The Bombmaker: A Michael Thomas Thriller

by Gavin Reese

  Michael looked at the card Jacques had dropped on the desk and realized the concierge had provided his encoded contact information: Jacques le Petit &q2e4t6u8o0. That single code provided Michael the most confident authentication he could have requested. He retrieved his work cell, opened an app from within its encrypted Secured Items folder, and completed the required three-factor authentication to proceed.

  Michael began by entering Jacques’ username into his contact list. Once he entered the last digit, the app brought up the concierge’s available contact information. He now had Jacques’ work and home addresses, three phone numbers, two email addresses, and the most relevant, a direct message connection through the app. That’s one good thing to come out of these new phones. His gratitude ironically reminded him of Sergio, a former clerical colleague of Michael’s from Ecuador and, at present, another Absolver. He’s still confident we got the upgraded phones so John and the intel staff can keep closer tabs on our movement and communications, but at least they gave us a digital, secret-squirrel Rolodex as a trade-off. Jacques wouldn’t have access to Michael’s clandestine contact information until he initiated a conversation, so Michael sent a simple message of “Thank you.” There. Now the quartermaster has my digits.

  Michael set the phone aside and dove headlong into the front of the intel packet. He skimmed John’s page-one note again to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, and then moved on to the pages behind it:

  “Updated Protocols regarding The Oremus hotels:

  Roughly translated, the name means, ‘let us pray.’ We used a series of shell companies to buy a failing global hotel chain three years ago and began extensive renovations at most locations. We expect the investment to become a significant source of profit in about two years. Most of the proceeds will fund our own operations and support other DICE assets. Our worldwide locations in major cities and tourist areas allow us to move men and equipment to safe locations, and to place men like Jacques in each of them. He can help provide whatever our operatives require to do God’s work and come back inside the wire.

  Your room number at any Oremus location will always be 144, and it will always supplant room 162. Any deviation indicates danger. Both are associated with those respective sections of the Catechism, which reveal Obedience in Faith and Perseverance of Faith. This subterfuge will help you avoid countersurveillance efforts.

  The concierge at each Oremus will be one of our operatives who’s permanently assigned there, and he will always be called James or the local variant. You can make requests to him in person, by encrypted app messaging, or by merely leaving your request inside the room safe. Among his other duties, James will check your safe for communications and supply requests each time you leave to try fulfilling them before you come back.

  To further improve our operational security, you will leave sensitive documents in the safe whenever you vacate the room. The concierge accounts for all the pages and destroys them when your investigation’s done.”

  Despite the relief Michael felt in knowing he could now get help from someone in the same city, the logistics required for Jacques to fulfill his duties gave serious pause. The trade-off is that my own organization’s now surveilling and tracking me. If they dedicate this room to Absolvers and covert Vatican operatives, the odds of it being bugged ‘for safety’ is almost certain. The hierarchy could justify keeping an eye on us for any number of reasons, including to protect us from outsiders and safeguard our secrets. Michael scanned the room and struggled to find a way to search it without broadcasting his efforts to do so. ‘Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety deserve neither.’ I fear that ole Ben’s still right on that one...

  Michael decided he could best mitigate the risk of his new “safehouse” by spending the least amount of time there. He returned to the bulky intel packet and skimmed the next few pages, which provided boredom-level detail on the operations, logistics, and duties of the concierge at each location. The first page specific to his current investigation renewed his focus.

  “Meet with Father Luc Devoux at Cathedral of Saint Denis on 6-May prior to 1400 hours. Do not delay. Time is of the essence.”

  He checked his watch and realized he’d have to hustle across town to meet his contact. I lost three hours to my own paranoia, and now I’m pressed for time. Every other investigation’s first pitted me against the clock, so why should this one be any different?

  Michael returned the intel packet to the safe and used a map on his phone to find an address a half-mile from the Saint Denis cathedral. I’ll have a cab drop me there and work back to the cathedral after I run a clean detection route. He donned his gray backpack, which still held his few personal items, and decided against retrieving the pistol from the hidden safe. There must be a reason it’s here, but millions of Parisians and tourists walk the streets and major cathedrals every day without needing a gun. I’m sure I can make it in and out of a church without having to shoot back.

  Michael pocketed one of his keycards, secured the hotel room, and exited out the other side of the building, which avoided the concierge desk. Within three minutes, he stood on the wide sidewalk of the Champs Élysées and hailed a taxi. After the driver seemed to understand his intended destination, Michael dug into his backpack and scanned the vehicles moving through traffic with them. Retrieving his worn copy of the Catechism of the Catholic Church, Michael turned to read 144:

  Obedience and Faith: to obey in terms of faithfulness indicates a voluntary submission and adherence to what is taught because its truthfulness is assured by God, the very eternal origin of Truth itself. Abraham modeled a life of faith, obedience, and adherence, and the Virgin Mary is the perfect personified embodiment of this virtue.

  Michael flipped the pages to section 162:

  Perseverance of Faith: faith was bestowed by God unto mankind, and may be lost or abandoned just as any other priceless gift. Saint Paul advised Saint Timothy to ‘wage the good warfare, holding faith and a good conscience. By rejecting conscience, some have made shipwreck of their faith.’

