Fatal Exchange

by Cindy M. Hogan

  “Siron is wrong,” Halluis interjected. I could hear the heat in his voice.

  I turned to face them. “What Siron said about you, Hal—I mean, that was my fault, you know? She was just angry because you were sticking up for me. But what she said about me…” I bit my lip to keep the emotion from welling up again. “What she said was right—going after the pickpocket is a naïve plan, and only someone as young and dumb as I am would ever think it could work.”

  Halluis shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but Ace beat him to it. “I think it can work.” He stood up from the bed and shoved his hands back in his pockets, pulling out a bag of sour gummies and handing them to me. “And I’m pretty much a registered genius, so—there’s that.”

  Halluis stood too. “Look, Christy. If she were talking about any other agent, maybe I would agree with her. Finding one pickpocket in all of Paris is an impossible task, but not for you. The very traits Siron attacked you for—your impulsiveness, your willingness to follow your instincts—she thinks they are your liabilities, but I think they are your strengths.”

  I shook my head. “I followed my instincts with Dufor.”

  “And how are you to know that you did not do the right thing? How do you know that if you stayed with him, you would not have simply ended up dead yourself?”

  I stared at him in disbelief. I had never thought about it that way.

  “I don’t know. A man is dead—I left him there to die.”

  “Dufor knew the risks,” said. “He was willing to accept them. He believed it was important enough.” Ace whipped out a crinkled piece of paper and smoothed it out on the coffee table. Dufor’s doodles. And there it was. This cannot go on.

  “You saved it?” Ace was the best.

  “It’s important. It’s one of the many, many things I know.” He flashed a mischievous grin.

  “Thank you.” I said it with as much feeling as I could. I didn’t want him doubting how much I appreciated his help.

  “Siron has us chasing our own tails—we will never uncover what Dufor knew if we continue down her line of investigation. The only way we will ever find out what he gave his life for is to find that pickpocket. Siron will never let us do that; she’s made that very clear. Our only hope now, honestly, is you—since Siron was kind enough to remove you from her oversight.”

  I glared at him. The look on his face was just so unbearably smug. “So, you’re telling me that my getting kicked off the team is a good thing?”

  He raised his eyebrows and shrugged lazily. “Sometimes these things happen for a reason.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. “Does Rosabella know you guys came here?”

  “Rosabella would deny all knowledge of our activities,” Halluis said. “But she sent you her love.”

  His words reminded me of the danger of what they were suggesting. “If Siron knew you were here, we’d all be in a lot of trouble, wouldn’t we?”

  “You know that’s never bothered us before.” Ace grinned, his eyes flashing with impish pleasure.

  “It’s different this time, guys. Siron isn’t a corrupt director—she’s just doing what she thinks is best.”

  “But she’s wrong. And you know it,” Halluis said.

  Before I could argue, he pulled on Ace’s arm, dragging him toward the door. “Come on, Ace. We’ll leave her to mull it over.”

  “Wait, you guys!” I felt a sudden wave of panic. Were they actually expecting me to defy Siron’s authority, to go rogue?

  Halluis pushed Ace out the door, then turned to me. “Do the right thing, Christy. Oh, and that residue? It was ash. We couldn’t get anything from it, though.” He winked and pulled the door shut behind him.

  Do the right thing. Of course. If only I could figure out exactly what that was.

  ***

  Hours later, sitting on the little veranda at the back of my apartment, I watched the rising sun turn the sky a hazy orange. The veranda overlooked an open, hilly courtyard full of trees, vines, and bushes. It was too steep to walk through, so it had become an oasis of nature—a little slice of green between apartment buildings. Sitting out there almost made me forget my situation. Almost.

  I still hadn’t slept. The doubt that had swirled around in my mind ever since Ace and Halluis’s visit had finally resolved itself into one firm conviction: I couldn’t let Dufor die for nothing. If that meant I had to go out on my own, probably risking my career and my future as a spy in the process, well so be it. I gritted my teeth. That’s why I’d risked my butt in some cramped ducting on a plan that was destined to fail.

