No Shelter (18 page)

Philippe and Reed sit off in the corner conferencing about something. I stand with Nova on the other side of the room.
 

I whisper to him, “Do you buy his theory that the flash drive is really that secure?”
 

“I don’t see why not.”
 

“Then why are we here, Nova? Why would someone want to buy the code if they can’t even use it?”
 

He stands there, rubbing his fingers over the stubble on his chin. Finally he shrugs and says, “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”
 

I wander into the bedroom with the tables and computers. I sort through the surveillance photos, the reports. Everything is written in French. Daily reports on Delano’s residence, on Alayna Gramont’s movements.
 

I sit down at one of the computers and pull up Google. I put in Roland Delano’s name. Over one hundred thousand hits come up. One site gives his background: a man born in Egypt but raised in America, a rich man who gave huge amounts of money to charities. Another site paints a darker picture: the arms dealer, the ties to known terrorists, the murderer.
 

Many of the sites refer to his death in Las Vegas. A mob hit, one site claims, while another points the finger at competing arms dealers.
 

I bring up the website for
Le Monde
, one of Paris’s top newspapers. I search Delano’s name. The names that are associated I scribble down on a notepad beside me.
 

I try the same thing at another Paris newspaper site, then another. I keep scribbling down names. Out of the handful I have listed, only one sticks out.
 

I start searching that name. Looking at the sites that come up. Reading over the information posted.
 

At one point I yawn and rub my eyes. I look at the time in the corner of the screen and am surprised to see that two hours have passed.
 

I stand up, stretch, tilt my neck back and forth. My entire body aches.
 

I go out into the rest of the apartment and find only Philippe. He sits in a chair with a book opened on his lap. He has reading glasses on, and when he looks up at me he shifts the glasses down on his nose so he can look over the rims.
 

“I’m on watch,” he says. “Reed and Nova went in to sleep.”
 

“I found out his name.”
 

“Whose?”
 

“Xerxes.”
 

Philippe curls his lip, shakes his head. “That’s not even his real name.”
 

“No, it’s not. But that’s what he calls himself and what the rest of the world knows him as.”
 

“You look tired.”
 

“I know why he had your parents killed.”
 

“Go in and try to sleep for a few hours.”
 

“Your mother was a witness. She was going to testify.”
 

“Please, I don’t want to talk about this.”
 

“Of course Xerxes couldn’t have your mom testify, so he had her and your dad killed. Made it look like a random drive-by shooting, like they were just collateral damage. It was too obvious and the police took him in for questioning. But they had no evidence on him, nothing to charge him with. They had no choice but to let him go.”
 

Philippe slams his book shut. His hands are trembling. His face is red. Glaring up at me, he says, “That’s right. The man is untouchable.”
 

“Nobody’s untouchable.”
 

“Why do you care anyway?”
 

“I’m just curious.”
 

Philippe continues to glare back at me. A long moment passes. Finally he takes a breath, shakes his head, and opens his book.
 

I leave him and slip into the bedroom with the cots. Both Nova and Reed are asleep, their snoring loud. Fucking great.
 

I lie down anyway. I stare at the ceiling. I try not to think about anything. I try to clear my mind. But somehow Karen slips into that empty void.
 

And then I’m asleep and dreaming and back in Iraq. Karen has already killed herself. I’m left with what she told me. I’ve already talked to my father. I’ve made my decision. And then I’m waiting in the porta potty, just waiting, and when I open the door I suddenly stop because it’s not the monster I am expecting.
 

No, this is a completely different monster.
 

My father smiles and says, Surprise.
 

34

“
She’s on the move.
”
 

These are the very first words I’ve heard Boris speak, and as they come across the radio his heavy Russian accent is unmistakable.
 

Next is Philippe’s voice: “
Reed, do you have a visual?
”
 

“
Affirmative.
”
 

Nova is with Reed in a car parked two blocks down from Delano’s mansion. Boris is still on the top of the building across the street. I’m nowhere close but still I can visualize it in my mind: Boris peering over the roof with binoculars, keeping Alayna Gramont and her entourage of guards in sight as they get into a car. The car will be something flashy, just like the mansion, if not a limo than maybe a Bentley. Once she is inside the car with her guards, they will be on the move. It’s eleven-thirty and the buy is supposed to be in a half hour. Reed and Nova will follow in their car for at least three or four blocks, depending on Gramont’s direction, then they will pass it off to either Philippe or Boylan and myself.
 

Boris: “
They’re getting into a black Mercedes SUV.
”
 

Damn, I was somewhat close.
 

Boylan hasn’t spoken the entire hour we’ve been in the car. Just like his counterpart, he has broad shoulders and a strong face. In fact, they could be brothers if it wasn’t for Boylan’s reddish hair and green eyes.
 

Reed’s voice comes through the radio: “
They’ve just turned onto Boulevard de Grenelle, headed southeast.
”
 

“
Keep on them,
” Philippe says. “
Boylan, get ready.
”
 

Philippe is positioned ten blocks to the north, while we’re positioned ten blocks to the south. At Philippe’s word Boylan starts the engine, glances once over his shoulder, and shoots us out into traffic.
 

Philippe: “
Reed, status.
”
 

“
They’re taking their time, definitely in no hurry. Right now we’re turning onto Boulevard Pasteur.
”
 

“
Boylan?
”
 

“Almost there,” Boylan says beside me. His hands are tight around the steering wheel as he maneuvers us around a slower moving vehicle. Buildings and parked cars and pedestrians whip past us. I want to tell him to slow down but this isn’t my show; Nova and I are along for the ride, here just in case additional backup is needed.
 

