is a tall, thin Arab. I have seen him many times with young boys and girls.”
“Go on,” Aaron demanded.
“There are rumors.”
“What rumors?”
“I have heard he is terrorist. That he take young girls to be sex slaves for the caliphate.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know,” the vendor replied. “I sometimes sleep in the park. I see him with young boys and girls on the Quay d’Orsay near the Pont des Invalides.”
“What does he look like?”
“Tall. Over six foot. Black hair. Black beard. Always trimmed. Gucci eyeglasses, black with red trim.”
“When do you see him there?”
“Always in the evening about this same time.”
Aaron turned toward Sarah. “That’s no more than a twenty-minute walk from here.”
Sarah bit her lip and nodded. “Let’s go!”
* * *
The quickest route to the Pont des Invalides was the narrow, one-way Rue Saint-Dominique. The Rue was primarily residential apartments and storefront cafes. The stone sidewalks were bustling with local residents. Walkers spilled onto the narrow road as scooters and compact Euro cars slowly weaved their way through the narrow city streets.
Aaron walked at a rapid pace and Sarah did her best to keep up, trotting occasionally as they weaved their way through the crowd. They made their turn onto the much larger, two-way Boulevard de La Tour-Maubourg.
“Aaron, do you think that vendor was telling us the truth?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah, I think I believe him, but it doesn’t really matter since it’s the only lead we have. I figure we need to go with it.”
“That guy was very strange,” said Sarah as she trotted a few steps to keep up.
Aaron turned his gaze toward Sarah and half smiled. “Really? In what way?” he teased.
“Well, the sandwich for one. He was there to hit us up for a few hundred euros yet he made a big deal out of having us buy him a sandwich. That he didn’t even eat.”
Aaron chuckled. “We were being tested. He was trying to determine if we were the police.”
“You’re kidding,” replied Sarah, “and dammit, can we slow down, please?”
“Sorry. I just don’t want to miss this guy.”
“Well, if this doesn’t turn out to be anything, I would like to go back there and get your euros back.”
Aaron laughed. “Baby, I gave that dude two hundred euros. He’ll be in Marseille by morning.”
Sarah frowned.
“I’ll expense it.”
“You’re teasing me now, right?” Sarah asked.
Aaron smiled and wrapped his arm around her and they both burst int
o laughter.
“Let’s go. We have a job to do.”
He took her hand in his again and they walked two more blocks past the Embassy of the United Arab Emirates to the Quai and sat on a bench near where it crossed the entrance to the Pont des Invalides. The bench overlooked the River Seine across from the historic Musée de l’Armée and the massive dome under which Napoleon Bonaparte is entombed.
“This is perfect,” Aaron observed. “From here we have an excellent view of both the Quay and the bridge. If anyone that matches the description we have meets with any kids around here, we’re bound to see him.”
Sarah’s head was on a swivel. She looked left, then right, then behind, and finally she turned her gaze to the river.
“It’s also kinda romantic,” she said as she moved and sat with her shoulder leaning on Aaron.
The sun was getting low in the sky and the June heat had started to cool. Couples walked hand-in-hand on the Quay along the river and riverboats of all kinds slowly motored past. “Now that you mention it.” He put his arm around her and kissed her.
They sat on the bench, embraced with Sarah’s head on Aaron’s shoulder, and enjoyed the romance of a summer night in Paris until Aaron noticed two young girls on the narrow walkway next to the river.
Aaron sat up and Sarah moved to give him a little space.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Look at those two girls there on the bridge walking toward the other side.” Aaron pointed toward them. “I don’t like this. Those girls are very young and they’re dragging luggage.” He turned toward Sarah. “Safe bet they’re not looking for a hotel room.”
“Aaron, that man walking toward them!” exclaimed Sarah as she sat up straight. “He looks like the man the vendor described.”
“That could be our guy.” Aaron stood. “I’m going to check them out. You stay here in case that’s not our guy. Stay in touch with your cell phone. I’ll be back.”
Sarah nodded, then stood and walked to the Quai wall and watched Aaron quickly walk toward them, trying not to be too obvious.
The tall Arab who fit the description they were given met the two girls on the north side of the bridge just as Aaron made it to the south side. The man spoke to the two girls briefly and then they walked off toward the river walk on the north side with the girls each dragging a roller bag. Aaron picked up his pace and was closing on the trio when they turned down a ramp alongside the river toward the Pont de la Concorde that crossed back to the south side of the River Seine.
Aaron sprinted as he turned the corner toward the bridge. He saw the trio walk quickly along Quai Anatole-France and he looked back toward where he left Sarah. She was running to try and catch him but she was far behind and Aaron was losing ground.
As Aaron weaved between tourists, he looked over his shoulder and saw Sarah well behind and still trotting to catch up. When he returned his gaze toward the trio he saw they had turned down a ramp toward the river located just before the de Solférino walkway over the river. They’re heading toward the walk-on-walk-off riverboat! Aaron turned around and looked for Sarah again and this time he could not see her in the crowd. I might have to leave her here.
He ran down the ramp toward the trio and had closed the distance to less than fifty meters when they walked past the crowded ticket concession and a crowd of tourists waiting to board the boat and over a covered gangplank onto one of the glass-covered boats.
Fuck! He must have a pass. Aaron looked at the line at the ticket window and realized he would not be able to purchase a ticket and get on this boat. Somehow I gotta get on that damn boat. He ran down to the gangplank with the intent to hop onboard.
