“La Ferme,” Dieter repeated as he sipped an espresso the pouty waitress had thumped down on the mirrored table before she shuffled off, wiggling a derriere Bad Allah couldn’t seem to stop watching. “The Farm—a DGSE black site SDAT uses from time to time.”
DGSE—Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure—was France’s external security.
“Black site?” Maggie asked. Little Annie Fannie had left the stage amidst hoots and hollers. There was a welcome moment of silence before the next exotic dancer was to begin. She waited by the stage, straightening her fishnets.
Dieter was retired from BVT—Bundesamt für Verfassungsschutz und Terrorismusbekämpfung—the Austrian antiterrorism branch. He set his cup down neatly on its saucer. “Meaning: La Ferme doesn’t exist—not officially. But a few people know about it. People like you.” He gave Maggie an inquisitive look, as if wondering how she did know.
Maggie realized how good her father’s information was. “I don’t know anything beyond the name,” she said, sipping her drink. “And the fact that they’re taking someone there I would dearly like to talk to.”
“This Kafka?” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“Indeed.” Dieter was another one John Rae obviously trusted enough to share information with.
“Can I ask how you even know about La Ferme?” Dieter said. Bad and JR were following along, although Bad was keeping one eye on the girls.
Maggie shook her head. “Just that it comes from a very reliable source.”
“I see,” Dieter said. “Well, back in the day, before I retired, I had the opportunity to interview a few—ah—guests there.”
“Where is this farm?” Maggie said. “It sounds so rustic.”
“Near Dieppe.”
The northern coast of France. The site of a major battle during World War II. The Allies got their heads handed to them by the Germans during a poorly planned raid. It was the precursor to the Normandy invasion. “Far enough from Paris to be discreet.”
Dieter nodded as he sipped coffee. “Close enough to get there in an hour or two. A nearby airport and port, in case the interviewee needs to be moved offshore. Traded. Taken to some island hellhole. Which is what frequently happens. A good spot to stash someone. Do you know when Kafka is being moved there?”
“Tonight I gather. SDAT is getting it cleared with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.”
“So we have a little time.”
“Time for what?”
Dieter sat up and gave John Rae a bemused look. “Did you not tell your friend Maggie about our outing, John Rae?”
John Rae took a sip of the Heineken he was nursing. “I didn’t want to promise something that might not happen.”
Maggie’s and John Rae’s eyes met. The disc jockey announced that there would be a special on lap dances for the next half an hour. That info seemed to pique Bad’s interest.
“Clue me in, JR,” Maggie said, although she had a pretty good idea.
He set his unfinished beer down. “We’re going to get to the farm before SDAT does.”
“You’re proposing we kidnap Kafka?” She had to admit she didn’t hate the idea of continuing an op that had been snatched away from her. But the consequences were a concern.
“Kidnap is such a loaded word, Maggie,” John Rae said. ”I prefer rescue. SDAT has not treated Kafka well. And ‘rescuing’ him will put him squarely on our side. He’ll be happy to play nice with you then. Tell y’all about his Abraqa Darknet. Probably tell you a few other things as well.”
Maggie let that sink in.
“Has any of this been approved?” she said, squinting. “You know—authorized?”
“What? And take all the fun out of it?” He picked up his beer. “Walder knows what he wants and doesn’t know what he doesn’t want to know.” He drank. “Off the books means no authorizations.”
She could live with that, if John Rae could.
“What do you two get out of it?” she asked Dieter and Bad.
“We’re doing it for John Rae,” Bad said in a solemn tone.
“And because we don’t like Jihad Nation very much,” Dieter said. “So we will get you your Kafka, and he will tell you what he knows. And everyone will have a very nice time.”
John Rae was calling in more favors. He had done something similar in Ecuador, breaking some prisoners out of a clandestine prison on Maggie’s behalf. There were times she didn’t trust him, to be sure. He played multiple angles. But there were times he delivered, and this looked like one of them. She began to feel Dara’s legacy, one that had been slipping away from her only hours ago, coming back within reach.
“I don’t know what to say,” she said, looking at Dieter, then Bad, then John Rae. “Except thank you, gentlemen.”
“Dieter’s running this little junket,” John Rae said. “He knows his way around The Farm.”
Dieter consulted his wristwatch. “We best leave now to be assured of getting there ahead of Bellard’s men.”
“How far exactly is La Ferme?” Maggie said.
“One hundred and eighty kilometers,” Dieter said. “Two hours if the roads are clear. One and a half if Bad Allah here is driving, regardless of road conditions.” He gave Bad a smile. “The man is a bit of a maniac behind the wheel.”
“Please give a warm welcome to the lovely Angelique,” the DJ said as Fishnets took the stage and blew a kiss to the crowd.
Dieter shook his head. “Shall we?”
Maggie, Dieter, John Rae and Bad all stood up, Bad taking one last look at the stage.