by Dan Abnett
Lara found herself in a closed courtyard, surrounded by buildings. There was no road, no alleyway, no way to escape. She picked a door at random in an adjacent wall. It was locked. She picked another and walked through it without hesitating. She found herself in a narrow corridor. A radio or television was playing tinnily somewhere in the building. Lara walked confidently down the corridor, away from where she had come from. Any exit would do.
She passed a large room that opened off the corridor through an arched opening. A woman sitting at a desk, staring intently at a sheaf of computer readouts, looked up, startled.
“Je suis désolé,” said Lara. It was the closest she could manage to any sort of explanation.
“Crazy English,” said a disheveled man, rising from another desk. Lara hurried in the direction he was gesturing and was through the door at the other end of the hallway before he had reached her. She was outside again, surrounded by more buildings. There was a narrow walkway to her left, which opened into a garden with mature trees. It would give Lara somewhere to hide while she thought about what the hell she was doing.
Lydia had no patience for the proprietor of the Cinéma Le Balzac. His bonhomie was not welcome.
“I’m looking for my sister,” she said, tersely, in French.
“There’s no need to be rude, mademoiselle. We are all friends here.”
“It’s an emergency,” said Lydia.
“Not so much,” said the proprietor. “Just a scratch or two, and no harm to that beautiful face. Let her tidy herself up. Perhaps a drink while you wait?”
“You’re wasting my time, old man,” said Lydia. “Where’s my sister?”
“I cannot make you welcome in my humble establishment if you are hostile, mademoiselle. I told you that your sister is fine, not even so very upset. She is tidying herself up in the ladies’ room.”
Lydia’s eyes flicked over the space, and, spotting the signs for the bathroom, she pushed past the dapper man and made her way to the ladies’ loos. She burst through the door, and quickly checked the stalls. They were all empty. She was back in the lobby in less than a minute.
“Where is she?” she asked the proprietor, tension in her face.
“I told you,” he said. “She’s cleaning herself up. She went into the bathroom five minutes ago.”
“The fire exit,” said Lydia.
“There is a fire exit. Yes,” said the proprietor. “But why would she want to leave? If you have come to watch a film together, why would she run away?”
“She’s gone,” said Lydia. She wasn’t talking to the proprietor anymore. He didn’t know that.
“I’m sorry, mademoiselle, but I cannot help you. Perhaps I would leave you too, if you were my sister.”
“Shut up, old man,” said Lydia.
“Get where you can see her. Get a view,” said Hydarnes over Lydia’s earpiece.
“Copy that,” said Lydia. “How do I get on the roof?” she asked the proprietor.
“There’s a maintenance ladder. You can’t go up there,” he replied. “It isn’t safe. There are rules.”
Lydia took a step closer to the proprietor, her jaw clenching as she spoke.
“Just show me,” she said.
“You’re not her sister,” he said. “Are you the police? Show me your credentials.”
“You really don’t want to see my credentials,” said Lydia, unzipping her jacket and opening it just wide enough for him to see the gun nestling in her armpit. The notched grip of a .40 compensated Sig Sauer. A man-stopper. All the proprietor saw was a gun. A gun. That was enough credentials for him.
“Mother of God, help me,” he said.
“Oh, just show me how to get on the damned roof,” said Lydia.
The proprietor of Cinéma Le Balzac visibly deflated as he gestured over his shoulder to a door at the end of the lobby. After Lydia had slammed the door behind her, he crossed himself.
“Forgive me,” he said, his head tipped back and his eyes raised heavenwards.
Lydia scaled the ladder effortlessly, and was on the roof. She ran along the roofline, scanning all the time for signs of Lara.
“Give me something,” she said.
“She’s heading northwest on the block towards the Rue Lord Byron. She’s outside.”
“I don’t see her,” said Lydia, sliding down a sloping roof and jumping across to an adjacent building. She grabbed a drain pipe and climbed down, hand over hand, several metres to the next roofline. She stood for a moment and scanned again. Still nothing.
Lara had crossed the courtyard, staying under the tree canopy, and entered another office building. There were a lot of people milling about, and nobody took any notice of her. She found a street door onto the Rue Lord Byron, but thought better of it.
Keep moving, Lara, she thought. Move faster. Ares is after you. She wasn’t sure who he was or what he wanted, but she had no doubt the man was dangerous, and she knew she had to do better.
Lara walked through the offices parallel to the Rue Lord Byron, and turned left, away from the street into the far wing of the building where she found another exit. More trees, more buildings crammed together in the space between the main streets, more fire exits and office windows, more dumpsters.
Lydia had climbed again, scaling the maintenance channels up the side of one of the tallest buildings to a barrel-shaped roof. The angle of the curved roof meant that she had to walk along its lip, like a tightrope walker. She paced it out without flinching, utterly confident.
“Get Xerxes up here,” she said. “Or give me better information. No sighting of subject.” When she reached the far end of the building, there was no way off, except to scale the curved roof. She took a run at it, and, reaching its apex, turned, and tuck-jumped. The drop was significant, so she shifted position midair, dived, and rolled onto the roof below. The gentle slope of the roof propelled her forward, and she was at its edge, looking down, when she caught sight of something. She saw movement.