Speeding past a hospital, Boylan says, “We’re coming up on the corner of Rue de Vaugirard and Boulevard Pasteur. Reed, your location?”
 

“
Still headed down Pasteur. The target appears to be turning left onto Vaugirard.
”
 

“When?”
 

“
Less than ten seconds.
”
 

Thankfully the light changes at the intersection and we’re forced to stop. As people cross in front of us we watch the cars turning left onto Vaugirard. We both make the black Mercedes SUV as it turns. Philippe and Nova continue down Pasteur. I see Nova in the passenger seat, making a furtive glance our way.
 

Reed: “
They’re all yours.
”
 

“Copy,” Boylan says, and once the light changes he presses down on the gas and we shoot through the intersection.
 

The SUV hasn’t gotten far in the time the light cost us. We catch up to it within seconds, then follow as it makes the turn onto Avenue du Maine.
 

Philippe: “
Boylan, your location?
”
 

“Headed south down du Maine.”
 

“
Copy that.
”
 

Right now Philippe is speeding through the city, headed in our direction. Reed and Nova have fallen back but are keeping pace a block or two away.
 

After a couple blocks Philippe has managed to catch up and he takes over the tail as we turn off. Philippe follows them the entire way down the Boulevard Saint-Jacques until they come to Place d’Italie.
 

“
Shit,
” Philippe mutters in all of our earpieces.
 

Place d’Italie is a traffic circle that interconnects eight streets. At least this is what Boylan quickly tells me.
 

Philippe: “
The SUV’s stopping.
”
 

By now our car and Reed and Nova’s car have converged on the location. We’re just within a block.
 

Philippe: “
Gramont is exiting the vehicle with two bodyguards. They’re headed toward the fountain.
”
 

Beside me, Boylan murmurs a curse. He shakes his head. When I give him a questioning look, he says, “They’re hiding in plain sight.”
 

35

Alayna Gramont stands with her back to the fountain, watching traffic. She wears one of her smart pantsuits today, something that probably costs half a year’s rent for me. Her blond hair is pulled up in a French braid, which I think is a little too cliché. Because it’s almost noon and it’s clear and sunny, she wears designer sunglasses, probably worth more than my car.
 

Beside her are two of her guards, both dressed in suits, both wearing shades. Even though I can’t see weapons on them, I know they’re packing.
 

Alayna stands completely straight with her hands clasped in front of her. She holds onto a briefcase. In that briefcase, presumably, is the code.
 

I’m positioned on the southern end of the circle, Nova on the northern end. Reed dropped him off just as Boylan dropped me off. After all, we couldn’t keep circling around the fountain until the buyer made his move. So here we are, each at separate spots, and trying our best to blend in with the rest of the people walking the streets.
 

Only it’s hard to blend in when you’re stationary.
 

Because Alayna might be on the look out for me, I’m wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses.
 

Philippe’s voice sounds in my earpiece: “
Anything yet?
”
 

Nova responds. “
Nothing.
”
 

That’s right. For fifteen minutes now nothing has happened. She’s just been standing there, holding that briefcase, watching the traffic. If she was the target and all that was needed was her assassination, the job would already be done. Leaving herself out in the open like this, completely vulnerable, all someone would need to do is drive around the circle, lean out, place two in her head. Or take a position on one of the rooftops with a sniper rifle.
 

But Alayna knows she’s in no danger. The target is not her life, but rather the code she has inside the briefcase.
 

Another five minutes pass and still nothing. Philippe and Reed and Boylan have all parked somewhere close, or are circling around a nearby block. If something goes down, they’ll be here in less than thirty seconds. Which, when you think about it, is an eternity.
 

Nova clears his throat: “
I’ve got movement.
”
 

I step closer, squint my eyes. From my position a few trees by the fountain are in my way. But yes, I can see someone approaching Alayna Gramont and her pair of guards. Someone small, someone that looks like ...
 

“It’s a kid,” I say.
 

Philippe: “
Repeat?
”
 

Nova: “
Holly’s right. A boy, no older than ten, is approaching the target.
”
 

The kid is dressed in baggy jeans and an extra large T-shirt that drapes down to his knees. He has on a red baseball cap that’s tilted toward the side. He looks like a punk, like a poser, and it makes no sense why he’s approaching Alayna now, or why Alayna turns to him and slowly nods.
 

The two guards haven’t moved at all. They watch the boy who stands only a couple feet away, saying something.
 

Philippe: “
What’s happening?
”
 

Nova: “
The target and the boy are talking.
”
 

“
Repeat?
”
 

“
It looks like they’re having a fucking conversation.
”
 

The boy turns away slightly, jerks his thumb at something over his shoulder. Alayna nods. She speaks. She steps closer, extends her hand, and fuck me if the boy doesn’t take it and they shake like they’re finishing a business transaction. Then all of a sudden the briefcase is in the boy’s possession and he’s turning away and walking quickly toward the metro entrance.
 

“
The briefcase has switched hands,
” Nova says. “
I repeat: the briefcase has switched hands.
”
 

Alayna Gramont and her two guards have turned away. They now walk to the edge of the circle, where the black Mercedes SUV suddenly pulls up. One of the guards opens the back door. Alayna disappears inside. Then the two guards climb in and the door is closed and the SUV screeches away.