At this hour in the morning La Defense was deserted. During the day thousands of people milled about the area, rushing to and fro from one meeting to another; at night, though, it became a ghost town. It was as if the area was under some kind of mystical curse that kept it alive during the day and dead at night.
Their primary aim was to enter the building without leaving a trace behind them. The tall block had glass panes from top to bottom. They stood outside, dwarfed by the enormous structure.
Jeremy held a small claw hammer in his right hand.
‘How shall we enter? Shall I smash the glass?’
‘That would leave way too much evidence.’
She produced from a pouch on the upper side of her left arm what looked like a small pen.
‘Stand back.’
Aiming a blue laser beam from the pen-like contraption she carefully traced the outside of one of the large window panes. She was then able to push the glass gently into the building with the aid of some special sucker-grips built into her gloves. The squealing sound of an alarm began to ring out. Amanda stepped gingerly over the threshold with Jeremy in tow. She knew exactly where to go and in seconds had located a control box mounted on the wall. She hastily unscrewed the covering of the box, identified the wires and clipped the yellow one, at which point the alarm ceased immediately. She then replaced the cover on the control box and screwed it back in place so outwardly it looked the same as it had before.
Then they both crouched beneath a large office desk, their figures concealed by the shadows. As she expected, a lone male guard came running up just a few seconds later, carrying a large torch. He surveyed the vicinity, directing the beam around the room, but evidently saw nothing untoward. He also inspected the control box carefully and found it intact. They heard him grunt with annoyance. He clearly thought it had been a false alarm, the result of some glitch in the system. He shone the torch once more around the room and came closer to the desk they were hidden under. They held their breath, fearing they were about to be discovered, but then he left the room and they were able to let out a sigh of relief.
They were glad to clamber out from their uncomfortable clandestine position. They needed to move quickly. Amanda had taken care to commit the building’s layout to memory. Jeremy, however, had the documents provided by Maurice with him and took control of navigation.
There were thirty floors in total, including basement and underground levels and a mezzanine on the top floor from which the roof could be accessed. The building had a large central atrium that they avoided as it was patrolled by security guards at all times. Maurice’s brief informed them that the restricted-access offices they were to target were on the twenty-sixth floor. To evade the CCTV cameras and the other guards they accessed the fire escape, which was located on the left side of the building, and began ascending the long winding staircase.
After a substantial climb, which left both of them breathless and took a lot longer than expected, they found themselves by the entrance to the twenty-sixth floor. They pushed the door open Amanda directed the bright-white LED beam of her flashlight around the space beyond. It revealed an unmanned reception desk positioned on the left side of a square of grey-carpeted flooring. On all sides of the square, doors led off to various unlabelled offices. The area was absolutely deserted, deadly silent but for the ticking of a stylish clock mounted above the receptionist’s desk on the left wall.
Jeremy surveyed the plan in front of him, squinting as the flashlight’s beam reflected brightly off the white paper. Finding what he was looking for, he led the way to the opposite side of the room, where a set of double doors with small rectangular windows blocked their way. He pushed the doors cautiously open. Inside there were rows and rows of parallel workspaces, each with its own computer. Nothing remarkable. They crept through the room together. Then Jeremy turned on his heel, sensing something behind him. His heart skipped a beat when he detected a sudden flash of light in the corner of the room. Was there someone there? Then he realised it was nothing more than a computer that had been left on by one of the employees. Jeremy looked perplexed and studied the plan he was holding.
‘This doesn’t look like the director’s office.’
‘That’s because it isn’t, Jeremy. You must have taken a wrong turn back there.’
Amanda retraced their steps back to the reception desk they had just come from. Then she turned left and pushed open a door that led into a small corridor. After a few metres she took a sharp right. In front of them was a windowless black door, labelled ‘Chief Executive’. Amanda tried the handle and found, to her surprise and relief, that the door was unlocked.
