If she only injured Brandon enough to disable him it might prevent him from returning to the control center, but maybe not.
***
Karen’s mind drifted back to her time at Krystal Vision and working with her father. Back then, Brandon Harper started as an intern. Somehow, Karen’s father knew the Harper family and allowed Brandon to join the company and then hired him fulltime when his internship was complete. Although Karen didn’t choose him, he became her assistant.
Brandon continually made mistakes with his designs that Karen would have to correct before submission to their clients. He was forever spilling his coffee or his soft drinks on the architectural plans and constantly losing computer files.
For some reason her dad liked him—always laughing each time Karen relayed an accounting of Brandon’s work habits and abilities.
The last year she worked for Krystal Vision before it was sold, she refused to recommend Brandon for a raise.
From that day on, Brandon freely showed his hostility toward Karen.
***
I have to do this.
She’d have to kill him.
Then the final thing that they’d have to do is get below the Opera House in time to deactivate the timer. How could it be done? Karen’s mind began to work on the problem as she continued making her way toward her adversary.
Sorry Dad, he has to die.
Before each opening to the left, Karen eased to the edge so that she could see where she was in proximity to Brandon. At the third opening, she could see the edge of the water and the dry land. But she couldn’t see Brandon.
Brandon changed his name to Atwah. I’ll never call him that.
At the fourth opening, a hole no bigger than a quarter, just before the end of the wall, she saw that the water ended. She scanned the far side of the tunnel. No Brandon. She could see the body of the other terrorist lying still on the dirt.
But wait. He moved.
Or was it her imagination. She held her breath and leaned against the side of the wall to steady the binoculars. She could only see through one lens.
Yes! He is moving. He’s alive! He’s looking across the water. He must see Lamboise.
Karen eased back to the third opening so that she could see across the lake. She couldn’t see down the left side. But that’s where they were before she dove into the other tunnel. She moved back to the fourth opening. She looked through her binoculars at the terrorist on the ground.
Fadhil was six inches from the butt of his rifle. Ever so slowly he was inching his body closer to the gun.
Karen could smell Brandon. He was close. She didn’t dare step out into the opening. Brandon would shoot her, and the other terrorist would kill Lamboise. She had only one choice. She had to step around the wall, fire at the terrorist on the ground, and then quickly recoil and be ready for Brandon’s strike.
Fadhil reached the rifle and began to slowly pull it toward his body.
Did Lamboise see him? There was no way Karen could know. She slid back to the third opening and tried to see Lamboise, but he still wasn’t visible. She had to move to the end of the wall and shoot. And as soon as she did, her position would be given away.
Fadhil drew the sights to his eyes. Karen could see him scanning the water’s surface. He stopped.
Karen knew he had spotted Lamboise. Within seconds a shot would be fired and Lamboise would be dead.
Fadhil steadied his rifle on Lamboise’s head.
Karen watched. She knew what she had to do. She knew that Lamboise didn’t see his assailant. She eased to the edge of the wall and raised her Glock. Her left hand held the binoculars to her eyes. She aimed.
***
It’s the semifinal of the regional soccer championship. I have the ball deep in my team’s territory. I can clearly see the field in front of me. My teammates are darting erratically to free themselves for a pass.
Two offensive players from the opposing squad are coming on strong. I have to make a decision: keep the ball and run down the sidelines and then cut toward the goal or pass off to a better-positioned teammate. I touch the ball…
***
Fadhil’s finger tightened on the trigger.
Karen fired.
Fadhil fired.
The bullet pierced Fadhil’s temple, and his head flopped to the ground.
Karen stepped farther into the tunnel to locate Lamboise, Brandon’s odor was strong. He was nearby. She turned and his body was on her.
Lamboise aimed but couldn’t get a clean shot. He began to swim toward them.
Karen struggled. Brandon had his hand on her gun. She kicked, but slid down into the mud. Her gun went off, and a bullet grazed his arm.
He yelped.
She tried to secure her footing. She grabbed his rifle and pulled it from his grip.
He swung and missed.
The mud sucked at her feet. She twisted free and dove after him. She grabbed his leg, it was covered in mud, she couldn’t hold on. He pulled away and ran.
Lamboise fired.
“Karen,” Lamboise called out.
“I’m okay. Did you hit him?”
“No, he ducked into one of the openings.”
Lamboise swam to shore, rose to his feet, stopped alongside Fadhil and said, “Nice shot, thank you.”
They could hear Brandon running away at full speed.
“Where’s he going? Isn’t the Opera House in the opposite direction?” Karen asked.
“We’re close to the Porte d’Orleans Metro Station. He has to be making his way there for the ransom money. Durran said that’s where they’re supposed to drop it.”
“We have to beat him,” Karen said. “He could elude Durran’s forces and make it to the dirty bomb control panel. Do you know which way?”
“Follow me,” Lamboise said, and they took off through the tunnel toward the station.
***
Brandon ran for his life. He knew Fadhil was dead. But he didn’t know who Fadhil’s contact was. Brandon was on his own. But, he was also excited. All the ransom money was his. He didn’t have to share it with anyone. He could take the eight million Euros and disappear.
