“We have to go. Now.” My fingers flew over the keyboard on my cell. If Chariss wouldn’t take my calls, maybe she’d read my text. Please, God, let her read my text. UR in danger. GET AWAY from Sacre-Couer. I thought for a moment and added, PLEASE.
Meanwhile, Thor opened drawers and pulled out clips of ammunition. “We’re going to Sacré-Couer?”
“You can’t go there.” Jake’s face was a study in stubborn.
“What do you mean I can’t?” Who made him boss? “Of course I can. I have to.”
Jake crossed his arms and blocked the doorway to the hall. “Fortier will have this handled.”
“Fortier will have his hands full. There’s just been an explosion at the busiest train station in Europe. Thirty minutes from now something awful will happen at Pompidou. And, even if he didn’t have two catastrophes to deal with, he wouldn’t look out for Chariss.” I glanced at my phone again. “We don’t have much time.” An hour. We had an hour.
“There are people all over Paris who deserved to be saved.” Jake’s voice was too calm, too reasoned—it set my teeth on edge.
“I’m not arguing your point.” I totally was. “But she’s my mother.”
“You don’t even like your mother.”
That stopped me—for about five seconds. “That might be true. But I do love her. Besides, things have been better lately. There’s no way Chariss and I can fix our relationship if she’s dead.” I slipped the Glock and the clips Thor held out to me into my handbag. “Are you coming?”
“You can’t do this!”
“Dammit, Jake.” Did he really think me so incapable? “You can’t talk me out of this. So, are you coming or not?”
“This is insane. Do you even have a plan?”
“The plan is to save my mother. Are you coming?”
Jake pressed his fingertips to his forehead as if I’d asked a difficult question like how algebra worked or the meaning of life. He shifted his gaze to Thor. “You’re going along with this?”
“What would you do if it was your mother?”
Jake scowled. “I should have known you’d be on board with whatever she wanted.”
What was that supposed to mean?
Jake’s face darkened. “She’s got you wrapped so tightly around her finger, you can barely breathe.”
Thor simply stared. “You can’t keep treating her like a porcelain doll. She took out a terrorist with a pen. She’s tough enough to handle an op.”
“She got lucky.”
“I’m standing right here.” My speaking reminded Jake he was scowling at the wrong person.
He turned his scowl my way. “You could be killed.”
“Chariss could be killed.”
Jake, whose face had turned a deep shade of red, shifted his scowl back to Thor. “Could you give us a minute?”
Thor looked at me and raised a single brow.
I answered him with a small nod.
Jake stepped away from the entrance, allowing Thor to leave. “You can’t do this. I can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Watch you throw yourself in harm’s way. You’re not cut out for this.”
Every second Jake spent telling me how I wasn’t capable of making a difference or saving my mother was a second off the clock.
“You know how I feel about you,” he continued. “I need you to be safe.” He reached out his hand as if he meant to brush his fingers against my cheek.
I stepped backward.
This wasn’t about his feelings. It was about Chariss.
I raised my index finger and poked him in the chest. Hard. “Either you believe in me, or you don’t. Either way, I have to go. Now.” I pushed past him.
“Please, Poppy.” His voice was filled with pain. “Don’t.”
I stopped. I even turned. “Has it occurred to you we could stop whatever Badawi has planned at Sacré-Couer?”
“The National Police should handle this. It’s their problem. Not ours.”
“Maybe not yours,” I ceded. “But my mother is there. It is totally my problem.” I left him standing in the doorway.
Thor waited for me outside the front door. He’d commandeered a Peugeot.
I climbed into the passenger seat.
“Jake’s not coming?”
My shoulders tightened. “I guess not. Let’s go.”
We were on Avenue Charles de Gaulle in less than a minute. Thor wove expertly through traffic as we raced back to the city. “What’s the fastest way to Montmartre?”
“The Boulevard Périphérique.” The parkway that circled Paris would definitely be the fastest route.
“Got it. Would you check your phone? See if there are any updates?”
I opened Twitter. “They’re saying it was a train that exploded.” I scrolled. “And authorities aren’t letting anyone onto the Périph. We’ll have to cut through the city.”
“Got it.” He raced past the access road and sped toward the Arc de Triomphe.
Only the bravest foreigners will attempt a drive around the star at the Arc de Triomphe. Cars merged and honked and switched lanes without a passing thought to other motorists.
That we ended up on Avenue de Wagram without a collision counted as a win. That we were actually headed north counted as a miracle.
“After that, terrorists should be easy.” Thor’s fingers were clenched around the steering wheel in a death grip and there was a tic near his eye. “Where do I go from here?”
I pulled up directions on my phone. “Take a right up ahead.” We turned onto Boulevard des Batignolles.
He glanced at me. “Your leaning forward won’t make the car go any faster.”
“Sorry.” I sat back. “We don’t have much time.”
