Private Paris (Private 10)

“Merde,” I said.

“Gone?” Michele asked as she came into the room.

“Probably for good,” I said.

I took a step and raised the bedroom window shade, throwing light across the wood floor. By the discoloration, I could tell that there’d been a rug there by the bed, and by the scratches, a chair and table of some sort up against the wall.

I mentioned it, and Michele said, “Drafting table.”

I pushed up the sash, looked out the bedroom window, and saw that the apartment below had a window box with churned earth and freshly planted flowers. Something small and golden that I couldn’t make out sparkled in the dirt.

But I was more interested in the Dumpster in the alley directly below the window. People who leave places for good throw away their trash and whatever else they don’t want before they move. I squinted. Was that a piece of a cell phone down there?

Intending to go back to the alley, I wandered into the bathroom, finding it also stripped except for a short stack of newspapers on a shelf by the toilet.

The papers were months old. Two were classified sections with circled ads for what Michele said were flea markets and junkyards. The other three were folded and featured partially done crossword puzzles. There were doodles of stars and geometric designs around the puzzles of the first two sections.

But there were no stars or boxes around the third puzzle. Above it, however, there was a crude doodle in black felt pen that didn’t make sense. But when I turned it upside down, Michele’s breath caught in her throat.

“It’s a study of a horse’s leg,” she said. “And look at the way it’s drawn. That’s the leg and rear haunch, positioned much as the statue of Al-Buraq was.”

I immediately took a picture of the sketch and sent it to Louis Langlois and Investigateur Hoskins, along with a text that read, “Drawing of Al-Buraq’s leg,” and the address.

I hit send, and we heard the dead bolt thrown.

Then the front door swung open.

Chapter 96

FOR ME, EVERYTHING became simple then. Whoever was coming into the apartment was part of AB-16, and given the group’s actions until now, I had to assume they were armed, dangerous, and ready to kill, which meant I needed to be just as ready and just as deadly.

Setting the newspaper and horse drawing aside on the vanity, I motioned to Michele to stay quiet and not move. Then I slipped to the transom and listened to footsteps that entered, and stopped. The front door shut.

I took a peek and saw a big woman, short blond hair, dressed in hipster black. She had one of the bucket lids in her hands.

Which meant if she had a gun, she couldn’t go for it easily. It was my opportunity, and I acted, stepping out into the hallway in a combat crouch, the Glock braced in two hands. We were no more than twenty-five feet apart.

I couldn’t remember how to say “Get down on the floor,” so I yelled, “Asseyez-vous!”

Sit down!

She jumped in alarm, twisted toward me in panic. I yelled at her again. But instead of going to the ground, she whipped the plastic bucket lid at me like a big Frisbee. She must have had mad disc skills because the lid came whizzing at me with surprising snap and accuracy. I had to bat it out of the air, which gave her the chance to flee.

“Damn it,” I said, and raced after her down the passage.

I should have slowed down, taken my time. Instead, I barreled into the choked living area like a stampeding bull. The blonde darted down the entry hall at the same time I caught motion to my left and was immediately hit with a spray of short sharp bits of metal.

Most of the shrapnel caught me on the right side of my face, and only reflexes prevented a piece from blinding me. It cut into my eyelid and blurred my vision. I lunged right, trying to get out of range so I could turn and shoot.

But when I tried, I tripped against one of the big buckets. By the time I regained my balance and was fighting for a sight picture, it was too late.

Haja Hamid had me dead to rights.

Crouched behind several stacks of magazines that covered her chest, she was aiming a pistol with a sound suppressor at me.

I froze.

And she tapped the trigger.