There was more security at Charles de Gaulle Airport than Marina remembered seeing. Everywhere she looked, there were police in blue berets. There were soldiers in fatigues, too, patrolling in pairs with intimidatingly large firearms.
“What do you think is going on?” Marina whispered to Grant as they waited in line to have their carry-on luggage scanned. “This place looks like a military base.”
Grant shrugged. “I find it reassuring. At least they take security seriously.”
Marina nodded, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. There was a tension in the air that crackled like electricity.
“This line hasn’t moved in ten minutes.” Marina nodded at the queue ahead of them. She went up onto her tiptoes, trying to determine the source of the holdup.
“You need to relax.” Grant put his hand on her shoulder and dug his thumb into a pressure point. “You’re tired. I’m sorry this flight is so late. It’s the best I could do.”
Marina groaned. “Oh my God. That feels so good.”
“I had us scheduled for a couples massage at the hotel tomorrow. But since we’re missing it, I had Rachel book us one in the city instead. I thought it might be nice for you after the flight.”
Marina narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion. “What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me?”
“I’m serious. There has to be a catch. You’re handsome and smart and funny and possibly the most thoughtful man on earth. There has to be a catch.”
Grant chuckled. “I have plenty of flaws.”
“Name one.”
“I’m a very hairy person.”
“I think that’s cute. You’re like a pet.”
“I eat a pint of ice cream basically every night.”
“Also cute.”
“I work too much.”
“Preaching to the choir.”
“I should work out more.”
Marina shook her head. “Guys that work out all the time are boring. You’re in great shape. Perfect. Best butt I’ve ever seen.”
“You should have seen it when I was in the navy.”
“I did. Once. I asked you out. Remember?”
“Go.” Grant patted her on the behind. “The line is moving. You’re up.”
Marina patted him back and winked. She felt lighter now. Happy, even. Grant had that effect on her. She slipped her bag off her shoulder and put it onto the scanner’s conveyor belt.
Grant’s bag came through the scanner first. Marina watched as he slipped on his shoes, put his laptop back into the bag. The couple behind them retrieved their belongings, too, and headed toward their gate. Marina frowned. The line was moving efficiently now, but there was no sign of her bag.
“Excusez-moi,” she called out to the guard behind the scanner. “Ou est mon sac?”
“I’m sure it will just be a minute,” Grant said, putting his arm around her waist.
Marina ignored him. She stepped closer to the scanner. “J’ai besoin mon sac,” she said, louder this time.
Marina felt a tap on her shoulder. A stern-looking police officer stood behind her. “Madam,” he said, flashing a Police Nationale badge, “please come with me.”
Grant stepped forward. “What is the problem here?”
The officer looked directly at Marina. “You need to come with me.”
Marina took a deep breath. People around them were staring. “It’s all right,” she said to Grant. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“I’m going with you,” Grant said.
“If you like,” the officer replied.
Grant took Marina’s hand. Wordlessly, they followed the officer through a discreet white door. He gestured to a bench. “You may wait here,” he said to Grant. To Marina, he said, “Follow me, please.”
Grant squeezed Marina’s hand three times: I love you.
She squeezed back twice: So much.
“Don’t worry,” she said to him.
“Our flight starts boarding in forty minutes,” Grant said, more to the officer than to Marina. Marina smiled at him, trying to appear calm. As she followed the officer into a small room, she ran through all the possible scenarios in her head. It could be a mix-up of some kind, or perhaps she had been randomly selected for some additional security screening. Maybe she had mistakenly put something in her carry-on that alarmed security. A nail clipper. An aerosol can.
The more alarming possibility was that this had to do with the USB. Marina tried to remember exactly what her contact had told her to say. The password was russell1. The USB contained personal information. Photos. Nothing work related.
“Please have a seat,” the officer said, gesturing at the small table with metal chairs. “Someone will be in shortly.” With that, he left the room. Marina sat in a chair and crossed her hands in front of her on the table. Overhead, a clock ticked away the seconds. Thirty-seven minutes until boarding, Marina thought. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to relax.
“Bonsoir, Ms. Tourneau.” Marina’s eyes popped open. A slight man in wire-rimmed glasses and an ill-fitting blazer entered the room. He carried a notebook under one arm, and in his hand, he held her carry-on bag. He placed it on the table between them and extended his hand. “Antoine Fournier. Police Nationale.”
Marina stood and smiled as she shook his hand.
“I’m sure you are wondering why you are here.”
“Yes.”
“Ms. Tourneau, what was the purpose of your trip here to Paris?”
“I’m celebrating my engagement.”
“No work?”
“No.”
“When was the last time, Ms. Tourneau, that you spoke to Duncan Sander?”
“He called me a few days ago, but we spoke only for a few minutes.”
“About what?”
“He wanted to wish me a good trip.”
