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LEINE EXITED THE train on the outskirts of Paris, in a neighborhood of run-down warehouses and worn block apartments. Meant to be modern accommodations, the crumbling facades and graffiti-covered buildings only served to accentuate the neglected feel of the community. This was the other Paris, the one tourists rarely experienced.
And home to the thriving business of her contact, Henri.
Henri was the man who could find anything an operative could want. Need a machine gun or a tank? How about an attack helicopter or a vial of undetectable poison? Depending on the item, it would cost, but Henri was the person to know. Operating on the fringes of one of the most visited European cities, he flourished in the shadows. Word of mouth was the only advertising required.
There was just one catch.
Henri had been known to play both sides against each other unless a gratuity was involved, and his loyalty wasn’t cheap. As a result, only those organizations and individuals with money to burn were able to effectively use his services. This limited his clientele to wealthy nation-states, well-funded terrorist groups, the occasional drug cartel, and billionaires hell-bent on ruling his or her tiny piece of the world.
Leine no longer operated under the auspices of the old, well-funded agency she’d once worked for—and hadn’t for several years—the news of which would have certainly reached him and his cronies. Whether he’d welcome her presence or treat her with suspicion remained to be seen.
She turned down a side street, avoiding a urine-soaked mattress shoved up against a chain link fence, and headed toward a nondescript gray metal door attached to an equally nondescript three-story block building. A Sprinter van and a small compact sedan were parked next to each other in an adjacent lot.
The security camera blinked at her from the same place as before, although the actual device was a newer, more high-tech generation of surveillance equipment. She stood directly in its path, allowing her features to be electronically mapped and recognized. There was a brief lag before a sharp snick and the lock disengaged. Leine opened the door and entered the building.
The hallway before her hadn’t changed in the decade-plus since she’d been there last. Although sterile-clean, the butter-yellow and white walls were as dull as ever, uninterrupted by art or visual stimulation of any sort—although the hairline cracks in the battleship gray concrete floor were new. Three cage lights stood sentry at equal intervals along the corridor, illuminating the visitor’s path and nothing more. It was oddly comforting to know that although countries’ loyalties and alignments changed with the wind, and technology raced ahead to be the world’s next god, Henri didn’t feel the need to change his décor.
She followed the hall to the end where it took a sharp turn to the right, leading to a four-inch-thick steel blast door. The wonders that lay beyond were indeed worth protecting, and he wasn’t one to skimp on security. In addition to the blast door, another security camera light blinked above her, recording her every move. A digital security interface had been embedded into the wall on her right.
She touched the green button on the interface panel and waited.
“Your name, please,” a feminine voice said in French.
“Leine Basso. Open the goddamned door, Henri.”
There was a pause before a series of loud clicks echoed through the narrow hallway as the locks disengaged and the massive steel door swung open.
Henri stood at the entrance with his arms flung wide and a salacious grin on his meaty, bearded face.
“If it isn’t my favorite assassin who has come for a long-awaited visit. This is truly a joyous occasion!”
They kissed cheeks and Leine allowed him to wrap her in a massive bear hug.
“This calls for champagne. Valerie!” Henri waved at a young woman standing next to an ancient wooden desk on the other side of the cavernous warehouse. An expensive laptop and several machine gun components graced the desk’s surface. “Champagne!”
Valerie nodded and disappeared through a doorway into the back room. Leine surveyed the arms dealer’s workshop, noting the myriad guns, knives, and explosives on display in clear Lucite cubicles, each with its own spotlight. It was a far cry from his early days, when he’d kept everything in wooden crates that had to be pried open before viewing. She assumed he maintained the bolt hole accessible through the supply room in case of an assault on the shop.
Henri took a step back and held her at arm’s length, his gray eyes twinkling. Charming as ever, he looked much as he had when she first met him years ago, if not for the twenty extra pounds and the thatch of gray hair on his head and shot through his beard.
“To what do I owe this immense pleasure? I am delighted that you have graced us with your presence. Are you reviving The Leopard?” he asked sotto voce, using the nickname she earned as an elite assassin.
She smiled. “Not exactly.”
His eyebrows shot up, nearly disappearing into his widow’s peak. “Then you are no longer working for Scott Henderson? I thought after that business with the Russians that you and he were back on speaking terms.”
“I see your sources are as thorough as ever.” The only way Henri could have known of General Tsarev’s ambitious plan to pit the United States against the Russian Federation and her role in the operation to stop him was if he still had contacts in the upper echelons of one or both governments.
Henri chuckled, affecting a humble mien. “You are kind to say this. I am but an old man with very little influence in the world today.” He shrugged a Gallic shoulder and sighed dramatically.
“I think we both know better than that.”
Henri beamed at the compliment as he led her deeper into the well-planned, spotlessly clean space. There was one thing about Henri—he was meticulous with his inventory and his shop.
“I’m curious as to why you are here, if not as part of an operation for the agency.”
“I’m here on my own, Henri.”
He arched an expressive eyebrow. “Oh?” He brought her to a small conversation area defined by an expensive-looking Persian rug, flanked by a comfortable couch, two wingback chairs, and a gold leaf metal and glass coffee table. Two large potted palms framed the couch. “Please, sit.”