  Henri Dufor was extremely paranoid and making one copy of the information was almost too much for him. He wouldn’t have a second copy. And, he wouldn’t have left a trail on his laptop even if we’d been able to get our hands on it. I glanced at the crumpled paper containing Dufor’s doodles. At least I was able to uncover something. And, that man in the uniform. He definitely worked there. If Division couldn’t get in Sécurité Un by imitating an employee, no one else would be able to either.

  I’d been so sure that I could find the pickpocket, but where was I even going to start? I stared at the knives and the phone the boys had given me. At least I had a few tools—what else did I have?

  I went back into the apartment and pulled open my closet, revealing a full array of clothes, wigs, and accessories. At least Siron had not thought to remove my disguises. A flash of guilt pinged through my chest. Siron had not thought I would disobey orders. I fought back the wave of panic that overtook me—it felt so wrong to be going against my superiors, to not be following the rules. It was so unlike me. But Halluis had been right. The only chance to save this mission was to go under the radar. I’d just have to bite back nineteen years of habitual obedience and pull out my inner rebel. She had to be in there somewhere, right?

  I wasn’t sure what disguise to use, where I should go. My eyes drifted around the room, looking for inspiration. The clothes I’d worn the day before were still on the floor, so I gathered them up and pushed them into my laundry basket. A piece of paper fluttered out of the jacket pocket, and I reached down to pick it up. It was the museum ticket I’d taken from Dufor’s pocket. He’d been to the Musée de l’Orangerie that day. I sighed and started to put the ticket stub on my nightstand, and a buzz of electricity shot up my arm. At the same time, a tingle spread through my chest.

  I stared at the ticket stub. What could it mean? What could the museum possibly have to do with the information Dufor had wanted to give Division 57? It didn’t make any sense. Still, I couldn’t deny the feeling that had rushed over me. The museum was important. I might not know why, but I knew enough to trust my instincts. I put the ticket stub in my pocket. It was somewhere to start, at least.

  I chose a minimal disguise—nothing that would make me stand out or make me memorable in any way. I decided against wearing a wig, and tucked my long blond hair back into a simple ponytail. I used makeup to make my face look paler and thinner, and donned a pair of glasses. Jeans and a non-descript t-shirt finished off the outfit. I tucked Ace’s phone deep into the backpack I would use as a go bag for the day, along with an alternate disguise and some cash. I strapped a knife to each ankle and one to the small of my back, where it was out of sight, but could be easily reached.

  I left my apartment out the back so no one would see me leave.

  On the way to the station I bought a baguette, feeling a pang as I remembered joking around with Ace the day before. I pulled out the phone he’d given me and sent a quick coded text to the first number in the address book. I’m on it. Then I punched in Jeremy’s number and sent him a coded message as well. It’s Christy. We need to talk. Contact me ASAP. Hopefully, wherever he was, he had his phone, and I’d get through to him. As I paid for my bread, a storefront across the street caught my eye. I’d seen it before, of course, but never paid it much attention. It was an electronics store.

  Before I could think about what I was doing, I slipped across t
he street, entered the store, and quickly located what I needed at the checkout—a flash drive. Division thought I’d sit on my hands and wait around for them to punish me—no way that was going to happen.

  A second later, Ace replied. I knew she couldn’t keep you down for long.

  I slipped the phone into a hidden pocket in my jacket and ran down the stairs to the train station. I caught the crowded metro and had to hold onto the pickpocket pole, along with many other Parisians and tourists. That’s when I felt a hand expertly probe for any valuables I might have on me. Again! That same rage boiled up in me. Could I not go one day without having a bad experience here in Paris? It was such a breach of personal space and protection; I had to do something.

