SDAT Computer Lab: two days later, early morning
“The flytrap is ready,” Bellard said, standing at the door to the SDAT Salle Informatique on the second floor. He had just entered the lab.
“You’ve inspected it?” Maggie asked. She wore her young prosperous Arab look again—alligator loafers, black leggings, newer patent leather jacket. In her bag she had a pair of Nike sneakers. She and Elizabeth Stotz, flown in the previous day from California to stand in for Dara on phone calls to Kafka, sat side-by-side at workstations. Assisting them was an SDAT tech, a big man in a crewcut and a snug uniform who was nosily working a keyboard, surrounded by stacks of electronic equipment. The room was rushing with air conditioners doing battle against spinning hard drives and numerous electronic heat sources. Flashing lights added to the mayhem.
Equipe Abraqa—Team Abraqa—led by Bellard, had spent the previous day setting up the sting, preparing officers, lining up resources, going over procedures. Maggie had Dara’s phone on the work surface, hooked up to computers, along with a set of headphones around her neck, a pair of earbuds and adapter. The tech had pulled up a Kurdish soap opera on YouTube on one of his machines. The video was paused, ready to simulate Aunt Amina’s apartment.
Elizabeth sat at her own laptop, her long legs wrapped in paisley toreador pants. A yellow notepad full of Arabic scribbles lay in front of her. John Rae leaned against a worksurface, arms crossed in his pigskin jacket.
“Of course I checked out the flytrap,” Bellard said. They were speaking English so everyone could participate. Bellard buttoned up his suit jacket against the manmade chill. “There’s plenty of litter.” Litter was staged personal effects to make a location seem genuine—photographs, belongings. “Everything is in order. Have no fear.”
“Where exactly is this flytrap?” Maggie asked.
“Montmartre.”
“Yes, but where?”
“Rue des Martyrs,” Bellard said. “Near La Cigalle. Not too far from le Musée de l'érotisme.” He grinned, hands in the pockets of his light blue slacks.
A small jolt of alarm caught Maggie. She typed the street name into a browser and pulled up Google maps.
“Dara’s aunt lives off Boulevard Barbès,” she said.
“Not bad at such short notice, eh?” Bellard was obviously pleased with himself.
Maggie eyed the map. “It’s half a kilometer away. Too far.” Not the way they would have done it.
Bellard rattled change in his pocket. “Did you not say that Kafka doesn’t know the exact location of Aunt Amina’s apartment?”
“He’s implied that. And I’ve been through Dara’s texts and saw no record of her telling him. But Kafka is tracking Dara, so he might have gotten a pretty good idea where Aunt Amina lives. He’s checked out Dara’s hospital room, called Incognito, so he’s no dummy. He could be testing us. I don’t want him smelling a rat.”
Bellard seemed to think that over, then pulled his cell phone, dialed a number. He instructed someone in French that they needed a new flytrap set up, ASAP, on Boulevard Barbès. That someone ranted on the other end for a good twenty seconds before Bellard hung up, his face turning red.
“I don’t speak French but that sure sounded like a big fat ‘no’ on any new flytrap,” John Rae said.
Bellard grimaced. “They can have it ready by tomorrow.” He focused on Maggie: “But Dara is due out of the hospital today.”
“Correct.”
“If Kafka calls, can we stall him? Tell him it’s taking time to be discharged? Drag it out another day?”
“We’ve already pushed Kafka as far as we can,” Maggie said. “Any further delay might well scare him right off.”
“D’accord,” Bellard said. “Get hold of Dara’s aunt. We’ll just have to use her apartment for Kafka’s capture.”
Ninety-seven percent of her said Kafka was a genuine defector. But who were those suicide bombers who attacked the café? The fact that Kafka hadn’t run said he probably didn’t know either. If he was in on the potential bombing, he’d be gone. But she didn’t know anything for sure. “I don’t want Aunt Amina in harm’s way.”
John Rae agreed. Elizabeth worked on her notes, staying out of the discussion.
Bellard made a stone face. “I have a duty to capture Kafka.”
“You have a duty to protect citizens, too,” Maggie said.
“Do not tell me what my duty as a Frenchman is,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “And this Amina is just another illegal immigrant anyway.”
Maggie’s ire rose. “And that makes it all right to put her in danger?” She was getting edgy. There had been too many interruptions and change of plans.
John Rae jumped in. “This is how I see it, guys, Maggie calls Amina, gives her the heads-up so that if Kafka makes contact today, we’ll plan to grab him out front of Aunt Amina’s. If there’s a delay we use the new flytrap tomorrow.”
“We also have to account for the fact that Kafka picks a different location,” Maggie said. “He might not want to meet at her apartment. I wouldn’t. I’d want to meet somewhere else. In public.”
“I thought you and Kafka have built a level of trust,” Bellard said to Maggie.
“Yes. But we still have to be prepared for multiple scenarios.” It was basic procedure. But she didn’t say so.
“Where is Kafka?” Bellard asked.
Maggie shrugged. It was making her nervous that she hadn’t heard from him yet.
“I suggest we call.”
“No,” Maggie said. “Kafka calls us.”
Bellard’s eyes hardened.
John Rae saw the interaction, said to Bellard: “If Kafka thinks he’s calling the shots, he’s more likely to buy into the sting.”
“Very well.” Bellard put his hands in his pockets. “But it means drawing up a new arrest plan.”
They spent the next hour in front of a dry erase board. Amina would be moved out of her apartment. Officers would be posted inside, as well as outside, to wait for Kafka. Bellard made phone calls, putting the resources into play.
Maggie, John Rae and Bellard would monitor the capture from a van. If Maggie had to meet Kafka in person, she could do that, staying in touch via Rino phone and a wireless throat mic. Elizabeth would join them in the van.
It was coming together.
“All we need now,” Maggie said, “is for our guest of honor to call.”
Bellard checked his watch, rubbed his hands together.
“Anybody got a deck of cards?” John Rae asked.
Hours later, the lab was littered with half-filled plastic coffee cups, paper towels, and half-eaten vending machine sandwiches. No one was hungry. John Rae was telling Elizabeth a joke about a penguin.
It was 2:44 PM when Dara’s phone blipped with an incoming text.
Everybody froze.