Chapter 10

A fair-skinned human sleeping in excess of two hours beside a swimming pool under the afternoon Parisian sun was a recipe for a serious sunburn. “Ma’am. Ma’am,” were the words that interrupted Fay’s nap. She opened her eyes.

“Ma’am,” Azrael coaxed as she lightly jiggled Fay. “Wake up.”

“Hey,” Fay responded as she opened her eyes to survey her surroundings. “My God. How long have I been lying here?”

“Around two hours,” Azrael informed her.

Fay surveyed her stomach and legs. “I should be burned to a crisp. I’m not.”

“The pool staff told me you have been turning yourself,” Azrael said. She previewed Fay’s body. “You look okay to me. You may be a bit on the reddish side. Can I lotion you up?”

Fay sat up. She winched in pain and clutched her side.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” a concerned Azrael asked.

“Yes, yes. Fine.” After taking a drink from her water bottle, Fay then laid on her front. “Go for it,” she said. “What have you been up to all day? I hope it was fun.”

Azrael squirted sun block onto the palms of her hands. As she applied the lotion to Fay’s back, she said, “I was shopping.”

“Thanks for offering to lotion me up,” Fay said. “Oh? Did you find anything interesting?”

“I did. I will claim it later.”

The two women’s conversation was cut short when Sasha approached.

“Sasha!” Fay greeted him. “Good afternoon. Are you having a pleasant day?”

“An outstanding day,” he said. “How about you, Azrael?”

“A very good day,” she replied.

Sasha said, “I have been cooped up in my room all day working. It occurred to me I should take a breath of fresh air.”

“Did you have anything interesting in mind?” Fay inquired.

“Would you two ladies like to accompany me for an evening stroll around the Eiffel Tower and maybe a boat ride on the Seine?”

“I’m in!” Fay replied. “How about you, Azrael?”

Azrael offered, “The saying goes, ‘two is company, three is a crowd.’”

Fay was disappointed.

Sasha said, “I like crowds. How about you, Faya?”

“I’m not about to visit the Tower without my people with me.” She looked at Azrael. “Go get ready. And if I have to, I will make it an order. You are wasting time.” Fay smiled. “Go!”

****

Three miles away

If a person was not paying attention when she stepped into a busy Parisian street, odds are, she may get hit by a car. Kat found herself on top of a table of surprised tourists who were enjoying something at one of the many Parisian sidewalk cafes. They were surprised, to say the least, but the pain she now felt in her left foot suggested she had broken bones. But she was lucky to be alive. Fortunately, the guys, who she knew as the topknots, assisted her off of the table…without trying to kill her. A taxi arrived seemingly out of nowhere. The helpful lads assisted her into the taxi and shut the door behind her, and the taxi sped off.

Katrinka tried to tell the driver, who spoke English, to drop her near the safehouse, but he would have none of it. “Hospital,” he informed her.

In passing, she wondered about the topknots. They had had her right in the palms of their hands! And they had chosen to do nothing!

The French seemed to have a good health care system. Two hundred U.S. for X-rays, a walking cast, and three hours of her time, and Kat was good to go. Pretty normal stuff, really. But what she found odd was the driver who drove her to the hospital was the same guy who now drove her to the safehouse.

“How do you feel?” the apparently concerned driver asked.

“I am idiot,” Katrinka replied.

The driver chuckled. “No. How is your foot?”

“Broken,” Katrinka informed him. “I live.”

“It could have been worse for you. A fast car, flying through the air, crash landing on a table?”

By now, Katrinka had grown suspicious of the driver. To test him, she asked in Russian, “Where is your family from?”

He replied in Russian, “Same as you. Russia.”

Her suspicion was confirmed; he was a handler, probably Russian Military Service. Between the angels and the Russian Secret Service, no one was going to let her out of their sight. Well, there went her privacy!

The driver stopped within a block of the safehouse and wished her well. Knowing she was in need of snacks, beer and wine, and pain killers, Kat stopped at the local market. A sweet French boy noticed her struggle. He helped her with her shopping and then carried her grocery items to her home. Kat tipped the boy enough euros to likely equal his day’s wages and limped inside.

After stowing her groceries, she opened a beer with her handy pocketknife and dropped onto the bed. She grabbed a pillow and, after placing it under her injured foot, she clicked on the TV. She had discovered she enjoyed old American films from the 1940s and 1950s. The costumes and hair styles were works of art. But she also wondered about a life, and the Americans seem particularly good at it, where one would go to work for an entire day, only to come home, sit in front of the TV, and then go to bed. And why in those movies did the husbands and wives sleep in separate beds? The next day, they repeated the same routine. What was that? She recalled her school lessons. Einstein had said it best, “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.” She hoped her life would never include this insanity.