  I grabbed the would-be thief hard, where I knew it would hurt, and squeezed. He conveniently bent over so I could whisper as quietly as I could on a clacking, roaring train, “If you promise to be a good little boy, and not pickpocket another living soul as long as you live, I’ll let you leave this train with them intact.” The threat seemed more ominous when said in French. He groaned and grunted, but I could make out a “Oui.” So, as the train jerked to a stop, I let him disembark. I put my hand over my mouth, hiding a smile as I watched the offender shuffle off the train, still bent over, obviously in a bit of pain.

  It felt good to finally be fighting back. Sure, this kid would be back to it in a few days, we all had bosses after all, but at least I’d made him stop for a little while.

  I disembarked at the Louvre instead of the Place de la Concorde so I had an excuse to walk through the sprawling masterpiece of the Tuileries Gardens on my way to the Musée de l’Orangerie. Exactly four fountains graced the garden, and trees lined the wide pathway to the staircase leading to the museum. It was definitely one of my favorite places in Paris and took my breath away. If anything could get my mind off my woes, it was the beautiful gardens, and the museums around them.

  Once at the top of the stairs, I looked over the gardens and watched the thousands of people moving about and marveled that the park still didn’t seem crowded. I discretely removed all the knives off my body and put them into my backpack before walking along the side of the building to the glass-lined entryway.

  Inside, after waiting in a lengthy line, I went through the security check and had to relinquish my go bag, which I was prepared for. Leaving that area, I wondered if I’d entered the wrong building as the room opened up to what seemed like nothing. I grabbed a brochure off a desk. The map inside the brochure assured me that Monet’s Water Lilies were indeed in the building, but downstairs. Two huge oval rooms housed the garden scenes. Along with lots of other visitors, I sat on the benches around the first room enjoying the enormous paintings. I had no idea what I might learn here, but opted to trust my feelings. Dufor had had a ticket stub from the museum in his pocket along with the drive. Had he come here before meeting up with me? Had his calm demeanor come from visiting this particular museum? I could use some calm.

  People milled about, getting as close as they could to the paintings without getting in trouble from a guard. That’s when I saw them. The pickpockets. My anger skyrocketed as I observed how brashly they took advantage of people. I glanced around for a guard and noticed four in the room. This was embarrassing. How was it none of them could see what the pickpockets were doing? The museum should invest in a class for its employees to teach them what to look for.

  A boy walked through the room and I stood up, my body coiled tight like a spring. He headed for the stairs to exit the exhibit. I instinctively moved toward him.

  It was him! The boy who’d grabbed my bag.

  My mind raced. I really just wanted to grab him and bring him in for questioning. But I knew that could jeopardize everything. We didn’t want the pickpocket, just the drive he had stolen. Besides, it could spook the people who had the drive if one of the pickpockets went missing, especially if this pickpocket had given them the drive. I needed to follow him, but carefully. I couldn’t let him recognize me, but I wouldn’t be able to retrieve my go bag as I left the museum. I’d lose him for sure. Hopefully he’d go straight to his drop, and I’d be able to get a level deeper into the pickpocketing ring. It could be the first step to finding the stolen drive.

  He hurried down the narrow street to the left. Keeping my head down, I shadowed him at a distance from which I wouldn’t be detected.

  I followed him into the gardens in a roundabout way through one of the many entrances on the back streets until he sat in one of the green chairs that sprinkled the rocky pathways. He stared into the large fountain, setting his bag on the ground next to him. This was it—the drop. I could read the signs from handling hundreds of drops myself. Someone would come and pick up that bag. I was about to find out who was above him in the hierarchy. That person could lead me to the clearinghouse for all the stolen goods.

  I pulled back and sat under some trees, my heart racing. The best thing would be to tail both of them—see the whole network of this pickpocketing ring. But of course, there was no way I could follow two people at once.

  I thought about calling in Halluis, but it would take him too long to get here, and calling in would risk giving me away to Siron before I’d had a chance to gather any evidence. I’d just have to see how the scene would unfold, and choose which one to follow.