The room they found themselves in was of a very simple, modern design. There was a large black-wood desk with an aluminium table lamp on it. There were also piles of documents everywhere. The entire left wall, she noted, consisted of a large glass panel, through which you could see for miles over the city below.
From the plans, Amanda knew that none of the documents in this room were relevant to them. She walked to the very back of the office, which led to a small annex room. Within the annex room they were confronted by another door. This door was grey and sturdy and had a triangular sign on it reading ‘Passage Interdit’ (Entrance Forbidden). It was locked, of course, as she knew it would be.
‘What gadget have you got that will get us in?’ Jeremy asked.
‘None.’
‘Then what do we do now?’
‘This.’
Jeremy watched as Amanda pulled the clip from her hair, twisted it into shape a little, and then stuck it in the lock. So much for advanced technology, Jeremy thought to himself. Within seconds the door was open. Jeremy’s eyes widened.
Amanda grinned at his flabbergasted expression. ‘Something I learnt at finishing school.’
The room that they entered unexpectedly housed a large printing press. The rest of the small office was virtually bare. Jeremy guessed that the documents that they sought would be in the safe at the back of the room. The safe was a simple kind, like the ones commonly found in hotel rooms, with a four-digit code. He utilised a small gadget of his own, a magnetized code cracker with an inbuilt digital screen, that caused the safe’s own numeric display to shoot quickly through random combinations until it found the correct code and the safe was unlocked.
The inside of the safe was completely empty, save for a single slimline red document holder with the words ‘Top Secret’ embossed onto it in a gold typeface. Jeremy was certain it must contain the documents they had been searching for and unclasped the holder, trembling with excitement. Finally, they were going to find what they had been looking for all this time. He might even be in line for the promotion he had been hoping for.
He pulled out the contents of the file. What lay inside was completely unexpected. Rather than the blueprints he had hoped to find, the folder contained just four large black-and-white photographic stills.
The figures in the stills were unmistakably Amanda and him.
Jeremy looked through them in amazement. The first photograph showed Amanda walking in the street. The second showed Jeremy smoking a cigarette. The third showed them sitting together outside one of the cafés they had been to whilst in Paris. It was the fourth photograph, however, that caused him the biggest shock. It showed Amanda and Jeremy stepping through the empty window frame of the building they were now standing in having removed the glass!
‘We need to run!’ he hissed.
Jeremy handed Amanda the photos as explanation, then grabbed her hand and ushered her out of the office. Amanda looked equally shocked at the images staring back at her.
‘We must have been under surveillance the whole time!’
They sprinted together back through the corridors and onto the fire escape once again. They set off down the stairs as quickly as they could, descending flight after flight. When they reached the tenth floor they found a group of security guards waiting for them. Three guards came from behind them and
two stood in front, blocking their way. Jeremy took on the first guard directly in front of them, delivering a karate blow to his chest that sent him reeling backwards. Amanda high-kicked the other man with her black stiletto, causing him to tumble down the stairs and collapse in an unconscious heap.
Together they hurtled down the remaining flights of stairs, gathering pace all the time. Unfortunately, the three security guards in pursuit came after them and remained only moments behind. When they reached the bottom of the stairs Jeremy tugged at the door that was the last obstacle between them and freedom – only to find to his dismay that it had been locked. There was no choice but to turn and face the three guards who were coming after them.
The three men approached them menacingly. The first was holding a black truncheon, whilst the second was armed with a rifle. The third held no weapon at all, but was so large and muscular that he looked like he could kill them with just his bare hands. In a split second Amanda and Jeremy realised the only way out of this was to work together. They clasped hands and rushed at the guards head-on, creating a human battering ram. Their joined arms hit the three guards across the chest simultaneously propelling them backwards and knocking all three of them to the ground, sending their weapons flying. The gun was beyond her reach but Amanda was able to grab the truncheon, which had come to rest at her feet.