“I’ve got movement. Possibly the subject entering the rear of a building on Byron.”
Lara had looked up when she heard sounds above. She hoped the tree covered her as she pulled open another fire door and entered another building. She walked along a corridor of numbered rooms. She was in a hotel.
Think, Lara.
Lara didn’t have to think for long. She was running on instinct, on adrenaline, good adrenaline that made her sharp, effective. She wasn’t panicking. When she saw the “alarme incendie,” she did what it said and broke the glass. She kept walking towards the front of the building. The corridor, and then the lobby, began to fill with people. She was soon in a crowd, being directed by uniformed members of the hotel staff.
A building lit up on Hydarnes’s computer display.
“That’s the fire alarm at the hotel on Byron,” said the tech.
“That’s where she is,” said Hydarnes. “Darius, get the car to number 15 Rue Lord Byron and find Croft.”
Lydia heard the instruction. She climbed down the service ducts of the building she’d jumped down onto, rolled onto the adjacent roof, ran along its ridgeline, and swung into a tree.
Her weight whipped the branch in an arc towards the next building, and she used the momentum to throw herself onto its roof. She rolled to another tree on the far side and shinned down it to ground level. She entered the rear of the hotel by the same entrance that Lara had used, the alarm still blaring.
Lara stepped onto the narrow street and looked right and then left. The pavement was too narrow for the number of people that were pouring out of the hotel, and they were beginning to spill into the road, stopping the traffic. Lara could hear a siren. Then she spotted the car: the big, black BMW that had taken her to Ares. It was three cars back along the street. The traffic was at a standstill. She was sure Windcheater hadn’t seen her.
&n
bsp; The fire appliance was coming around the corner, and the other drivers were doing their best to pull over to make way for it. This was her chance. The BMW was hemmed in. Windcheater was trapped in his vehicle.
Lara took her chance, jostling out of the crowd and squeezing between the stationary cars on Rue Lord Byron. She was horrified to see Ponytail emerging from the front of the hotel.
Head down, keeping as low as she could, hoping to be shielded by the crowd, Lara ducked into the first door on the other side of the street.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” said a very smartly dressed Asian man in his late twenties.
“Bonjour,” said Lara. She looked around, beginning to realise where she was.
“Can I help you, madam?” asked the man, very formal.
“I’m sorry. Where am I?” asked Lara.
“You’re in the Ambassade du Pakistan. My name is Monsieur Qazi. Can I help you?”
“The fire alarm,” said Lara. “I’m so sorry. I have an anxiety disorder. It’s so noisy and so crowded. I had to get away.” She placed her hand on her chest and breathed.
“Do sit down, madam,” said Monsieur Qazi, picking up a phone on his desk and speaking in a language that Lara didn’t understand. Moments later, a woman appeared, elegantly dressed in a salwar kameez. She carried a bottle of water and a glass on a tray.
“You’re too kind,” said Lara. “If you could just show me to a quiet exit. If I could just get away from the noise and the crowd, I’ll be fine.”
“Nonsense,” said the woman. “Rest a moment. Drink.”
Lara did as she was told.
“I’m afraid my colleague must search your belongings before you can proceed further into the building.”
“Of course,” said Lara, handing her rucksack to Qazi. He stood it on the desk and checked through the contents.
“What’s your name, my dear?” asked the woman.
“Lara Croft,” said Lara. “I have my passport.” She handed it to Qazi.
“Very well,” said Qazi after he had put everything back in the rucksack and handed it and her passport back to Lara. “It is irregular to allow the use of the Ambassade in this way.”
“She’s a child,” said the woman. “What harm can it do?”
Lara sipped at the water and waited. If she was too insistent, she might find herself back on the street outside. She needed these people to cooperate. She said nothing.
Qazi picked up his phone again. Moments later a large Asian man appeared. A few more words were exchanged.
“Are you well, my dear?” asked the woman.
“Yes, thank you,” said Lara.
“Well enough to leave?” asked the woman.
“Yes, thank you,” said Lara.
“Then follow me,” said the woman.
Lara stood and shouldered her rucksack, and the big man fell in step behind her. She didn’t mind the escort if it meant she didn’t have to face Windcheater and Ponytail. She exhaled a long, calming breath. She felt more confident again.
Darius saw Lara entering the ambassade and radioed her location back to Hydarnes and Lydia.
Lydia slid over the hood of one of the cars jamming the street.
“I’m going in,” she said.
“Negative,” said Hydarnes. “Do not enter the Ambassade.”
A moment later, Xerxes was on the street beside Lydia.
“You go over,” he said. “I’ll go around. We’ll take her.”
He ran southeast along Byron, turned left, and disappeared.
Lydia walked past the Ambassade and looked along the street. The apartment building she faced was a classic French building of the period with tall windows and small balconies. Lots of handholds. Easy to climb. Ares wanted the girl followed. He liked to be in control. People he couldn’t control, he killed.
