CANNES, FRANCE

Arianna’s emotions were all over the place after learning Zach had used his influence to make sure she only received low risk assignments. She appreciated his concern for her safety. She really did. Considering some of the men she’d dated in the past, it felt good to be with a man who exuded such care for her well-being. But…she had chosen a profession which had the potential to put her in danger. She didn’t seek danger, but she accepted the risk as part of the job, and there was no way she was going to let Zach stop her from doing what she loved.

At the morning briefing following the bomb attack, a man stepped to the microphone and greeted the waiting reporters, Arianna, Kevin, and Raul among them.

“Good morning, everyone, I’m Captain Marcel Simon, and I’ll be conducting this morning’s press conference. First of all, I need to ask for your help.” He held up a picture of a Middle Eastern man. “This man’s name is Raja Baz. He is a known terrorist, and we believe he is here in France. We need to get this picture out to the public. Hopefully someone will recognize him and come forward with information concerning his whereabouts.”

“What’s his connection to this case?” a reporter yelled out.

“Both Malik Shahab and his wife, Amira, were in contact with him within the last two weeks. We think there may be a connection. Baz is an expert at bomb-making, and he may have assisted Shahab in building the bomb used in this case.”

Cameras clicked away as reporters sought to get a picture of Baz to post on their news sources.

“Now, I also have an update on the bomber’s wife,” the captain continued. “Iraqi-born Amira Shahab entered France a year ago on a Schengen visa, good for only ninety days. She obviously didn’t leave when her visa was up, and she recently applied for a Carte de Séjour. This permanent resident card is necessary in order for her to acquire work, though there is no record of her holding a job.”

“Was she on any government watch list?” a reporter asked. “Why wasn’t she deported for overstaying her visa?”

“Two good questions,” Simon replied. “Neither she nor her husband was on any terrorist watch list, but it is believed they may have been radicalized before coming to France. We have Facebook posts where they appeared to be supporters of the ISIS leader Ali Darzi and were in contact with other terrorist groups in the Middle East.

“We’ve been to their apartment and have seized two AR15 style rifles, many rounds of ammo, and a large arsenal of explosive devices made from radio-controlled toys. Bomb-making material was found through-out the apartment. We saw significant evidence of extensive planning.”

“What about the wife? She must have seen all this,” Arianna said. “Is she going to be charged?”

“In order to charge the wife, we have to show she had knowledge of the crime,” Officer Simon said. “Mrs. Shahab gave conflicting accounts about what she knew of her husband’s intentions in the hours before the attack.”

“Are you telling us you don’t think she had any prior knowledge or suspicion that her husband was planning an attack? I find that hard to believe. There was bomb-making material everywhere. Wha—”

“No. No, I’m not saying that,” Simon said, cutting a reporter off. “All I can say is that we’re looking into it. This is an ongoing investigation, and if we can prove she had prior knowledge of his intent, we’ll act accordingly. Thank you very much, everyone. That’s all I have for now.” With that, he left the podium.

“Where is Amira now?” Arianna yelled as the officer stepped away.

“We’re not sure,” Simon yelled back over his shoulder. “We had no reason to hold her, so she’s out there somewhere. Thank you.” He walked out the door to a chorus of reporters shouting more questions at him.

“Wow! Unbelievable.” Arianna snapped her notebook shut and put it back in her bag.

“This chick is as guilty as her husband, but they’re just going to let her walk free.”

“So the man said.” Kevin led the way out of the building. “Guess that wraps it up for us.”

The threesome walked down the street, and everyone crammed into their rented Peugeot, with Kevin at the wheel. “Where to?” he asked.

“Let’s swing by Shahab’s apartment. I’d like to snoop around and see what I can find. Talk to some neighbors. Maybe they’ve seen this Baz guy. You did get a shot of him with your cell phone, didn’t you?”

“Got it.” Kevin waved his phone at her.

“Arianna,” Raul said from the backseat, “you need to be careful about getting too mixed up with these characters. These are some really bad actors.”

Arianna turned and looked at him. “Hey, love. I know you work for Zach, but are you going to try to stop me from investigating this story?”

“Honest answer?”

She nodded. “Of course. I need to know just how far you’ll go to stop me from covering this story.”

“All I can say is, it depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you seem to be in imminent danger. If your life’s at risk, I’m going to pull you out of the situation and shut the whole thing down.”

“Raul, I love you so much. You’ve kept me safe so many times. But remember, your job is to protect me. Not to stop me from doing my job. Please keep that in mind.”

Raul stared at her for a moment. “Understood. I promise to keep you safe.”

Arianna wasn’t sure if that meant he’d completely stay out of her way and let her follow this story, or if it meant he’d shut the whole thing down at the first sign of trouble. Only time would tell, but for now she had a plan and wanted to get going on it.

“Let’s see,” she said, pulling her notebook out of her bag. Leafing through the pages, she located the address of the Shahab’s apartment. Kevin keyed it into the GPS, and they were on their way.

Once on the bomber’s street, Kevin slowed to a snail’s pace as they checked the numbers on the buildings. “I think it’s in the next block.” Kevin pointed up ahead.

“Sounds right.” Arianna looked up the street where he was pointing. “Wait a minute. Hold up, Kevin. Pull over to the side.”

Kevin tapped the brakes and eased over to the curb. “What’s wrong?”

“Look. Who’s that person coming out of the apartment? It looks like Shahab’s wife, Amira.”

“No way. Oh, but hold on.” Kevin slowly edged the car forward to get a better look. “You know. You might be right. So what do you want to do?”