“Where do I go next?”
I pointed. “Get on Boulevard de Clichy.”
The closer we got to Montmartre, the more congested the streets became. I rolled down the window. “Do you hear any sirens?”
“No. Why?”
“If they were evacuating around Sacré-Couer, we’d hear sirens.”
“What time is it?”
I looked at my cell. “1:35.”
“Check on Pompidou.”
I opened Twitter and read. The phone slipped through my fingers and fell to my lap.
“What?”
I crossed my arms over my stomach. “Multiple shooters have opened fire. The attack is happening now.”
Thor’s jaw firmed and he punched the gas pedal. “Someone is tweeting about it live?”
“He’s telling his family he loves them.” My eyes filled with tears and my hands fumbled for my phone. In thirty minutes, something terrible would happen at Les Deux Magots. In less than an hour, terror would visit Sacré-Couer.
The roads were filling up as frightened Parisians took to the streets. Thor was forced to turn multiple times just to keep us moving forward. Finally, the streets became so congested he pulled over. “It would be faster on foot.”
“Fine.” My hand was already on the door handle.
To our right was Le Clos Montmartre, Paris’s only vineyard.
“Road’s closed.” Thor pointed to an armed gendarme. Rue des Saules was not an option.
At least the policeman’s presence was a hopeful sign.
I grabbed Thor’s arm and pulled. We ran up Rue Saint-Vincent. “We can cut through here.”
Narrow steps were cut between the vineyard and the Jardin Sauvage.
“Where are we?” asked Thor as the foliage from a horse chestnut trees whapped him in the face.
“That’s the Jardin Sauvage. It was a fallow field until nature reclaimed it. Paris made it a park. We’re coming up behind the Musée Montmartre.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I know Paris.”
“The Musée de what?”
“De Montmartre. Renoir used one of the houses as a studio. It’s a museum now.”
Thor muttered something about the number of museums in Paris. His voice was barely audible above the sound of gravel crunching beneath our shoes and the beating of my heart in my ears.
“What time is it?”
He glanced at his watch. “We’re okay.”
We had time. It was my new mantra. We had time. We had time. We had time.
But not much. I climbed faster. The stairs led to the museum’s gardens. We skirted the first building, scurried across the lawn with its circular reflecting pool and artfully scattered patio furniture, dashed through the gate into a grassy courtyard, and emerged onto Rue Cortet.
The street was narrow and cobbled and eerily empty.
“That way.” I pointed to the left. “We’re almost there. We’ll come out behind Sacré-Couer.”
We ran through Montmartre’s narrow cobbled streets, past a creperie with a red door, past stores selling cheap souvenirs—postcards, T-shirts, and squares of polyester pretending to be silk twill scarves. We flew past a near-empty bistro, a gallery selling appallingly bad art, and an Irish pub. And there it was. The back of Sacré-Couer.
Our heels rang against the cobblestones of Rue de Cardinal Guibert. We still had time.
A broad pedestrian plaza stretched in front of the basilica.
I slowed, caught my breath, scanned the crowded plaza. It shouldn’t have been so easy to reach Sacré-Couer. Where were Jean Fortier’s men?
There were cameras, cameramen, and Chariss’s director, a nervous man who existed on coffee and cigarettes. He was raking his fingers through his hair and barking at his staff. There were tourists. There were extras. There was litter. Empty Evian bottles, plastic sacks, and cigarette butts. There was a group of schoolchildren holding hands. There were even a few police officers.
There was no Chariss.
I scanned the crowd more carefully.
“What time is it?”
“We have ten minutes.”
There! There she was. How had I missed her? Her bright yellow rain slicker with green stripes was like a beacon. She stood at the top of the stairs, gazing out at Paris spread beneath her.
“Chariss!” I called.
She didn’t respond. Didn’t even move.
Perhaps she hadn’t heard me. Perhaps the conversation she was having with the man standing next to her claimed all her attention.
I hurried toward them.
The man turned and glanced back at the basilica.
I froze. “It’s one of them.”
“Who?” Thor demanded.
“The guy who’s standing next to Chariss. He was with Badawi in Sevran.” I recognized his heavy brows, the crook of his nose, and the gap between his front teeth.
“He makes six.”
“Six?”
“Six bad guys.”
We could take six. “You’re sure that’s all?”
“Six I can see. There could be more.”
“Why doesn’t Jean have more police here?”
Thor looked down at the city below us and frowned. “He’s keeping people away. If you had limited resources and knew the targets, which one would you try and save?”
“The Eiffel Tower.” My answer was immediate. But what about all the people who were here at Sacré-Couer? They were minutes away from disaster. “We have to stop Badawi’s men.”
“How?”
I shrugged, at a loss. “I’m open to ideas.”
“We take them out before they attack.”
“How sure are you that there are only six? Where are they?”
