I had to stop Burns. “Ron, what are you trying to say? Just tell me. I’m either in this thing—all the way—or I’m all the way out.”
“He gave us ninety-six hours. Then he promised a doomsday scenario.
“He changed some of the target cities. It’s still Washington and London, but also Tel Aviv and Paris. He won’t explain the change. He wants four billion dollars, and he wants the political prisoners released. He won’t explain a goddamn thing to us.”
“That’s all?” I said. “Four doomed cities? A few billion in ransom? Free some murderers?”
Burns shook his head. “No, that’s not all. He’s given everything to the press this time. There’s going to be panic around the world. But especially in the four cities: London, Paris, Tel Aviv, and here in Washington. He’s gone public.”
Chapter 73
ON SUNDAY MORNING, after breakfast with Nana, I left for Paris. Ron Burns wanted me in France. End of discussion.
Exhausted and probably depressed, I slept for a good part of the flight. Then I read a lot of CIA files about a KGB agent who had lived in Paris eleven years ago and might have worked with Thomas Weir. That agent supposedly was the Wolf. And something had happened. A “mistake.” A big one, apparently.
I’m not sure what kind of reception I was expecting from the French, especially given the recent history between our countries, but things went fairly smoothly once I arrived. In fact, it seemed to me that the command center in Paris worked better than the similar command centers I’d seen in London and Washington. The reason for this was clear immediately.
The infrastructure in Paris was simpler, the organization much smaller. One official told me, “It’s easy to share here, because the file you need is next door or right down the hall.”
I received a quick briefing, then was thrown into a high-level meeting. A general in the army looked at me and addressed me in English. “Dr. Cross, to be honest with you, we haven’t ruled out the possibility that this violence is part of the jihad, that is to say, Islamic terrorist attacks. Please believe me, they are clever enough to dream up something bizarre like this. They are duplicitous enough to have even dreamed up the Wolf. This would explain the demand to release the hostages, would it not?”
I didn’t say a word. How could I? Al Qaeda? Behind everything so far? Behind the Wolf? That was what the French believed? That was why I was there?
“As you know, our two countries don’t share the same perspective on the connection between the Islamic terror networks and the current situation in the Middle East. We believe that the jihad isn’t actually a war against Western values. It is a complex reaction against the leaders of Muslim nations who haven’t adopted radical Islam.”
“And yet the four main targets of radical Islam are the United States, Israel, France, England,” I spoke from my seat. “And the current targets of the so-called Wolf? Washington, Tel Aviv, Paris, London.”
“Please keep an open mind on the matter. In addition, you should know that former KGB officers were involved and very influential with Saddam Hussein in Iraq. As I say, keep an open mind.”
I nodded. “I have an open mind. But I have to tell you, I’ve seen no evidence that Islamic terrorists are behind this threat. I’ve dealt with the Wolf before. Believe me, he doesn’t embrace the values of Islam. He isn’t a religious man.”
Chapter 74
THAT NIGHT I had dinner by myself in Paris. Actually, I walked around just to see the situation in the city firsthand. There were heavily armed French soldiers everywhere. Tanks and jeeps in the streets. Not too many people out walking. Worried looks on the faces of those who ventured out for whatever reason.
I ate at one of the few places open for business, Les Olivades on avenue de Ségur. The restaurant and clientele were extremely laid-back, which was what I needed, given the jet lag and confusion, not to mention the state of the siege in Paris.
After the meal I walked some more, thinking about the Wolf and also Thomas Weir. The Wolf murdered Weir on purpose, didn’t he? He’s targeted Paris for a reason, too. Why? What is his thing with bridges? A possible clue for us? Are bridges symbolic for him? What is the symbolism?
It was sad and strange to walk around Paris, knowing that a deadly attack could come at any time. I was there to find some way to stop it—but honestly, no one knew where to start; no one had turned up one clue as to the identity of the Wolf or where he might be staying, not even a country. The Wolf had lived there, eleven years ago. Something bad had happened. What was it?
That section of Paris was gorgeous, broad avenues and wide sidewalks cutting a swath between the well-kept stone buildings. Wavering trails of a few car lights streamed up and down the avenues. People leaving Paris? And then—when we would least expect it—boom! Kiss your ass good-bye.
The scary thing was that a really bad end seemed almost inevitable. And not just another bridge this time.
That’s how well he had us set up. He was in full control—but we had to turn that around somehow.
When I got back to my hotel, I called the kids. It was six at night in Maryland; their aunt Tia would just be getting dinner ready, the kids complaining they were too busy to help. Jannie answered the phone, “Bonsoir, Monsieur Cross.” Was she psychic?
Then Jannie launched into half a dozen questions she’d been saving up for me. In the meantime, Damon had picked up the extension. Both of them began to rattle off questions. I think they wanted to lessen the tension all of us were feeling.
Had I visited Notre Dame Cathedral? Did I meet the Hunchback (ha, ha)? Did I see the famous gargoyles, like the one they remembered who was eating another one?
“I didn’t have time to climb the towers to the Gallery of Fabulous Beasts today. I’m working here.” I got in a couple of sentences.
“We know that, Dad,” Jannie said. “We’re just trying to keep everything light. We miss you,” she whispered.
“Miss you, Dad,” Damon said.