As he approached the gangplank there was already a line of people waiting to board and they did not appreciate Aaron’s attempt to jump the line. A very petite middle-aged woman in the uniform of the Bateaux-Mouches river tour agency security approached and asked, “Puis-je avoir vos moyens de billets?”
Aaron stepped back as the boat began to pull away from the dock. “No, I don’t have a goddamn ticket,” he replied angrily. Then he turned, and to a chorus of “stupide!” from the passengers lined up to board, he backed away. Next to the ramp he found a posted map that showed the locations of the stops.
The map showed his current location at the Quai Solférino with a red dot. Aaron followed the line and learned the next stop was at the Quai Malaquais and with his finger he traced the quickest route. One and a half kilometers running full out through city streets I could get there in eight minutes.
He ran to the river’s edge and saw the boat had already moved almost six hundred meters and was passing under Pont Royal. Aaron took off in a sprint when he heard Sarah call out his name. He looked over his shoulder and saw she had arrived near the bottom of the ramp that led to the gangplank for the river boats. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath as he turned forward and kept running in the opposite direction from Sarah through crowds, down city streets and jumped between traffic. It took ten minutes to arrive at Quai Malaquais. As he turned off of Rue de Saints-Pères toward the Quai he saw the boat cast off toward the next destination at Quai Montebello near Notre Dame.
Breathing heavily, Aaron walked about fifty steps then stopped, bent over, and placed his hands on his knees and inhaled deeply. “Fuck,” he cursed. He lifted his head and searched the roads and walkways behind him looking for Sarah. He used his shirt sleeves to wipe the perspiration off of his face and turned back to see the boat easing into the waterway.
Aaron pulled his iPhone out of his pocket and called Sarah. She answered on the first ring.
“Aaron!” she exclaimed, somewhat out of breath herself.
“I lost them,” he said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
PARIS, FRANCE
TUESDAY JUNE 21ST
8:00 A.M.
Aaron awoke when he felt Sarah’s arms wrap around him. The room was brightly lit from the sunshine coming through the thin curtains. Her head was on the pillow facing him and she flashed him a wide smile. “Good morning, sleepy. You were pretty zonked out.”
Sarah cuddled close to Aaron. He felt her firm breasts on his shoulder and her leg was crossed over his. “I think that’s the most I’ve seen you sleep since I’ve been with you,” she said.
“What time is it?” Aaron asked.
“It’s after eight o’clock. You’ve been asleep for over ten hours.”
Aaron rolled on his side and with his hand on her rear he pulled her to him and they embraced.
“When was the last time I told you that I’m in love with you?” Aaron said softly.
Sarah kissed him and replied, “I never had any reason to doubt that.”
After they showered and dressed, Aaron and Sarah walked to a nearby Starbucks coffee shop on busy Boulevard du Montparnasse. The coffee shop was crowded with local millennials and after a thirty-minute wait they sat at an outdoor table on the Boulevard with cups of lattes and pastries in a bag.
“So, I’ve been thinking about the tall Arab we saw yesterday,” Aaron spoke loudly over the sounds of the vehicles on the boulevard. “I think he probably works at the UAE embassy.”
Sarah nodded.
“We walked past the embassy yesterday when we were dodging vehicles on our way to Pont des Invalides,” he continued, “and our guy came from that direction before he met with the girls.”
“Good point,” replied Sarah. “I didn’t make that connection.” She lifted her cup to take a sip, then set it back on the table. “What now? Should we go back tonight and see if he comes back?”
“No. I think that would be a waste of time. We were probably lucky last night. I can’t believe he meets recruits there every night.”
“Recruits?” Sarah’s eyebrows raised and she leaned forward toward Aaron. “Those girls aren’t recruits, dear. They’re vulnerable kids making the biggest mistake of their lives.”
“You’re so right about that.” He took a sip of his coffee, then bit into a cro
issant. As he chewed, Aaron leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Where would a wealthy diplomat from the UAE live in Paris? He opened his eyes and said “Eighth Arrondissement near the Champs-Élysées.”
“Huh?” said Sarah.
“The Eighth Arrondissement is where he would live.”
Sarah cocked her head slightly and said, “Baby your French is much better than mine. I don’t understand what you just said.”
Aaron pulled a pen out of his backpack, then unfolded a napkin on the table and drew a crude map of Paris. It was basically a circle with a dark line separating a third of the circle. He moved his chair next to Sarah’s.
“Paris is divided into twenty arrondissements. Think of them as neighborhoods.” He drew twenty equally crude circles to show the locations. “The historic ones are one through twelve. One through nine are on the left bank of the Seine and ten, eleven, and twelve are on the right bank. The eighth is right here.” He drew a circle. “This is where the Champs-Élysées, the Arc de Triomphe, and one of the most high-end shopping districts in the world are located. And on either side of the Champs are some of the most historic and spectacular residences in Paris. This is where our wealthy Arab would live.”
Sarah placed her hand over his and Aaron turned his gaze to meet hers. “Okay, so what do we do?” she asked.
“Now we try a different approach.” Aaron smiled mischievously. “You’re going house hunting.”
* * *
They checked out of the Hotel Renoir and dragged their luggage to the Paris metro and disembarked at the Station Champs-Élysées. From there it was short walk to the Marriott hotel. Upon entering, Aaron quietly asked the head concierge if they could meet with the hotel manager. After a short wait, an attractive woman in her mid-forties approached. She was slim and walked with a confident gait and wore a gray pantsuit. Her name tag showed that she was from New York City. She extended her hand to greet Aaron and identified herself as Ms. Karen Stevens.
The Monroe Decision Page 10