He had broad shoulders covered by a tight black knit shirt. And his long dark hair was tied back in a ponytail with a piece of leather. He looked street tough.
“They’re leaving us.”
“No they are not.” He jammed the accelerator.
“We can’t lose them,” she said again.
“I know that, Madame Steele.” He shot her a dark look. “Nadeau was my partner for many years. If I were not doing this for you, for my job, I would certainly do it for him.”
That made her feel better. She wanted to avenge Nadeau as well. And St. Romain, who had lost his life last night on the roof. And the two fallen agents they’d had to leave in the street. Not to mention Fanuzzi and Becker.
They whizzed down a narrow side street, around some building construction, took a sharp turn, and bumped over the brick pavement down another narrow one-way lane in the wrong direction.
Pedestrians were everywhere, dozens of them crowding the sidewalks, some moving toward the parade site, some with kids, looking for a bite to eat, others with shopping bags on cell phones, oblivious to the danger around them.
A few of them cursed at the speeding cars as they passed, an old man shook his fist in the air.
Yeah, yeah. Safety first. Damn youngsters. If only it were that simple.
Turmel radioed their position to Haubert and managed to read off the plate number of the BMW. Haubert said he was behind them and gaining but Miranda couldn’t see the Citroen in the mirror. She couldn’t pay attention anyway. She had to stay focused on the rear of the BMW—which was pulling away again as they rounded another turn.
“Keep up,” she shouted at Turmel.
“I am trying.”
This street was lined with even more pedestrians and the traffic was at a near standstill.
“We should catch him now,” Turmel said.
But, no. The BMW pulled out of its place and zoomed down the street the wrong way.
Cars coming head on blared their horns but it was a lethal game of chicken and they ended up driving onto the sidewalk, chasing harried pedestrians out of the way.
“No choice but to follow,” Turmel growled and he swung into the opposite lane in the path the BMW had carved out, garnering more curses and fist-shaking.
But Miranda barely saw the reactions. She was craning her neck over tall, gold-tipped iron gates toward the high monuments looming in the distance.
“Where the hell are we?”
“Near the Place de la Concorde.”
“Where the President is?”
“Yes, unfortunately.”
What was this bastard planning? Some kind of assassination attempt? Why else go through crowded streets instead of somewhere deserted. Like an abandoned building. Or maybe head outside the city and into farmlands.
Yanick wanted to do more damage. She was sure of it.
Chapter Forty-Six
Parker hurried along the pavement with Fayette beside him, his gaze scrutinizing the century old buildings. They had spent far too much time crisscrossing the narrow lanes and quaint alleyways of the eighth arrondissement. They were wasting precious minutes.
He knew it had to be here somewhere.
He’d visited the place years ago with his family. Sylvia had been appalled at the idea of taking a child to an underground graveyard, but he had thought it would be a good experience for their daughter. And to their surprise, ten-year-old Gen had been fascinated with the place.
His memory was a bit vague but he recalled the passage. And the section the tour guide had cautioned them to avoid lest they get lost.
The young agent in the Yankees shirt panted alongside him. “What are we looking for, Monsieur Parker?”
“Ah, there it is.” Parker hurried across the street and ran up to the structure.
A small metal house turned deep green from centuries of age. Warning signs were posted everywhere.
Parker pulled on the metal door handle. It didn’t budge.
“It is locked, Monsieur Parker,” Fayette said. “Closed for the holiday.”
“I see that.”
“I can call the authorities to open it.”
Parker drew the pistol Haubert had loaned him from its holster and used the handle to smash the lock. It broke apart easily.
He smiled at the stunned agent. “No need. It’s open now.”
They stepped through the door and were plunged into nearly total darkness. Dim lights twinkled far below as they proceeded down a winding stone staircase that no doubt had been designed in medieval times. When they reached the bottom they were met by an opening to a long, narrow cave-like passage.
“Watch your head,” Parker warned Fayette, and the two of them slipped through it.
The passage was lined by a muddy beige brick that covered the walls as well as the low ceiling, giving the place a claustrophobic feel. More dull lights burned against the pale blocks. Good that they had been left on perpetually, or they wouldn’t be able to see their hands in front of their faces, Parker thought.
He led the way and they plodded along in silence until they came to another door.
There was an identical passage on the other side of it. They trudged through it and through another beyond that.
On and on they went, feeling their way through the maze of halls until they reached a turn and at last arrived at the featured part—the wall of skulls.
“How far are we going, Monsieur Parker?” Fayette sounded uncomfortable.
“As far as we need to.” It was all he could tell the young man.
This wall of bones was only the first one, he knew. There were many more. Hundreds, thousands of human remains embedded into the concrete.
Taking them in, Parker moved past it, recalling having to quiet Sylvia’s nerves at the sight as his family had traversed these halls. She’d held onto his arm as if for dear life. The memory made him smile.