  From my vantage point, I watched as a young man sat next to the boy, placing a bag that looked exactly the same as his on the ground next to him, except that it wasn’t bulging. The newcomer couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. A five o’clock shadow darkened his face.

  Both boys sat for a few minutes, staring into the water, before the first thief stood and took the empty bag instead of the full one. I watched him walk down the long, gravel path, heading for the street.

  When I looked back, the other guy and the bulging bag were gone. I huffed and turned, catching a glimpse of him cutting behind some trees.

  I tailed Five o’clock Shadow to the metro, watching as he pickpocketed a few unsuspecting tourists on the two trains we rode. I stood near the pole at one end of the car while he stood at the other. I almost missed the stop he got off at because he waited until the last second before disembarking. Luckily, I had followed my instincts and moved right next to the exit on my end. He must have grabbed something from someone on the train he wasn’t sure he could lift without being detected, just like that boy had done to me.

  Sure enough, when I spotted Five o’clock Shadow again I saw he was towing a bulky piece of luggage. He took it into the nasty metro men’s room and came out only a minute later without it. His shoulder bag was extremely full now. I kept following him at a distance. I figured he’d be meeting up with another contact soon, so I put my hand on my phone, ready to take pictures.

  Only he didn’t meet up with a contact. Instead, he met up with friends in Halle, a suburb of Paris about a twenty-minute train ride from my apartment. I often took this stop to get a crepe at Mad Dogs—it was probably the best creperie in the city, despite its American name. The large seating area was surrounded by quaint shops and restaurants. Right in the center, a fountain tossed water within its basin and over the majestic bronze horses in the center. I watched as Five o’clock Shadow greeted the group, and one of his friends handed him a skateboard.

  “Thanks, Daniel,” he said with a grin, a slight Arabic accent shining through the French words he spoke. It was a strange moment—such a normal thing to do for someone who’d just spent his day reaching into the pockets of strangers.

  “You owe me one, Kamal. I had to hike all the way to your place to get it.”

  Kamal—apparently that was Five o’clock Shadow’s real name—laughed before throwing his board down and taking off around the fountain. He stopped momentarily by two other kids sitting on the cement bench and dropped off his bag. They did tricks and stunts on the twenty feet of smooth surface surrounding the big fountain. Creating a larger circle around the skating area were four sections of rounded cement seating full
of people eating, talking, smoking, and watching the skaters. Two other skaters showed up, also with bags that they set next to Kamal’s before taking a seat. The two who had been sitting, stood and began skating. I itched for my own long board, finding my feet tapping in longing. The last time I’d skated was when I was in Oregon trying to catch some kidnappers.

  I smiled as I watched the skaters play to the crowd. A pickpocket who also craved an audience? Interesting. What was Kamal doing here? Were all six of these kids pickpockets? My eyes flitted over the square, and I noted the four distinct exits out of the area. Flowers, shrubs and trees graced the section above the seats in large planters, creating a feeling of intimacy in the large park-like area. On the other side of the flowers and trees was more seating facing away from the fountain. Constant foot traffic moved in and out of the four openings that allowed entrance to the inner seating and the fountain. If I needed to make a quick exit, I’d have to take those people into account. I hated to leave, but I had to return to the museum to get my go bag. It took me forty minutes, but not much had changed when I returned to Halle.

  The rushing of the fountain helped create a feeling of peace even though the space was still filled with activity. It was like it blocked out the world beyond the massive planters, and only the things inside existed. I resisted the urge to sigh and lean back to relax. I needed to stay alert and find a way to get Kamal’s attention. Once a spot near where some of the skaters sat opened up, I took it.

  I pulled out my phone to give the appearance that I was busy texting someone. In truth, I was taking pictures and waiting to see if the skateboarders would discuss work, so I’d know if they were all pickpockets and where they were going to take their bags of loot. I sent the pictures to Ace. Maybe he could gather some intel on some of these guys, see who was worth following up on.