  Michael looked out the cab’s back passenger-side window and sighed. So, we need to have the faith to willingly kill our own like Abraham, and the conscience to wage the good warfare. Seems like the mentality of a legit shadow organization.

  He set the book aside, retrieved his work cell, and opened its encrypted messaging app. Michael found the open dialogue with John and gave him an update:

  Checked in. Met Jacques. En route to contact.

  Michael locked the phone, returned everything to his backpack, and watched the two-thousand-year-old city pass by as he considered his present reality in it. What’s out there waiting for me that demands that kind of firepower?

  May 6, 12:46pm

  Arrondissement Saint-Denis. Paris, France.

  After a forty-five-minute cab ride, Michael started his surveillance detection route at Hospital Casanova. He entered the lobby, walked to the opposite side of the structure, and exited through the kitchen. If you act like you belong, people tend to believe you.

  Michael continued on to the St. Denis/Porte de Paris Metro station. Bypassing the above-ground tram lines, he descended to the subway platforms and caught the westbound number 13 train. Although not rush hour, the platforms and train cars were busy. The locals have earbuds, novels, and newspapers, and the tourists have backpacks, maps, and guidebooks. He scanned the car’s occupants several times for anyone familiar or interested in him, but no one drew his attention.

  After the needless and recurring stress, anxiety, and fear that he had been walking into a trap all day, Michael both wanted to allay his concerns and use that same hypervigilance to protect himself. Can’t have it both ways. I can either walk around with my ‘head up my ass’ and the risk that entails, or I can stay paranoid and let my stomach chew an ulcer in itself. The HUMA method gets people killed a helluva lot quicker.

  At the third stop, Michael departed the train at the Garibaldi Sta
tion, walked up and over the tracks, and descended onto the eastbound platform for the same line. If I thought someone was tailing me, I’d need a few hours to do this right. Given the lack of time and threats, I’m going with a ‘good enough’ effort today. He grinned at how his decision brought forth one of his father's favorite expressions: There’s never time to do it right, but there’s always time to do it twice. Dad would be disappointed, but I’m out of time, just like always.

  While awaiting the next train, Michael casually scanned the crowds on both sides of the platform. He recognized no one. Any team that’s still following me would need at least six players and several vehicles. The odds of that round down to zero. You can’t ever be certain you haven’t grown a tail, but you can reduce the chances. Michael rode the train past his original stop to its terminus at the St. Denis-Université Station.

  Because the train went out of service for a cleaning each time it returned to that station, the entire car emptied onto the platform and Michael’s chest tightened. There. Green backpack, blue sweater, white skullcap. He recognized the man, or more precisely, his specific, bright clothing, and urgently memorized his details. Middle Eastern male, early-to-mid-forties, five-nine, five-ten, heavy pear-shaped build. The man stood out from the crowd and Michael churned through his memories to recall where and when he’d first seen him. Oh my God. He was on the westbound line with me! That means he also got off and switched trains at Garibaldi! How did I miss that?

  He chastised himself for not being more careful and diligent in his countermeasures. Despite his ominous, internal dread, Michael casually scanned the crowd for an accomplice. His fear escalated as he realized he still hadn’t seen the man’s face. He’s either skilled or this is coincidence. I can imagine numerous reasons for him to have made the same switch, but the most probable involve malice.

  Michael could no longer just watch for familiar faces moving in the same direction, but he could blend into the back of the crowd and force any followers to slow and let him retake the lead. Just like when I drove a patrol car. The guy I need to pay attention to is the one who won’t pass me no matter how slow I’m going.

  By the time he reached the escalator, Michael stood near the back of the crowd and watched ahead for anyone who turned around or looked back. No one else raised his suspicion and the green backpack had moved out of his sight, which presented another set of problems. Michael rechecked his watch. Thirty-two minutes to meet the contact and a twenty-minute walk to get there. No time for surprises.

  As Michael ascended to the street, he stayed to the far-right side of the walkways and escalator to force any attack to come from his left side. He scanned everything and everyone around him, and his pulse pounded in his neck. A few deep, calming breaths helped, but didn’t alleviate the early stages of his fight-or-flight response.

  He again spied the green backpack and slowed his pace. The target stood across the street facing away and focused on a phone in his hands. Michael’s destination compelled him to go right, so, instead, he turned left to stay behind the man. A newspaper and tourist-trap kiosk stood nearby, so he walked over and shuffled through a stack of I ♥ PARIS t-shirts. The Muslim man turned around and scanned the area, but he didn’t focus on Michael or the kiosk where he stood.

  Michael scowled as the probability shifted toward coincidence. He’s not in shape to fight anything more dangerous than falafel and crepes, but it doesn’t take much effort or stamina to drop a trigger or detonation switch. Could just be a lookout doing his part for the cause, too.

  Elation spread across the man’s face as another Middle Eastern male approached him, probably his son based on their age difference and similar features. The two embraced for a moment and began a boisterous conversation. They strode away on a side street perpendicular to Michael’s intended direction of travel, so he scanned the area once more before walking away from the kiosk. Looks like his boy’s home from college and he missed the right Metro stop. Could happen to anybody, right?