The instructions were that the bills were to be dropped into the trashcan near the door inside the men’s bathroom at the Porte d’Orleans metro station.
The French Intelligence community wasn’t going to allow any type of extortion. They were lying in wait, positioned throughout the terminal, all focused on the men’s bathroom door, awaiting a terrorist messenger to appear and trip the wires attached to the trashcan lid. An “Out of Order” sign was posted on the outside door. They waited.
Brandon arrived in the tunnel below the Porte d’Orleans metro station. He looked for the markings on the floor. He found them and looked up. There was a trapdoor above his head. It sat directly below the trashcan wherein the ransom was to have been placed. He unlatched the door and opened it. The package dropped down onto the floor. He smiled.
He unwrapped the plastic bag and looked inside. He audibly gasped. “Son-of-a-bitch,” he said. “Those bastards.”
He threw the confetti-filled bag across the floor and headed for the exit to the metro tunnel.
***
Karen turned a corner. “I see him,” she said.
Lamboise stepped into the open. “He’s exiting the tunnel. He’s going into the metro station.”
Brandon pulled his pistol, turned, and fired.
Karen and Lamboise ducked into an opening.
Brandon slipped through a door and entered a utility room.
The station was crawling with guards and military. But they were focused on the men’s bathroom.
Brandon slowly opened the maintenance room door. He stepped into the busy lobby of the Porte d’Orleans metro station and leaned against the wall, posing as casually as he could.
Karen and Lamboise were only seconds behind, but Brandon stayed cool and composed as he walked toward the exit stairs.
Karen and Lamboise e
ased open the maintenance-room door and entered the body of the station. They scanned the crowd.
Lamboise inspected the people walking to catch the trains and said, “He could take the train back to the Paris Opera House.”
“There he is,” Karen said, pointing at Brandon who was halfway up the stairs leading out of the tunnel.
Karen and Lamboise darted after him. They raced across the tiled floor and up the stairs, two at a time. They broke the surface of the outside and saw Brandon get into a taxi and drive off.
“He’s going back to the Opera House,” Karen said. “How long will it take him?”
Lamboise looked at his watch. “On a good day, it would take around thirty minutes by taxi. We have to take the trains. It’s the quickest way.” Lamboise turned and ran down the stairs.
Karen was right behind.
Lamboise stopped to read the train-routes sign. He traced the directions with his finger. “We have to take the M4, purple, get off at Denfert-Rochereau and take M6, green, and then pick up M7, pink at Place d’Italie. The train’s arriving now.”
They ran, hurdled the ticket machines, and slipped between the exiting passengers. They had to stand and hold onto the handrail while the M4 pulled out of the station. Lamboise looked at his watch and said, “On time.”
“How long will it take us to make the trip?” Karen asked.
Lamboise turned to a passenger who was looking at his cellphone and in French asked the person to check the time from Porte d’Orleans metro station to Paris Opera. When he had the answer, he thanked him and turned to Karen. “Thirty-three minutes.”
“You said the taxi would take thirty.”
“On a good day.”
“It’s going to be close.”
Their train stopped at the Denfert-Rochereau station. They quickly got off and ran to the M6 line headed for Place d’Italie. They ran down the stairs and came upon a massive crowd of people.
“What’s going on?” Karen asked.
“Their saying that the M6 train broke down.”
“We’ve got to get to another station,” Karen said, turned and ran back up to the train-routes board with Lamboise close behind.
Lamboise pointed and said, “We have to get to the Les Gobelins station. Come on.” Lamboise took off in a brisk trot. Karen pulled up beside him.
Once outside the station, they broke into a sprint and ran along Boulevard Arago. They ran down the stairs and into the M7 train. There were two seats together just inside the door. They flopped down, panting heavily. It began to move.
Karen looked up over the door at the map. “Eleven stops until we get there.”
“If we don’t make it in time to stop Brandon or Atwah, whoever he is, the Louvre is history.”
“And so is little Lillia,” Karen said.
***
Durran called his lieutenant at the Porte d’Orleans metro station.
“Anything yet?”
“Nothing. The alarm’s not sounded, and no one has entered or left the men’s room.”
“Have you heard from Lamboise? He hasn’t checked in.”
“Nothing. Is his cell active?”
Durran turned to Henri Lapoint, his Principal Deputy Director, and asked for the status of Lamboise’s cell.
Lapoint stepped out of the room but was back within seconds. “It’s dead. There’s no transmission.”
“Where did we last have a signal?”
“In the underground tunnel about a quarter mile from the Marie Rose Room.”
Durran thought for a moment and then said, “They’ve been stopped by the terrorists. We’d better contact U.S. National Intelligence and alert them that their operative, Krystal, may be dead. Did she have a cell with her?”
“No, sir.”
“I’ll call Etheridge in the U.S.”
***
Karen and Lamboise bolted from the train and ran up the stairs of the Opera Metro station and across the street to the Palais Garnier. They flung open the door.
The manager was standing in the lobby.
“We need to go back down,” Lamboise said, running by.
Karen called out, “Have you seen anyone else enter?”