Katrinka briefly considered placing a call to Fay to inform her about her foot. Then, she changed her mind. What could Fay do for her? Worry? Extreme exhaustion, stress, and the pain killers soon overcame her.

Gunfire awoke her. Instinctively, Kat reached for her 9MM. Quickly, she assured herself the chamber was loaded. The weapon was ready to fire. She listened. There was much loud talking. Then she heard a knock at the door. Katrinka rolled off of the bed opposite of the door, using the bed as a shield. Another knock came, this one sounding more urgent than the first.

A voice said, “We must go. Quickly.”

Kat recognized the voice. She stood and limped to the door. With caution, she opened the door. It was who she thought it was: the taxi driver.

“Quickly. They have found you. You must hurry,” he said.

Katrinka grabbed her backpack and stuffed her belongings into it. She retrieved the stones and her ID from the storage spot behind the framed picture. She followed the man from the room to his waiting taxi. At least two people lay on the sidewalk. They appeared dead. As the taxi sped away from the safehouse, Kat wondered who had shot whom and why.

The taxi sped along the busy street, the driver acting as if he were trying to lose a following car. She saw no evidence of this, but he seemed to know what he was doing. Then, the car stopped abruptly. He turned to her. He said something which sounded odd to her, “There are those who are threatened by Novaya Rossiya. Be careful, Princess Katrinka. We salute you.” He added, “Get out.”

Kat responded to his order. In an instant, another identical taxi screeched to a halt. This one had traveled in the direction from which they had just come. The rear passenger door opened.

“Get in,” came a female voice from within the car.

Kat obeyed, and off the car sped. Soon, the taxi made an abrupt right turn. They were now flying down a very narrow alley. She estimated their speed to be in excess of 80 km/h. It was an insane speed but because the walls of the alley were so near to the car on either side, their speed seemed much faster. So, what would happen when this rocket ship got to the end of the alley? What about pedestrians and other cars, now unseen, traveling in the cross street? She recalled something Faya would often say: “Holy crap!” The meaning was somewhere lost in translation, yet it seemed to fit the moment.

****

The Eiffel Tower, across town

Fay stood on the first level deck, looking out over the city. The sun was setting in the west. She said to Sasha and Azrael, “It seems so peaceful.”

“Should we go higher to the next level, ma’am?” Azrael asked.

“Let me get a selfie of us first.” Fay produced her cell from her pocketbook. The three of them stood near the north rail with the Seine to their backs. Fay snapped three photos to ensure there was a good one for the photo log she had been creating of their time in Paris. After, she felt faint.

“Can we sit before we go up?” she asked. “I don’t know what has come over me. I just need a moment to rest.”

“Are you okay, ma’am?” Azrael was concerned.

“I’m okay,” Fay lied. “Just a moment. I’m not ready to go.” And she did not feel like her normal self this evening. She knew it was the cancer growing in her body. She wondered when the time would come for her to give up the fight and do as her doctor had recommended and submit to radiation treatment. Then the cat would be out of the bag. Everyone would know. Everyone would worry. And…well, she did not want to think about it. She also now sensed none of that would occur. Her time was now short.

As they sat, Azrael took her hand. Fay thought it strange Azrael would do that but she appreciated her gentleness just the same. For the moment, it was most comforting.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Azrael said.

“For what, sweetheart?” Fay asked.

“For being you.”

“I thought I was going to be sick there for a moment,” Fay told her. “But now as I sit here with my friends and this beautiful view of this romantic city, I’m beginning to feel rejuvenated.” Fay remained seated. She took in a refreshing breath of air and said, “I have to admit, for the first time, that I have not been well. I was told I have cancer.”

Azrael listened.

Fay continued. “I don’t know why but for some reason, I feel as if I am going to beat this sickness. I had given into defeat. But now, my attitude has changed, and I feel so very strong again.”

Azrael listened as she continued to hold Fay’s hand.

****

Near the end of the alley, Kat braced herself with stiffened arms, placing her hands on the back of the taxi’s front seat. Instinctively closing her eyes, she held her breath. The car’s four tires protested the abrupt right turn as the taxi accelerated along the Rue la Lafayette. Thank the gods, for the day all the French mothers and their babies strolling in the general vicinity of the alley were safe from harm. The driver must have been satisfied all was right with the world because she slowed the taxi’s pace to a speed consistent with the accompanying traffic. The car came to a halt at a small hotel near the Metro Stalingrad Ligne 7 station.

How appropriate, Kat thought. Typical of French to honor communist with street.

The driver turned to her. Speaking in Russian, she said, “You live here. It will be safe.” She added, “We live for Novaya Rossiya. Lady Katrinka. Da svidaniya,” she wished Kat.