“Well, I’d like to talk to her. It’d make a great interview.” She started to get out when another car passed them and pulled up in front of the apartment. Amira ran forward, threw a suitcase into the backseat, got in the car, and they sped off.

Arianna popped back into the car and slammed the door. “Hurry, Kevin. Follow that car. She’s packed her bag, and she’s skipping town. Let’s see where she goes.”

Kevin followed the fleeing car, trying to stay back, so it wasn’t obvious he was on their tail. “What are you going to do when we catch them? You can’t just walk up to her and say, ‘Hey, I’ve been following you because I know you’re trying to skip town. I’m a reporter. Would you mind telling me where you’re going?’ Can’t see that working too well, little sis.”

“Very funny. I’ll figure what to say when I see where she’s going. Maybe I won’t ask her anything. Maybe I’ll just report this to the police. That would make a good headline. ‘Reporter stops bomber’s wife from fleeing the country.’ I can see it all now on the front page of major newspapers.”

“Country? You think she’s fleeing the country, not just the city?” Kevin asked as he continued following the car.

“I have no idea where she’s going, but Cannes is on the coast. If they keep going in this direction they’re going to run right into the Mediterranean.”

As if on cue, Amira’s car turned into a marina where boats of all shapes and sizes were moored. With the Cannes Film Festival in full swing, the docks were full of multi-million dollar yachts, the festival lodging for the rich and famous.

Amira’s car stopped at the entrance to a long pier.

“Pull over here,” Arianna said. “I’m going to go see if she’ll talk to me. Stay in the car. It looks like she’s going to make a run for it. Call the police. I’ll try to stall her.”

Raul started to get out.

“No, please,” Arianna said. “Stay back. You’ll really spook her if you go with me.”

“Not a chance. We go together or you don’t go.”

“Okaay, then,” she sighed, “but let’s move. She’s out of her car and half way down the boardwalk already.”

They walked briskly down the pier, following the bomber’s wife. Arianna didn’t want to run and totally freak the lady out, but she had to move fast enough to catch her before she boarded a speed boat waiting at the end of the dock.

“Amira! Madame Shahab,” Arianna yelled, and waved after her. “A moment, sil vous plait.”

The wife stopped at the edge of the dock and turned to look at Arianna. A man got off the boat, took her suitcase, and set it on board just as Arianna caught up to the group.

“Please, just a quick question,” Arianna said, as she panted to catch her breath. “Do you speak English?”

“A little. Who are you and what do you want?”

Up close, the woman looked hardened and had a permanent sneer on her face. And it wasn’t until Arianna got a good look at the man with Amira that she realized, it was Raja Baz, the terrorist in the police photo.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up. This was turning out to be more of a risky situation than she had anticipated. Tamping down her growing fear, she said, “I’m a reporter with CNS news, USA. I’d like to ask you a couple questions, please. Your husband…I’m sorry about your husband’s passing. Can we talk a minute?”

Amira turned and said something to Baz standing beside her. She spoke in Arabic so Arianna had no idea what she said, but Raul’s eyes popped wide open and in a flash she saw him reach for his weapon. Before he could get the gun out of his holster, a shot rang out, and Raul fell to the deck with a thud.

“Run, Arianna,” he yelled on his way down, but before she could take another step, Baz grabbed hold of her and threw her into the boat. She hit her head on something hard. A searing pain ran down her spine, then everything went black. Baz and Amira jumped in beside her, and the boat immediately took off, heading out to sea.

“Holy shit!” Kevin yelled, watching from the car. He jumped out and punched in 9-1-1 on his phone as fast as he could. He took off running down the pier. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Help, someone. We have a man down and a lady’s been kidnapped.”

The emergency operator picked up just as he reached Raul’s lifeless body. “Help. Emergency. At the marina, uh…uh…” He didn’t speak French, so he didn’t know how to tell the operator what happened or where he was. A man who witnessed everything jumped off his boat and took the phone. In perfect French, he gave the operator the address and told them to send the police and an ambulance at once.

Kevin bent over Raul’s bloody body. Raul had taken a bullet to the chest and was bleeding out fast. Kevin did what he thought was the proper thing to do to stop the bleeding, but he saw the life slowly draining out of his friend.

It was only moments before the first police arrived, and an EMS arrived right behind them. The paramedics quickly began to work on Raul to stop the bleeding. At the same time, they started an IV, hoisted him on a gurney, and rushed him to the waiting ambulance.

“Officer. Officer,” Kevin cried, so frantic he could hardly talk. “They kidnapped my partner. Out there.” He pointed out toward the open waters. “Arianna Garrett, a reporter for CNS news. That cabin cruiser in the distance. You have to get someone out there to stop them.”

“Okay. Okay, settle down. I’ll notify the coast guard, but if they get into international waters, there’s nothing we can do.”

“No. No, oh please no. You have to do something.” Kevin broke down in tears and fell to his knees, sobbing. “You have to stop them.”

“We’re doing what we can. Did you get a good look at the kidnappers?”

Kevin slowly nodded. “Shahab. Amira Shahab, the bomber’s wife and Raja Baz, the terrorist you’re looking for.”

This news jolted the officer and though he tried to hide his reaction, a look of extreme concern covered his face.

“Why?” Kevin wailed. “Why would they kidnap her?”

“Ransom,” the policeman replied. “News reporters are prime targets because they bring a big ransom. News outlets have deep pockets. Only problem is, no one pays ransom these days. They’ll hide her away in some unknown location where rescue is impossible.” He shook his head in sad resignation. “So sorry. I’m afraid your friend’s in serious trouble.”