That was something Miranda would never do. His smile faded. He forced his mind back to the present and the task at hand. It wouldn’t do to think of his current wife right now and the danger she might be facing.
They had to press on.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Miranda’s stomach lurched as Turmel spun the Fiat around another sharp turn.
The BMW was heading away from the monument now. Didn’t make sense. But she was glad this street was a little less crowded.
Just then a siren blared behind them. Miranda twisted around and saw a red white and blue vehicle behind them.
Cop car.
He was signaling for them to pull over. Good Lord.
“Can you take care of this guy?” she grunted to Turmel.
With a nod, he pressed a button on his dash and began jabbering in French. Haubert’s voice replied and soon there were two others all talking away.
The cop behind them waved.
“He is with us now.”
Maybe that was a good thing. She hoped so. Just then the car between the Renault and the BMW turned down a street and there was clearance between.
Now was her chance.
“Tell the cop I’m going to try for the tires,” she told Turmel.
While he rattled the message into the radio she drew her weapon, rolled down the window. As she stuck her head out, the ball cap she forgot she was wearing flew off her head and her wild hair whipped around her face. Spitting it out of her mouth, she took aim.
“Don’t hit anyone on the sidewalk,” Turmel shouted.
“I know what I’m doing.”
Just as they flew around another corner, she focused on the rolling rear tire and fired.
She expected return fire. Instead the BMW veered to the right, to the left. It crashed into a parked vehicle and ran up onto the courtyard of a cathedral, sending screaming pedestrians running in all directions beneath the church’s golden dome.
The BMW’s hood collided with a tree and stopped, smoke hissing from the engine.
Finally.
Turmel slammed on the brakes
and adrenaline pumping in her ears, Miranda jumped out of the car, gun still drawn.
But Yanick was too far ahead of them. He burst out of the BMW and shot across the yard, heading for the cathedral. The Russian dude, Kosomov, who had gotten out of the car a second behind Yanick, was beside him. Fast for a big guy. And strong. He was carrying Fanuzzi’s suitcase and it didn’t look like it slowed him down a bit.
These two knew what they were doing, all right. Going headlong into the crowd for cover.
Miranda thought they’d take a hostage but instead the pair ran into the building next to the church. A place that looked like a fancy eighteenth-century hotel of some sort.
By the time she’d reached its tall Greek columns and high arched door, Turmel was beside her, his weapon also drawn.
As soon as she went through the glass doors and stepped onto the marble of a great hall, she realized the building was empty.
Drop cloths were spread along the baseboards. Ladders and buckets and brushes were scattered about. The smell of fresh paint hung in the air.
Renovations. The building was closed.
And the workers were off because of the national holiday.
Yanick and Kosomov were nowhere in sight.
She turned to Turmel. His face showed anger and concentration, thick brows frowning deeply over sharp dark eyes.
There was a soft echo. The faint noise of footsteps. Turmel nodded down the hall.
She followed the sound, turned a corner and discovered a wide marble staircase with naked golden cupids serving as newel posts. The French and their love of anatomy.
She gestured upward with her gun. Turmel nodded. As quietly as they could they ascended the steps.
At the top of the staircase was a wide oval mezzanine, bathed in a golden glow of sunlight. Down below she could see another hall and a side entrance. She thought of Yanick’s ploy at the Eiffel Tower. Was there a way down nearby? Had the bastard left already?
Then something creaked overhead. She looked around and saw another set of stairs. This one narrower and not as fancy. Couldn’t go overboard, now.
She began to climb as fast as she could with Turmel keeping step behind her.
This staircase seemed to go all the way to the top. The brass banister did a one-eighty on the first landing and another on the second and third. High overhead a crystal chandelier hung from a white-domed ceiling. The lights were off but it sparkled in the rays from a high round window.
She was just about to put her foot on the next step when she heard a door close on the floor above her. The last floor. Running out of options so now it was time to hide.
Then the clatter of running footsteps rang out below.
She looked down. A flash of black flitted through the banisters.
“Kosomov,” Turmel whispered.
“They’ve split up.”
“We’ll have to as well.”
He was right. She nodded and the agent turned and hurried back downstairs.
Miranda turned back and headed up, taking the steps two at a time. You want to go mano a mano, Yanick? Well that’s just what you’re going to get.
By the time she got to the top adrenaline was gushing through her veins.
The uppermost floor was gorgeous. Elegant sconces on the white walls, intricate molding, a rounded ceiling to give it a look like its cathedral neighbor. A row of fancy white doors with golden handles along one side leading to the hotel’s rooms. Sheer luxury with a hefty price tag.
But none of them had a modern card reader.
Gun drawn, she moved across the diagonal pattern of the floor to the first door, turned the latch. It swung open easily and she had to hold onto it to keep it from banging against the wall. There was a small corridor then a wide, open room. No bed. No furniture. Just a large space with tall bare windows flooding the room with light. They were going all out with the redecorating.
No one here.