“I didn’t see anyone. You know the way?” the manager asked. “But the door…”
They ran down across the stage and down the stairs to the basement past all the mechanical and electronic equipment and all the special effects paraphernalia. Lamboise snatched a flashlight from a shelf, and they ran down a second set of stairs to the second basement and then headed toward the padlocked door that led to the underground lake.
As they approached, they could see that the door was open.
Lamboise stopped. “I closed this door,” he said.
“He must be here. Brandon must have beaten us,” Karen said.
They drew their weapons. They only had one flashlight, and the light was fairly dim.
“I’ll go down first,” Lamboise said.
Karen nodded but then stopped. Lamboise took a couple steps down the ladder and looked up at Karen. Her face was contorted.
“What’s the matter?”
Karen whispered, “I can smell the scent of vanilla.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It could mean that a member of U.S. intelligence is down there.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“I don’t know. But why would someone from my organization be here? And how did Brandon know we found this place? We need to hurry, we only have a little over ten minutes.”
Lamboise looked at his watch. “Ten and a half minutes, how did you know that?” he asked. “You don’t have a watch.”
Karen thought of Lillia and said, “Hurry.”
Lamboise stepped off the ladder and turned to scan the area. Karen’s feet touched the last rung—the lights came on, and the air exploded in gunfire.
Lamboise dove for cover and yelled, “Why did you turn on the lights?”
Karen rolled across the floor and yelled back, “I didn’t.”
The bullets were bouncing off the steps, the rails, the walls, and the rock they were sheltering behind.
“How many are there?” Lamboise asked.
“Two,” Karen said.
“How do you know?”
“I can see the source of the bullets and hear the unique sounds of the weapons. And there are two different smells. One of that terrible body odor, Brandon, he’s here. And that disgusting, vanilla-scented perfume of Cheyenne Hojarea.”
“Who’s she?”
“She works for U.S. CIA, but she must be a double agent.”
“She’s one of them?”
“I’m positive. She was on the plane when I was kidnapped. She sat next to me. When I went to the bathroom, she must have slipped something into my drink. That’s what knocked me out. And since she reports to Etheridge, she’s had the capability of knowing my whereabouts and my…”
“What?”
“She’s the one who planted the bomb in my room at Hotel d’Angleterre.”
The firing stopped. Lamboise looked at Karen.
“What?” Karen asked.
“You think Etheridge is behind this?”
“I don’t even want to think about that? That’s like me suggesting Durran set this all up.”
“I get your point. I’m just being paranoid.”
“That’s what’ll keep us alive,” Karen said.
“Can you hear them moving?”
“No. And I don’t think they’ll go too far from the control center. One of them has to detonate the bombs if the timer doesn’t work. And right now, we’re between them and the switch.”
Karen placed her back against the rock and motioned behind her, “There are two people: one shooting from the left opening and one from the right.”
“We could be pinned down until the timer goes off.”
“We’ve got to get to that control room.”
Lamboise stretched out on the ground and looked aro
und the rock. “Get down and look from the other side of the rock. When I shine the light, look across the lake. You have only a split second before they begin shooting.”
Karen lay down on the ground and inched around the rock so she could see.
Lamboise shone the light.
The air instantly filled with bullets.
Lamboise shut off his flashlight, and the firing stopped.
Karen whispered, “The place is strung with wires. They weren’t there the last time. Trip wires that stretch from one side of the lake to the other. They must be connected to the explosives. We can’t move very fast along the shoreline. We can’t afford to touch the wires.”
Karen looked behind them and said, “There’re two openings on either side of the wall.”
Lamboise shone the light and said, “Okay, you go to the right, and I’ll move to the left. Good luck.”
They bolted simultaneously.
CHAPTER 38
Karen had seven minutes to reach the location of the dirty-bomb control panel before the timer was scheduled to set off the explosives. She could hear gunfire on the far side of the lake. Two weapons: Lamboise and either Brandon or Cheyenne. Not three.
One of them is on this side. But who?
She concentrated on remembering the pathway through the side tunnels around the water. She visualized which opening she needed to go through to reach the timer. She moved swiftly but cautiously.
If she made it there, the mechanism would have to be disabled without setting off the detonators. She still didn’t know how that could be done.
She raced through the tunnels with one thing on her mind: Lillia atop the scaffolding on the third floor of the Sully wing. That image kept her adrenaline elevated, her senses heightened, and her motivation strong. Yes, the treasures at the Louvre would become contaminated, and France would go bankrupt, but Lillia can’t die.
She turned a corner and was faced with three paths. She knew which one she needed to take to get back to the lake. She stepped forward and abruptly stopped.
Vanilla! Cheyenne’s on this side.
Karen dreaded a confrontation. She knew more about Brandon than Cheyenne.
Hand to hand against Brandon would be less of a challenge. Although he was a strong right-hander, he rarely used his left. She remembered at Krystal Vision when he tried to lift anything, unless he used his right hand, he had minimal strength. And negotiating the computer mouse with his left hand was a joke. He basically had no eye/hand coordination. Karen felt she could easily overcome him.
Krystal Scent (Krystal Vibration Series Book 2) Page 28
