Zak walks out of the hotel, his pack on his back. It’s positively chilly this particular morning in Paris. The sky has a few light bands of high cirrus. Zak and Kim stand outside their cheap Parisian hotel in the Latin Quarter and adjust the straps on their backpacks.
“Say, what’s the deal with all the contrails?” asks Kim, staring upward.
This draws Zak’s attention. There are a dozen neatly formed lines of crystalline jet exhaust in widening vapor trails stretching across the sky. At their front are a dozen barely visible silver aircraft, fuselages glinting in the morning sun.
“Training,” Zak offers, his hand held over his face to shield his view from a warming sun.
“Really? Training? What are they training for?”
“God only knows,” he replies off-handedly.
“I don’t think God has anything to do with it,” Kim states dismissively, backing up and planting herself on a low black stone wall that borders the holiday ornamented landscaping at front of the hotel. She crosses her arms, hands in gloves.
“Why haven’t we heard from anybody?” she asks.
Zak joins her on the shiny black wall.
“Bog is probably having them reply directly to him. He just hasn’t sent anything on to us. The fewer messages he sends the less there is to track.”
“But everything is in code.”
“And nothing is completely secure.”
“Why do I get the feeling that we’re in the dark here? Where’s the calvary when you need them?”
“On a break. And so are we. Let’s make the most of it.”
Zak pulls out a set of earphones, puts them in, adjusting the sound, points down the street to a Boulangerie and strikes off.
Kim watches him for a bit before getting up from the wall. Finally, she gets up and runs after him, catches up, then slows down to match his stride just as they reach the bakery. Together they pass under the shop’s green steel awning while staring at the baked goods in the windows as they enter.
“I think I’ll just have a croissant,” she says, but Zak can’t hear her.
She reaches up and pulls out one of his earpieces.
“What do you want?” she asks.
“Anything,” he replies.
Kim orders for them using very little French and a lot of gesticulation. They come away with a sack of different breads and pastries.
“I really want to see the d’Orsay Museum,” Kim says as they walk out the door.
“Great. I know how to get there.”
“You mean we’re going to walk?”
“Sure. It’s not that far and it’s a nice day. Why not? We’ll get to see the real Paris.”
“It would look just as real from a cab or a bus.”
“Apostate!” he declares.
“Burn!” Kim replies. She gives him a fake punch.
Soon they are lost in the side streets of the Latin Quarter on their way to the river, stopping at shops, checking out bookstores and examining street vendor’s wares. They walk along the Seine, taking in booths overflowing with old books, drawings and paintings for sale. The sun grows hot as they make the final stretch past the Pont Royal, leaving Kim to stow her gloves and Zak to remove his coat.
Continuing along the river, they watch the long Bateaux-moches, filled with tourists, ply back and forth on the Seine, just as a gigantic old railway station, now the Musee d’Orsay, come up on their left. They walk past the beaux-arts museum’s two grand entrances featuring massive clocks, giant mansard roofs above and lots of vaulted windows in between, to reach the tourist’s entrance at the West end of the building.
Kim and Zak stand back from the crowd near the street corner.
“Does it look like that line is moving to you?” Zak asks.
Despite the convoluted forest of stanchions and belts waiting for tourists, there is only a small line of people at the entrance.
“Sure it is! Come on, Sparky,” she says while grabbing his arm.
They buy tickets, get checked out by security, and enter the main hall under the enormous d’Orsay clock. They wander the galleries, filled with works by sculptors such as Rodin, and paintings by great impressionists such as Degas, Cezanne and Monet.
Finally, the morning spent, Zak and Kim become hungry and seek out the museum’s café. They take a cafeteria style line and head to the second level, which lies behind one of the great clocks and windows on the face of the building. Their table faces a set of stairs and doors giving access to the roof of the museum.
“I’m going to check it out,” Zak nods toward the stairs after they finish eating.
They step out on to a rooftop flooded with sunlight, with a view of the Louvre across the Seine. The fenced parapet is decorated with large stone sculptures that the tourists use in their photographs of one another. Taking a cue, Kim is leaning back against the fence while Zak is lining up a shot, when her phone signals a message. She pulls it from the pocket of her jeans.
“Let me get this. It’s from my Mom. Geez, it’s encrypted!”
They haven’t been receiving personal messages for a while and Zak can’t figure out how her parents somehow managed to encode a message. Kim is quick to decipher it, but as she reads it she has to wipe her eyes to see the message.
Chapter 49
On Fire Page 48