Lydia vaulted onto the first wrought iron balustrade, balanced on her toes for a moment, and then jumped to grab the lip of the first floor balcony. She swung twice to propel her legs over the balustrade of the first-floor balcony, secured her position, and repeated the process.
There was a gasp from the crowd below as someone saw her and pointed, and she quickly had an audience.
From the fourth floor balcony, Lydia had to swing out to catch the drainpipe and shin up to the overhang of the roof. She hung there, from her elbows for a moment, before, very gracefully, tipping and rolling her body onto the parapet, easily clearing the gutters.
She glanced down at the street. Darius was still trapped in his car.
Lydia dashed across the flat roof to get a good view of the block. It was crowded with buildings all backing onto each other with courtyards and narrow spaces between. There was very little space on the ground and few routes that Lara could take, unless she went through the buildings. Then the routes would be endless, and Lydia would not have sight of Lara.
“No sighting of subject,” Lydia said, scanning constantly and looking for movement in the small gardens that dotted the area.
“On Rue Chateaubriand,” said Xerxes.
“Hold your position, Xerxes,” said Hydarnes.
Lara and her escorts emerged at an exit to the rear of the Ambassade. She stepped up beside the woman and smiled at her.
“Thank you so much,” she said.
“We’ll walk you to the street. It’s quite a labyrinth through all these buildings,” said the woman, smiling and putting a gentle hand on Lara’s arm.
Lara could think of no adequate answer, and the kindness she was being shown was too warm to be ignored.
Lydia dropped to one knee on the rooftop above.
“Subject sighted,” she said, “accompanied by a woman and a protection officer.”
“Stay on her. Do not approach,” said Hydarnes.
Lydia matched Lara’s progress through the buildings, moving from one roof to another, vaulting, climbing, and even making one almighty leap to bridge the gap between two roofs, to cross the block. She went unseen and unheard.
Lara emerged a few minutes later on Rue Chateaubriand. She shook hands with the Asian woman and thanked her once more.
“Are you sure you’re quite well?” she asked.
“Quite sure, thank you,” said Lara. “I’m so sorry to have put you to so much trouble.”
“It was the nicest adventure I’ve had for a long time,” said the woman, smiling at Lara for the last time before turning back down the narrow alley between the buildings.
Lara was on her guard immediately. The street was narrow, and there was no sign of the big BMW. Then, she saw him. There was a man down the street. He turned. There was something… He’d seen her.
He had an earpiece… He was one of them.
Lara’s heart beat a little faster.
Then, she heard the high-pitched rattle of a moped engine firing up. There were several parked on the street. They were a common sight in Paris. She didn’t think twice. She strode up to the moped and climbed on the back. The man on the front was startled. Lara put her hands firmly on his shoulders and said, “Allez!” in his ear, in the most commanding tone she could muster. She didn’t shout. She didn’t want to scare him. She just wanted him to move and to move fast.
Xerxes was right on top of them. The moped bucked and swerved. The rider was trying to do as he was told, but suddenly there was a man right in front of him.
“Allez!” said Lara again.
The rider turned the handlebars of the moped and revved the engine. The bike bucked again just as Lara reached out to shove Earpiece, who was grabbing for her. Lara braced herself with two feet still on the ground. The front wheel spun and turned, tearing into Earpiece’s legs. He went down hard.
Lara had a fistful of his jacket, which tore away in her hand, scattering something on the ground.
Earpiece recoiled, grabbing his blee
ding leg.
As the rider righted the moped, Lara scooped up the photos that had fallen from Earpiece’s jacket, and then the two of them were riding along Chateaubriand towards Avenue de Friedland.
Chapter 13
The fire appliance finally skirted past the BMW, and Darius managed to pull out behind it and reverse out of Rue Lord Byron. He spun at the end of the street and joined the traffic in Rue Arsène Houssaye, following Hydarnes’s directions.
Lydia landed on Chateaubriand moments after Lara’s departure.
“The subject?” she asked Xerxes.
“Moped,” he said between gasps of pain. Lydia left Xerxes where he was. He was useless to her now. She also ignored the streets. She was faster through and over the buildings. Her parkour skills meant she could cut across city blocks as the crow flies, covering greater distances on foot. The traffic in Paris was notoriously slow. She could still track the subject. She didn’t have to stop to scan territory looking for Croft; she only had to follow the directions Hydarnes gave her.
The moped turned right into Avenue de Friedland. It was the commercial district, and the street was wide and busy with traffic moving in both directions.
Lara didn’t want to put her saviour in unnecessary danger, so when he had to stop at a pedestrian crossing, she hopped off the back of the bike.
“Thanks,” she said. “You saved my life.”
“You crazy English,” he said. “It was fun. Something to tell my friends.” He grinned.
Lara grinned back.
“Run!” he said, revving his engine.
Lara took him at his word and ran, casting a last smile over her shoulder. He was right; it was exhilarating.
Lara jogged up the street until she found a café and ducked into it. She didn’t like being in the open for too long. She couldn’t be sure that she wasn’t still being followed. She needed to get her bearings. She also needed to find Menelaou as soon as possible. She needed to head for the Left Bank.