  Michael breathed a sigh of relief and hurried away from the Metro station. Despite his time constraint, he chose a slightly longer route and hoped the apparent father and son didn’t reappear. By the time Michael reached the Cathedral of Saint Denis, he’d regained confidence that he hadn’t been followed or watched. Never mind the digital watchers. John probably knows every step I take with this new phone.

  Michael entered the cathedral through its main doors, which stood at the structure’s west end. In the sparse moments his cab ride had allowed for research, Michael learned Saint Denis Cathédral was also the Royal Necropolis of France with seventy-five monarchs and ten royal servants entombed there. Ignoring the opulent and historical beauty of its interior for the moment, Michael blended into the tourist crowds and scanned the new environment. Still no threats.

  Unlike the cathedrals he’d visited in the American Southwest and the Catedral Primada de Bogota, near where he’d served in Columbia, the interior of Saint Denis was bright and open. Tall, light gray carved stone walls rose into pointed Gothic arches and held beautifully detailed stained-glass windows on three of its four primary sides. Michael breathed in the familiar, reassuring aroma. It may look different, but all of God’s houses feel and smell the same to me. Comforting, permanent, history.

  He joined tourists in the back of the church, known as the narthex. Unlike the rest of the Catholic faithful among them, Michael didn’t dab himself with the blessed holy water or genuflect in the aisle before taking a seat in a pew to the far back, right side of the cathedral. It’s best I present a non-Catholic persona to anyone who might remember me here. He stayed alert and wary of those nearby and looked around the nave, the main body of the cathedral, for one of the parish priests who served the Saint Denis community.

  There. A young priest in the expected black cassock strode toward Michael from somewhere near the altar, which seemed to be seventy or eighty yards away. Michael nonchalantly rose, donned his backpack, and strolled toward the priest. Just as he’d done in The Oremus, he kept a hold high on the shoulder straps to protect himself without advertising his preparedness to do so. John always talked about how meeting your contact was one of the most dangerous aspects in any field operation. There’s so much political and ideological division in the Church that it might only be a matter of time before I’m staring at a gun or handcuffs at one of these meetings. All it takes is one snitch and an undercover cop or operative to pretend to be my contact, and then it’s all over but the prison sentence.

  The priest looked up as they approached one another, and Michael gave him a slight, disarming wave to draw the man’s attention. “Bonjour, parlez vous anglais?”

  “Yes, of course, and, bonjour, a good day to you, as well. How may I help you serve God today?”

  Michael smiled at the unusual greeting. The man’s devout and direct. I like his style. “I’m here to see Father Luc Devoux. Is he available?” The priest’s eyes registered an internal apprehension, fear maybe, but the rest of his expression remained passive.

  “I’m Father Luc, and, yes, I suppose I am available at this moment.”

  “Father Devoux, I’m Father Andrew.” Michael let the specific phrasing pique the priest’s attention. We’re never called by our last name. “I need to hear your confession.”

  May 6, 1:50pm

  Saint Denis Cathedral. Paris, France.

  The French priest stepped closer to Michael and uttered his words as though he feared someone might overhear the exchange. “I can’t imagine what I would need to confess.”

  Michael adopted a confident, reassuring tone. “I can’t either. I won’t know until you tell me. I’m here to offer absolution.” After meeting almost a dozen priests like Father Luc, Michael appreciated the man’s extraordinary position. They had vital intelligence that could help save the dignity of innocents, but none of the training and little of the intestinal fortitude required on his side of the conversation. Much like my mentor, H, they appreciate the necessity of my work bu
t can’t take it up themselves.

  Father Luc looked around, having used up his intrinsic stoicism for their coded exchange. “There are many onlookers here now, along with teams of engineers that wander about. They are examining how to quickly erect a fire suppression system in our cathedral to prevent the Notre Dame tragedy from repeating itself here, so the once-lonely alcoves are not so today. Perhaps we can speak elsewhere?”

  Michael tried not to show his own apprehension at the man’s reluctance. “How about the rectory, even the sacristy?”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” the priest stammered out and blushed. “Your laity clothing confused me. Follow me, Father Andrew.”

  Michael covertly watched the nearby clusters of tourists and faithful and hoped the priest didn’t draw their attention by glancing around like a lookout at a bank robbery. They approached the right side of the altar and the south transept, the right “arm” of the cross-shaped building. Looking past the altar for a moment, Michael appreciated the grandeur of its innovative and historic open ambulatory, the walkway that allowed pilgrims, parishioners, and tourists to circumnavigate the altar and enter the small side chapels behind it. He longed for the time to visit those smaller chapels and take in the ancient relics on display there. Another visit, maybe, when I’m not working.

  Michael followed Father Luc through a partially concealed doorway at the far, east side of the south transept. They passed through the short, narrow marble doorway, which reminded Michael how much modern man benefitted from diet, exercise, and thousands of years of ever-improving medical technology. Early construction of the modern structure ended in the mid-1100s, the location having been the burial site of Saint Denis, who was martyred in 250 AD. Either twelfth century men didn’t stand very tall or wide, or they just relished banging their heads and hips all the damned time.