part0035

“We’ve had a change in plans,” Thierry informed Havilah. He steered the car down Boulevard St. Michel away from her apartment on Rue Notre Dame des Champs.

“Why? Aren’t we leaving town?” Havilah’s stomach was churning and the on-a-dime turns and twists in the SPHP agent’s plans weren’t helping. Juanita Gaie turned from the passenger seat and began to pat her niece’s leg, as if to calm her down.

“Albertin, the agent we sent to your apartment,” Thierry related in halting speech, “was discovered shot outside the main entrance to your apartment building.”

“Is he…?” Havilah asked. She swallowed hard.

“He’s still alive. The shooter was in a moving vehicle. Whoever is carrying out these shootings is attempting to create a situation of public panic and terror.”

“Another drive-by?” Juanita Gaie shook her head in disbelief.

“We can’t go to your apartment. We’ll get what you both need during our travels. You’re safe, Aunt Neet. I promise.” Thierry tried to reassure her over the blare of sirens on Paris’s narrow streets, which Havilah noted had caused her aunt to jump slightly in her seat.

“I sure hope so.” She again turned back to touch Havilah’s face. “What kind of gangster shit is this in Paris of all places.” Her southern drawl coming on strong as she settled back again in the leather seat.

Thierry and Havilah talked over each other trying to relate the events of the past twenty-four hours to Aunt Neet. With her aunt’s unvarnished asides, Havilah could see this was at least going to be a mildly entertaining life-death experience.

They pulled into a parking garage near the Gare de L’est train station. With no luggage trailing behind them, they were able to move quickly through the garage and into the station. They arrived on the platform at 10:00 p.m. The driver from Le Meurice was standing with Havilah’s belongings at the platform.

“That is our train there.” Thierry pointed to a porter suited up in a peacock blue with gold-trimmed uniform with matching hat and white gloves. “And there is my security contact from Le Meurice.” He walked over and retrieved Havilah’s bag and clothing from the hotel’s driver.

“Thierry, you may just convince me yet of how ungangsterlike the French are,” Aunt Neet said, checking out the train’s logo. They were about to board the fabled Venice-Simplon Orient Express.

The porter assisted Aunt Neet aboard. The greeting and the attention in just those few short minutes seemed to be a preview of what was yet to come. But Havilah stood still before the restored blue-gold train. She shook her head in disbelief, not wanting to move one step further. She’d always hoped for something so adventurous, and she had told Thierry so. She just didn’t like her odds now. Havilah allowed him to lift her aboard the first step as if they were in some romantic movie. She knew it was a brief attempt at levity, despite the gravity of it all.

“Passports, monsieur.”

“You’re lucky I keep mine on my person when traveling.” Aunt Neet handed the agent hers, while Havilah reached into her black bag for hers.

“Where are we headed?”

“At least it’s not Istanbul.” She shivered just a little as she turned to walk up the other steps.

The train’s interior was everything that she had imagined. Rich woods with gold trim. Thick and embroidered passenger chairs. A gilded-era looking lounge and cozy but elegant dining car. You only live once. She still couldn’t shake the feeling that her once-in-a-lifetime ride on the Orient Express might end in her murder.