The guards were momentarily stunned, but soon recovered and jumped to their feet. Amanda’s keen interest in sport now paid off as she put to use the self-defence skills she had learnt during her aikido classes. Jeremy had undertaken formal training in a variety of martial arts and also partook in regular ‘free fighting’ sparring bouts with fellow SVHQ agents. He knew how to mix his martial arts to overcome virtually any opponent.
The largest of the men, rippling with steroid-fed muscle, launched himself at Amanda with a roar. Amanda grasped the truncheon firmly and swung it, striking him squarely on the back of his right shin. She then performed a commando roll to get herself out of the way as his legs buckled and his heavy frame came crashing forwards. Luckily for her, he fell directly on top of one of his allies, rendering both of them unconscious.
The final guard had rammed himself into Jeremy and they were sprawling on the floor engaged in a deadly wrestling match. They were thrashing around so violently that Amanda could neither edge past them nor attempt to strike Jeremy’s assailant with the truncheon for fear of missing the target and hitting Jeremy instead. As they writhed around the floor each in turn attempted to reach out and grab the gun, which was by now no more than a few centimetres away. As each one tried to grab the weapon the other would restrain him at the last moment and so the struggle continued.
There was a fire extinguisher on the wall directly behind Amanda and she grabbed it quickly. Determined to prevent the guard from getting hold of the firearm Amanda fired the extinguisher at the floor where the gun lay. The extinguisher was filled with foam which sprayed out all over the place. Next, Amanda’s gymnastic lessons came into play as she vaulted over the struggling men and landed on the far side.
What followed was a frantic tussle as everyone tried to locate the rifle, which was now concealed from view by the foam. All of a sudden the guard grabbed something from the floor and held it aloft.
‘Raise your hands above your heads!’ he commanded.
‘I think it is you who should be raising your hands.’
Amanda was pointing the rifle at him. Confused, the guard glanced down at the object he was holding in his right hand, aimed it at the ceiling and pulled the trigger. A yellow flame formed at the tip; it was the replica cigarette lighter.
‘Turn around,’ Amanda ordered.
The guard turned and she searched his pockets, found the key to the exit, and tossed it to Jeremy to open the door. Gun in hand, Amanda followed Jeremy out of the building. They fled the scene as quickly as possible and met the car that Jeremy had arranged to pick them up, driven by a driver from SVHQ. They jumped in the back of the vehicle and sped off back towards central Paris.
Chapter 16
The Pompidou Centre in Paris is a large, sprawling construction of coloured steel with white funnel-like pipes on the exterior. Opened in 1977, it was named after the former French president Georges Pompidou and houses the foremost museum of modern art in Paris, as well as an extensive library and a centre for music research.
Since they had so narrowly escaped the trap laid for them at ENCO, Amanda and Jeremy were careful to keep an eye over one another’s shoulder. Amanda was dressed far more demurely than before for their meeting with Maurice, in an outfit of black Dior trousers, white blouse, and grey coat. Jeremy was dressed in a black Lanvin suit and a Hermes shirt open at the collar.
The stout figure of Maurice was to be found hunched on a bench on the fourth floor. He wore a perplexed expression on his face as he observed Picasso’s ‘The guitarist’, which was displayed on the wall before him. Jeremy and Amanda noiselessly took up position on either side of him.
‘Now, Matisse – he was a genius. Each painting of his was full of the colourful emotions of life and sex.’
Amanda looked at the bizarre triangular arrangement in front of her that was intended to represent the guitarist and had to admit that at first glance it left a lot to be desired.
‘You did not obtain the documents?’ Maurice enquired, noting that they had come empty-handed.
‘No,’ said Amanda. ‘Unfortunately they knew we were coming. A trap had been set for us.’
Maurice drew a large cigar from the inner pocket of the duffle coat he was wearing, lit it with a match and blew a cloud of smoke thoughtfully into the air above him. Amanda eyed him quizzically; smoking was against the law in public places in France and had been for some time.
