Private Paris (Private 10)

The major’s brain replayed savored bits of past trips into the chaos of battle, and he felt his body warm. The radio traffic only fed his excitement. There were reports of armed men in the streets around the housing project, and snipers.

In Sauvage’s mind, the sniping was more than enough provocation to retaliate with force, regardless of whether someone was hit or not. He trembled with an addict’s anticipation then, knowing for certain that he was on the verge of slipping into the familiar insanity and lethal bliss of la pagaille.

Chapter 104

La Forêt, northeastern suburbs of Paris

April 13, 12:44 a.m.

NINE SEEDY TOTALITARIAN-STYLE high-rise buildings made up La Forêt housing project. Four sat to the left of a central access road, and five to the right. The project bordered a crescent-shaped wetland. If you made a straight line through the Bondy Forest, it was less than six miles from Les Bosquets.

Some of those AK-47s have got to be here, Sauvage thought as the Sherpa rolled to a stop two blocks from the eastern edge of the project. How many? Five or six at least. But perhaps as many as ten or fifteen were taken out of Les Bosquets, and then smuggled through the woods.

Mfune’s voice came over the headset. “Convoy jammers in position.”

The jammers were state-of-the-art Argos designed to interrupt all cellular and walkie-talkie traffic within five hundred yards. With three of the Argos in place, the housing project was a dead zone, which is how Sauvage wanted it.

“Turn them on,” the major said. “Shift all comm to C.”

“Yes, sir.”

The headset went dead. The major ducked down into the Sherpa, looked at the gunner sergeant, and said, “You’ll mobilize here as part of the perimeter.”

“Here, sir?” the sergeant said.

Sauvage nodded. “You’re to stop and search anyone seen fleeing that project. If they have weapons of any kind, arrest and restrain them.”

The sergeant pursed his lips and got out, shutting the door behind him.

“Change to C frequency, Corporal Perry,” Sauvage said.

The driver looked uneasy. “Protocol says B under these—”

“Perry, are you being insubordinate?”

“No sir!”

“Then do as I say,” Sauvage snapped. “Intelligence indicates that AB-16 may be monitoring police and military frequencies.”

He knew nothing of the sort, but it worked. His driver typed in the new frequency on the Sherpa’s in-dash computer.

“Well done, Corporal,” Sauvage said. “Going topside.”

The major crawled up through the port again and got his boots solidly in the stirrups below before triggering his mic.

“Captain Mfune?”

“Roger.”

“Put two-man teams on every corner two blocks back from the target,” he ordered. “You stay mobile on that perimeter. Catch the cats as they run.”

“You’re playing rat tonight?”

“Affirmative,” Sauvage said.

There was a pause, and then, “Good luck, Major.”

“Roger that,” he replied. “Corporal Perry?”