“You didn’t speak about work?”
“No. I’m on vacation. And Duncan is on a sabbatical.”
“You’re aware, of course, that Mr. Sander was murdered shortly after that call.”
“Yes. That’s why I’m returning home. For the funeral. Are you investigating Mr. Sander’s murder?”
“No, madam. He’s an American citizen. However, we have reason to believe that Mr. Sander was planning a trip to Geneva and may have been trying to illegally obtain information from inside a Swiss bank.”
Marina frowned. “That doesn’t make sense to me. Duncan wasn’t working. As I said, he was on sabbatical.”
“People work on sabbaticals, Ms. Tourneau.”
“Maybe. I don’t understand what this has to do with me. Or you, for that matter.”
“It involves the theft of confidential information from French citizens. So it does concern me.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. I haven’t spoken to Duncan about work in weeks.”
“Did you meet anyone while you were in Paris, Ms. Tourneau?”
“We had dinner with a college friend of my fiancé.”
“No one else?”
“No.”
“Did anyone leave anything at your hotel or ask you to bring anything back to Mr. Sander?”
“No. I’d say you could search my bag, but I imagine you already have.”
Fournier smiled and wrote something down in his notebook.
“Did you purchase anything while in Paris?”
“I took some photographs. And I bought my mother an Hermès scarf.” Marina glanced at the clock. “My flight will be boarding soon.”
“I’m aware.” Fournier didn’t glance up from his notebook. Marina watched him write. She realized he had produced no identification. She wondered who he was and who he worked for. Duncan, what did you get yourself into? she thought, as she shifted nervously in her seat.
“All right, Ms. Tourneau. Thank you for your assistance. I just have one last question.”
“All right.”
“Did Mr. Sander ever speak to you about Swiss United Bank?”
“Not that I can recall.”
“You don’t believe he was working on a story at present?”
“That’s two questions.”
Fournier smiled again.
“No, I don’t,” she said. “To be frank with you, Duncan had a drinking problem. It had become quite severe. He was on medical leave from the magazine. I truly do not believe that Duncan had either the time or the capacity to be working.”
Fournier nodded. He rose to his feet. Marina did the same.
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Tourneau,” he said, extending his hand.
“My pleasure. May I take my bag?”
“Yes, of course.” Marina picked up her carry-on and slung it over her shoulder. She couldn’t help but notice that the zipper was fully closed. It had not been when she placed it on the X-ray machine’s conveyor belt. As discreetly as she could, she opened the bag and slipped her hand inside. She felt around for the inner pocket, which held the USB. When her fingers closed around it, she breathed a small sigh of relief.
Outside, Grant was pacing nervously in the hallway. “There you are,” he said, when Marina emerged. “I was starting to worry.”
“No need.” Marina forced a smile. Inside, her heart was racing. “Sorry to hold us up.”
“We’re good. We’ll make it.”
As they hurried toward the gate, Marina reached for Grant’s hand.
“What did they want?” he asked.
“I don’t really know. I think it was just a mix-up.”
“That’s odd.”
“It was, a little.”
At the gate, boarding had not yet begun. In fact, there were no airline personnel behind the desk. Marina looked around, surveying the scene. A large crowd was standing around a television in the corner.
“What’s going on?” Marina whispered to Grant. “This doesn’t feel right.”
“There’s a terrorist attack at Stade de France,” a woman beside them said. “Suicide bombers, they’re saying. At a football match. President Hollande is there.”
“Oh my God,” Annabel whispered. “Is anyone hurt?”
“They don’t know yet.” The woman nodded at the television. “They’re reporting live.”
“That explains the security,” Grant said. He put his arm around Marina and pulled her close.
Marina nodded, unable to speak. She couldn’t take her eyes off the screen. It was too small and too far away for her to make out much, except for smoke and what looked like people fleeing in all directions.
“What a world we live in,” Grant said quietly, shaking his head.
“Horrible.” Marina leaned her head against Grant. To the right, she noticed a group of soldiers in fatigues circling the perimeter of the gate. Though she now understood why they were there, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her own interrogation had nothing to do with the terrorist attack. Hers was not a random screening Antoine Fournier, whomever he was, had been waiting for her. He suspected, correctly so, that she was trying to leave the country with highly valuable information. Either he had not thought to check her USB, or he had and was unable to uncover the hidden data. Marina suspected it was the latter. If he had been able to, she would still be in the small white room with the metal chairs. It was possible they would be handcuffing her and telling her to contact a lawyer. The thought of it caused her body to shiver in fear. Grant felt it and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed the top of her head.
“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”
“I know,” Marina answered. She was lying, of course. Grant couldn’t protect her now. Maybe no one could. If Antoine Fournier had found her this quickly, there would be others. And they would be more forceful in their interrogation than he had been.