Private Paris (Private 10)

“That nosy old bitch?” he replied with a chuckle, and even opened the outer door for them.

They moved to a stairwell where they could not be seen from outside. Sauvage slid forward to take the complete weight of the rug.

Captain Mfune split off and started down the stairs. The major began to climb. He encountered no one, and reached the fifth floor quickly.

At the top of the stairwell, Sauvage peered through the window in the door and down the hall. A woman and two children were walking the other way. The major waited until the trio had entered an apartment at the far end of the hall before opening the stairwell door and hurrying forward, noticing once again how loud and disjointed life was inside places like this. At best it was controlled chaos, which helped his chances a great deal.

Sauvage stopped in front of a dinged and scratched metal apartment door with the remnants of yellow crime tape on the hinges. He set the rug down and got out a key that Haja had stolen from the landlord when she had come through the week before, acting like a new refugee in need of shelter.

Haja had said a woman and her mother had been knifed inside the apartment two months before, and no one wanted to rent it. Haja also said that when he opened the apartment door, he’d get immediate attention. Sure enough, the second he threw the dead bolt, he heard a door over his left shoulder open.

Sauvage turned his head enough for nosy Madame Lao to see the beard, the eyebrows, and the hair before he pushed the door open and pulled the rug in after him. The door closed, and he locked it, sniffing at the lingering odor of powerful disinfectants. Leaving the lights off, he dragged the rug through the vacant apartment over to a window that faced the boulevard.

The major unwrapped the black-and-white checked scarf from around his neck and shoulders, revealing a headset with a jawbone microphone. Putting it on, he flipped the tiny power switch and said, “In.”

“Same,” Mfune whispered.

“Same,” Epée said.

Chapter 66

SAUVAGE GOT OUT the burn phone, highlighted the only three numbers in its memory, and pressed text. A blank box appeared, and the major felt his pulse quicken. His words had to be well chosen now.

He thumbed in: If you condemn the Barbes arrests, back us up tonight.

Sauvage hit send and waited.

A few seconds later, much faster than he’d expected, a reply came back from one of the phone numbers.

—Who is this?

Your ally, Sauvage typed.

—Who is this?

That question had come from one of the other numbers. Sauvage again texted all three: See crate contents of blue work van opposite Bosquets on Clichy-sous-Bois. Take enough to defend yourselves. Distribute rest to other believers.

—Who is this?

The third phone number had checked in. They were all waiting. He gave it twenty seconds, then replied: The Prophet’s warhorse.

Sauvage did not wait for a reply. He took off the back of the phone, pulled the battery and SIM card, and broke the unit in two. The pieces went in the baggy pocket of his coverall for later disposal.

The major stood in the shadows by the window, watching. Given his recon background, he was a patient, disciplined man. He would have stood there all night not moving a muscle if the job required it.

But it didn’t take more than ten minutes for the first two to emerge out of the bowels of the project. Both were male, under twenty-five, and dressed in loose drab green cotton pants and tunics. One looked African. The other was clearly of Arab descent.

They crossed the street and circled the van warily. The African peered in through the passenger window. He had to have seen the keys, had to have realized that the door was unlocked. But instead of going around to the driver’s side and getting in, he went to the back doors.

After a moment’s discussion with his partner, he opened them, and the Arab climbed inside. The African shut the doors and stood there. His partner wasn’t in the van more than a minute. When he jumped out, he was lit up, agitated. Both men got out cell phones and began pushing buttons.

Three other men came out of the project. They were in their late teens, early twenties: a Vietnamese, another African with beefy shoulders, and a big, big guy who looked French Polynesian to Sauvage.

They went straight to the rear of the van, and an argument began among the five men. There was some pushing and shoving by the Polynesian, and shouting among all of them when a third group appeared: two men this time, and both far better dressed than the others. This duo joined the fray for several tense moments before the first African guy began to play peacemaker.

He gestured at the van. He gestured at Les Bosquets. There seemed to be enough agreement with his argument that he was allowed to get in. He started the vehicle. With the six other men following closely on foot, he drove the van slowly across the boulevard and into the housing project, where Sauvage could no longer see it.

No matter, the major thought, and pressed the transmit button on the headset. He whispered, “We have a take.”