Kat smiled, grabbed her backpack, and limped to the hotel’s entrance. There was a reception desk near the entry. The woman was aware of Kat’s arrival. She handed Kat a room key and pointed to Kat’s assigned room on a map. The first-floor room was close in proximity to the front desk. Kat appreciated it because the location cut her limping distance considerably.

Kat found this room to be larger than her last room. The refrigerator and the TV were both larger as well. She quickly unpacked. She could not find a safe location to hide the stones. The backpack straps where she had first discovered the stones now became her hiding spots. Before she settled in for the night, she asked the reception attendant for a nearby café recommendation. The night attendant recommended La Chope and it was within limping distance. Also, the attendant gave her a crutch. Very nice. It made the limping almost bearable. La Chope offered takeout as well.

No one in France bothered to speak English. Hence, the all-French menu at Bistro La Chope presented a challenge. Some recognizable offerings were “burgers” and “beer.” A young man seemed sympathetic. He did speak English and was willing to help translate the menu. Kat opted for the burger and beer anyway.

Back at her room, she settled in. The burger and beer were the first food she had had for the day. The French had a different concept of what a burger was, but a beer was always a beer. Kat decided if she were to eat another hamburger in France, it would be an American one. Earlier, she had learned restaurant food was more expensive in Paris. No one bothered to mention they all included a tip in the price, leaving the unsuspecting diner to pay a second tip for any meal, including fast food. The day one discovered this double tipping dipping became one of those “ah ha” moments.

Following dinner, Kat utilized a plastic shower bag the hospital staff had given her to keep her foot dry. Following the refreshing shower, sleep was next on her agenda. She sent a quick text to Faya to assure her she was safe and sound.

Kat was awakened early the follow morning by the pain associated with the broken bone in her foot. A few pain killers were all it took to get her day started off on the right foot. Her day would begin with breakfast. One of the few things she appreciated about the French, and maybe it was the Russian in her, was their simple approach to the first meal of the day. Bread, which was necessary for the consumption of the main course, jam. Add coffee, or tea, and juice. Unlike Americans, Northern Europeans, and Russians, Kat wondered why the French had a need for chickens and pigs in their morning diet.

The crutch the people at the hotel had given her was working out well, both as a walking aide but also, in a pinch, a useful weapon.

It seemed no sooner had she made her deal with Azrael, people began trying to run her over with a car and shots were fire outside her safehouse. A safehouse! The news traveled fast. Could it be the good angels and the bad angels had begun a war? Over her? There were only a few times in her life where Kat had felt vulnerable, like what a deer in hunting season must feel or like a little fox being chased around by people with dogs and guns. It seemed like a reprise of spy school where some crazy was continually jumping out from somewhere to test her defensive and reaction skills. Hell, they would even wait until she was in the lav and then they would come at her from over the top of the stall. Catch her with her pants down, so to speak. Her reflexes were so well conditioned if anyone were to come at her from behind with so much as a friendly tap on the shoulder, her reflexes would lay them low. Fay had learned early on to let Kat know she was somewhere in the vicinity at all times.

While Kat ate her breakfast, she recollected her recent past, which began with her discovery she was heir to the nonpolitical leadership of Russia, plus the title of Princess and 90 million U.S. dollars. She had been thrown in a Cairo prison, only to have the angel of death facilitate her escape. Then came the train ride across Europe, where she had discovered a fortune in conflict diamonds hidden in her borrowed backpack. Next was the foiled bombing of the French Embassy in Budapest. And within the past two days someone had tried to run her over and there had been gun play outside of her safe home. And then she had received the sad news her Faya was dying of cancer. No, she did not want to be the next Princess of Russia, but it was her only option. It was what she had agreed to in her bargain with an angel.

Spy school classes related to heath care had taught her how to manage pain and injury while still focusing on the mission at hand. As a result, Kat was adept at minor body repair while on the fly. She had experienced muscle sprains in the past but never a broken bone. The objective with a break was to accelerate the healing, thus shortening the downtime. After breakfast, she made her way to a nearby Pharmacie 217. Her training recommended antioxidants, protein-rich mineral supplements, and vitamin supplements. A diet of fish, beef, and beer, plus exercise, were also on her list.

Kat next inserted the cell battery into her phone and sent a text to Azrael: I fight with car. Car won. Foot broken. I am okay. Went to hospital. Now relocated.

Azrael messaged back: You will be okay. You’re the badass. Remember? We have your back.

Kat responded: More like a dumbass. Take care.

She clicked off the phone. She would leave it to Azrael to tell Faya or not. The rest of her day was TV and rest.