Leine chose one of the wingback chairs and sat down. Valerie reappeared, carrying a tray with three crystal champagne flutes and a bottle of Henri’s own champagne made by a well-known vintner rumored to have fallen into arrears with the weapons supplier. She set the tray on the coffee table and had a seat on the couch while Henri poured. He handed each woman a glass and held his high.
“To beautiful and deadly women,” he intoned, bowing first to Leine and then to Valerie.
Leine studied the young woman as she sipped her wine. Fine-featured with delicate bones, Valerie had the bored confidence instilled in Frenchwomen from birth. But there was something else—something deeper that intrigued her. Valerie raised her glass and returned her gaze with an enigmatic smile. Leine did the same and returned her attention to Henri, who had been studying them both with a calculating gleam in his eye.
“You two haven’t been formally introduced. Leine Basso, may I present Valerie Swain, assassin-in-training.” He swept his arm wide and bowed his head.
“Ah. So that’s it,” Leine said. “I thought there was something different about you.”
Henri grinned. “Two of a kind, no? You recognize a fellow traveler, shall we say?” He sat in the other wingback chair and took a sip of his champagne. “Are you in Paris long? Perhaps you could share some of your expertise with this lovely student of the dark arts.”
Leine shook her head. “I’m afraid this isn’t a good time, although I’d be happy to return once I’ve completed my assignment.”
Valerie’s gaze held Leine’s for a moment. “I would be most appreciative.”
“Does this assignment have anything to do with the attack on Notre Dame?” Henri asked.
“That’s a possibility,” Leine replied. “Although I wouldn’t bet the farm on it.”
Henri guffawed. “You and your quaint American sayings. So.” He leaned forward and rubbed his hands together. “What can I do for The Leopard today?”
“No one has called me that in years, Henri.”
He shrugged again. “So I am an anachronism. I prefer to use your moniker from the glorious days of old. There’s a certain respect in that, I think.”
Leine nodded, acknowledging the compliment. “I am here for two reasons. The first of which is information.”
“You have led with the most priceless of requests. Information is jealously guarded here.” He wagged his finger at her in mock seriousness. “You should have begun with reason number two, which I assume is weaponry?”
Leine laughed. “Astute as always. I do need a few small items, if you can spare them.”
Henri matched her smile and spread his hands wide, indicating the wares decorating the Lucite displays. “Anything I have is yours. For a price,” he added.
“Not a problem. I will transfer the money into your account as soon as we conclude business.”
“I should tell you that Lou Stokes called not ten minutes before your arrival, urging me to disregard your request should you find your way to my establishment.”
“Really.” Dammit, Lou. Stop butting in where you’re not wanted. “And what did you tell him?”
“That I would take his concerns under advisement.” He gave her a conspiratorial grin. “I must keep my options open, must I not? SHEN business has been lucrative in the past, and he and I have a long history.”
“Of course.” She eyed him, wondering if he’d report back to Lou after she left. She decided it wouldn’t matter if he did. She was working freelance, this time. She hadn’t signed anything with SHEN that precluded her working on her own.
“Before you give Valerie your order, I’d like you to try out a few of my newest acquisitions.” He rose and held out his hand. Leine stood and followed him to the other end of the warehouse where he led her through a red door with white lettering that read Firing Range – Enter at your own risk.
Inside the room was a small but comprehensive firing range, complete with a target retrieval system. He gave her ear and eye protection and showed her the weapons. She chose a compact submachine gun, or SMG, that was new on the market.
“I noticed you had one of these out in the showroom.”
“Ah, yes. Good for close quarters.” Henri handed her the gun and she fired it several times, trying different ranges. It performed well, but was too compact for her liking, and no suppressor was available yet. Then she tried a newer, Russian-made SMG with a suppressor attached. Response was good, but again, Leine preferred to work with familiar equipment.
She handed the SMG back to him and removed her protective gear. “Nice. But I think I’ll stick to my usual.”
They walked back into the showroom, and Leine noticed that one of the compact SMGs was on display, fully loaded, in one of the cubicles. Back in the day, Henri had kept several loaded weapons in his showroom ready to fire in case someone tried to rob him. Apparently he still did.
Leine told him what weapons she required and Valerie jotted them down on her phone, which she took with her into the back room. Henri freshened their glasses and leaned back in his chair.
“Now for the interesting part.”
“You mean the expensive part, don’t you?” Leine asked.
“That depends on your requirements.”
“You asked if my assignment involved the bombing of the cathedral. It does. Will that be a problem?”
Henri’s eyes darkened and he slowly shook his head. “No. As a matter of fact I was hoping you would say this. I assume you are searching for the vile dogs that defaced Our Lady?”
“In effect, yes.”
Henri nodded. “Then this will be on the house as you Americans say.”
“You won’t report this conversation to our mutual friend?”
“Of course not. As I said, I had hoped this was your assignment. There is just one thing.”
Leine groaned inwardly. She knew his acquiescence was too good to be true. “What would that be?”
Valerie returned, pushing a cart containing the hardware Leine had specified. Henri placed his champagne glass on the coffee table and stood.
“Valerie is coming with you.”