She stepped out, closed the door and went to the next one, repeated the process. No one there either. She continued down the hall, going from room to room, opening door after door, doing a sweep.
All were empty.
When she got to the last room, a tingle ran up the back of her neck like long icy claws. It was so pronounced she felt every hair on her head stand up. Either she was going nuts or her spidey sense was back.
Yanick had to be in here.
She put a hand on the golden knob, steadied herself.
Then she took in air and stepped inside.
Chapter Forty-Eight
The underground grave went on forever. Wall after wall packed with variously sized skulls. Men, women, children. Some were in high piles, others arranged in artistic patterns.
No need for brick here. The bones themselves made up the walls. The smell of decay was there but only faintly. The putrid portion having been long gone.
“Do you know the history of this place, Fayette?” Parker asked.
The agent shrugged. “We learned about it in school. My class visited.”
“An educational trip.”
“It was supposed to be.” He gazed at their eerie surroundings. “During the late eighteenth century when cemeteries on the right bank overflowed, the bodies were exhumed and the remains buried here.”
Parker nodded, he’d studied the place before taking his family here. “There was concern over rampant disease and decay contaminating the living quarters of the citizens.”
“I read one restaurant had filth oozing through its walls.”
“Yes.” A fact he had not revealed to Sylvia.
“And so six million former citizens made their home here.”
“So to speak.”
“I took a girlfriend down here when I was in Lycée,” Fayette said. “She was braver than I. I have faced enemy soldiers in the desert but this place, it gives me the shivers.”
“Like the battlefield it’s a reminder of the frailty of life. And how we should cherish it.”
“I prefer to cherish it above ground.”
Parker grinned at the young man, then he spotted what he was looking for. A narrow hole about four feet up. He thought they could fit through it.
Warning signs were posted in several languages.
Fayette caught his movement. “What are you thinking, Monsieur Parker? We cannot go in there. It is forbidden.”
“Did they teach you to always obey rules in French Intelligence, Fayette?”
The young man stared at him open-mouthed.
“Do you have your flashlight with you?”
He nodded. “In my belt.”
“Then you’re set.” Parker cupped his hands together for a boost. “Up you go.”
Fayette pointed at his chest where the NY symbol was. “Me? You want me to go through there?”
The young agent had been brave enough last night but evidently a cave full of bones was his weak spot. “I’m coming in after you. No time like the present to face your fears.”
He continued to stare.
“Fayette, a man’s life is at stake. Perhaps more.”
That shook him out of it. He straightened. “Very well, Monsieur Parker. Here I go.”
He put his foot in Parker’s hands and Parker hoisted him up.
“It is a tight squeeze. Oh, and a slide down.” His feet disappeared.
Hoping he hadn’t made the wrong choice Parker pulled himself up and forced his body through the hole. It was tight, but he managed to drag himself through. He slid down the slope on the other side headfirst and bumped flat against Fayette.
The agent pulled out his light and turned it on.
Both of them were covered with the pale chalky dust of the dead.
“Excellent job, agent.” Parker got up and brushed himself off.
“Thank you, sir. What do we do now?”
Three murky passageways stretched out around them, all filled with more skulls. A muddy puddle sat before one of them, but there was no indication of where to go. Parker recalled hearing st
ories of people who had wandered into the forbidden parts of the catacombs, lost their way, and had never returned.
He took out his cell phone. There was a connection. He dialed Dave’s number and waited. It rang and rang, just as it had when he’d tried it when he and Miranda had arrived in Paris. A sliver of fear wormed through his gut. He brushed it aside.
No matter. There was more than one way to skin an ancient cat.
“How is your sense of direction?” he said to Fayette.
Again the incredulous stare. “As good as anyone in my profession, I would say.”
“Where do you think the Place de la Concorde is from here?”
The agent frowned. “It is above ground.”
“Yes. Where above ground?”
The frown grew deeper, then his eyes went wide. “You mean the reviewing stand where the president is?”
Parker nodded. “And the military personnel who will march to that spot at the parade’s end.”
As the magnitude of what Parker was implying sunk in, for several long moments Fayette seemed shaken to the core. Then he came to and grew thoughtful. He peered down one passage, then down the next, and finally the third.
At last he pointed to the one on the left. “I believe the Place de la Concorde would be about half a kilometer that way. Then straight up, of course.”
“Are you sure?”
“Reasonably sure, Monsieur Parker.”
The agent had talent. His estimates matched his own.
Parker gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Then there, Fayette, is where we’ll find Monsieur Becker.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
She didn’t see him at first.
The room was like the others. High ceilings, white walls, no furniture.
Three arched windows three times as tall as a man were placed symmetrically along the far wall. The one at the far end was actually a pair of glass doors that led to one of those quaint iron filigree balconies Miranda had seen so many of about this ancient city.
The doors were open. The sound of the marching parade trickled up through it.
Weapon extended, Miranda crept toward doors.
Zero Dark Chocolate (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 5) Page 20