‘Don’t worry,’ Maurice advised her. ‘No one will stop me.’
An attendant began to approach but upon seeing Maurice’s scowl decided against it. Visitors passing nearby viewed him with a mixture of surprise or disgust but no one plucked up the courage to say anything.
‘ENCO knew you were coming?’ Maurice mused. ‘They must have even more spies than we originally thought.’
‘We could have died, Maurice!’ Jeremy interrupted angrily. ‘You put us both in a lot of danger.’
‘We did not expect this, Jeremy,’ Maurice answered reasonably. ‘SVHQ would never put you intentionally at risk.’
‘What do we do next?’ asked Amanda.
The whole mission had become increasingly unsettling as it seemed their unseen enemy was always one step ahead of them. Surely ENCO would have copied the blueprints by now – and even if they did retrieve them ENCO would have already learned the information they needed. She expressed these thoughts to Maurice.
‘Sit down, mademoiselle.’ Maurice offered Amanda a space on his right-hand side. ‘This painting before you is quite unusual, don’t you think?’
‘A little, but with modern art it is more about the response of the person viewing it. If the painting evokes emotion or makes you feel something then it has succeeded.’
Maurice smiled. ‘I agree with you completely. However, I do question what possessed someone to come up with such a construction.’
‘It is mostly down to taste whether cubism appeals to you or not. For some it is incomprehensible, whilst for others it is beautiful and inspiring.’
Maurice lowered his voice. ‘The blueprints that have been taken are also simply a mixture of shapes and lines, just like a Picasso painting. However, they are intentionally esoteric. That is, they require a “key” to unlock the information and truly understand what they mean. This key takes the form of a set of codes possessed only by Monsieur Chaumert. These are not stored within a vault somewhere but in a far more secure fortress – his head. Nonetheless, those we are facing will stop at nothing to get what they want. I think that has already become painfully clear.’
‘Where is Monsieur Chaumert?’
Upon being offered Amanda took a puff of Maurice’s cigar and hand
ed it back to him.
‘He is in Brussels at the moment. Julien is with him, of course.’
‘Should we go to Brussels?’ Jeremy asked.
‘No. You are to remain here. Monsieur Chaumert intends to come to Paris in a few days’ time. He will meet with you then.’
‘I would like to visit the Paris SVHQ while I am here.’ Amanda added.
‘I will take you,’ said Jeremy.
‘Great. That’s everything, I think. I will see you then.’
Maurice handed Amanda the remainder of his cigar, which she promptly finished, depositing the stub in what she assumed was a rubbish bin.
Jeremy smiled sardonically. ‘You have just deposited the remnants of that cigar in a prize-winning exhibit. I think we had better leave.’
Maurice shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, in a way that only Frenchmen can, and they dispersed in different directions.
On the way out Amanda paused to peruse a mildly interesting mini-exhibition on Islamic women’s identities. Personally she viewed the hijab as a symbol of male oppression. However, she was a firm believer in personal liberty and many women claimed that it was their personal choice to wear it. The exhibition had even more potency in France, as there had long been a struggle between France’s vehemently secular policies and the migrants who settled there.
After their eventful escapade the previous evening, it was agreed that a night out enjoying Paris was in order. Jeremy and Amanda’s rendezvous was the stylish bar at the Hôtel Plaza Athenée on the Avenue Montaigne, a favourite among the fashionistas. Jeremy arrived first, wearing a suitably French cashmere roll-neck jumper in dark blue. Amanda was in a short, Chanel black-and-white sixties style mini-dress, paired with a string of cultured pearls and short black gloves. She had put her hair up to reveal a simple pair of pearl stud earrings, with the added benefit of elongating the appearance of her neck, enhancing her femininity. Her legs were bare and she wore a small black pair of heels on her feet.
Amanda: Tales of an international female spy Page 10