“Dotted around.”
“And you’re positive the men you’ve spotted are bad guys?” I didn’t want to shoot an innocent man.
Thor grimaced. “A hundred percent positive?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sure about the guy with your mother and the guy at the gate to the steps of the basilica.”
“You’re only sure about two?”
“If you want one hundred percent positive, yes. The rest are just likely.”
“Where are the other four?”
“Mixed in with the crowds.” Thor glanced back at the basilica. “You take the guy by the gate. I’ll save your mom.”
“What? Why?” I should save Chariss.
“He’ll recognize you.”
Thor was right.
I exhaled.
“Go now.” He pointed me toward the basilica.
“Fine.” I turned.
“Poppy.”
“What?”
“Be careful.”
“You, too.” There were a thousand words I could have added. Instead, I walked across the plaza.
I put on my best harmless-as-a-kitten expression, opened my handbag, and peered inside. Not that there was much inside. Wallet. Makeup bag. Gun.
With my head bent, I approached the man by the gate. Unlike the rest of the people milling around, all of whom wore light raincoats, he had on a parka.
Maybe that was why he was sweating.
As I watched, he unzipped his coat enough for me to catch sight of a vest. A suicide vest. The heavy parka hid death.
My feet tripped over a cobblestone and I barely kept myself from falling.
I could shoot him now—from a safe distance—but I might cause a panic and the other members of the six might trip the explosives on their vests.
Why hadn’t Jean evacuated the site?
I gathered my courage and stumbled toward the man on the stairs, cutting off the teacher leading her students toward the basilica. “They’re in danger,” I whispered. “Get them out of here.”
The teacher looked at me, her eyes wide.
“Take them to the Musée Montmartre. You should be safe there.”
She didn’t move.
“Gare du Nord has been attacked. And Pompidou. Sacré-Couer is next.”
Her cheeks paled, but she turned to the children and said, “Par ici.” She led them past the entrance and toward the side of the basilica.
Now I just had to stop an attack. I bumbled my way to within a few feet of the gate. “Excusez-moi, monsieur.” I smiled up at the man.
He looked at me with young eyes. He couldn’t be twenty years old and he was willing to die.
I was close enough to see the peach fuzz on his round cheeks. Close enough that if he detonated his vest I’d be vaporized. I widened my smile. “Quelle heure est-il?” What time is it?
He looked down at his watch.
Now or never. I swung my arm across my body, then cut my hand toward his head. The outer heel of my palm connected with his temple.
He collapsed.
I caught him and lowered him to the steps.
The man was out cold. I unzipped his coat and gazed at the vest. I had no earthly clue how to defuse the thing. Quickly, I rezipped his coat, and looked over to the spot where Badawi’s man had stood with Chariss.
Thor’s body sprawled across the cobblestones.
A spike in adrenaline robbed my mouth of moisture and turned my hands to icicles.
I ran. The slick soles of my ballet flats sliding on the stones.
“Mark!” I fell to my knees next to him.
“Knife.” His voice was faint.
That’s when I saw a handle protruding from his gut.
“Don’t take it out.”
“I won’t. Where’s Chariss?”
He turned his head slightly and I followed his gaze.
Badawi’s man had dragged Chariss down the stairs to the street below. He was pulling her toward a waiting car.
I reached into my purse and pulled out the Glock.
It had been too long since I’d been to a range. I couldn’t shoot at him—I might hit Chariss.
But with each passing second, he pulled her closer to the car. I closed my eyes and imagined the televised beheading of an American movie star.
Bile rose in my throat.
I shifted my aim to the right and shot out one of the car’s tires.
Somewhere near me a woman screamed.
I kept my gaze on Chariss. Right up until an explosion knocked me flat.
I lay on the damp cobblestones for a moment, almost afraid to move, to learn which parts of me wouldn’t respond to my brain’s signals.
I flexed my toes. I tightened my fingers around the gun. Surely fingers and toes working were a good sign. I pushed up onto my hands and knees and glanced back at Sacré-Couer.
One of Badawi’s men had detonated his vest.
There were people on the cobblestones. People moaning. People screaming. People not moving.
I covered my mouth with my free hand.
“Poppy!”
I looked up at Jake.
“Are you hurt?” Jake’s usually golden aura had turned crimson with rage.
“No.” I shook my head. “How did you get here so fast?”
“I had Fortier let me onto the Périph.”
“I didn’t think you were coming.”
“I’m sorry.”
“There are more terrorists.”
“We’ve got three. Someone knocked out the guy closest to the basilica.”
“That was me.”
He winced. “Figures.”
“Mark is hurt.”
“Ambulances are on their way.”
“Is there a surgeon at the embassy?”
“Yes.”
“Take him there.”
“What? Where are you going?”
I shifted my gaze to the street below. “I’m going after Chariss.”