Claymore is in the kitchen with Atef. Apparently Atef has a friend in customs at the airport. He is on the telephone to him now.
The conversation with my friend from the Directorate loops through my mind. I need to write it down. Before we go.
This was how it went:
Did you leave a message to call me? I asked.
Yes, my friend from the Directorate said.
How did you get the number?
From the hard drive.
Al-Gambal?
No. Another name.
How did you know? My voice trembled, wondering about the nature of the relationship between my husband and the Kemetic.
I guessed.
You have something for me?
Yes. Prepare yourself.
Vas-y. By now my heart was pounding, my pulse rapid, my breath short.
I have been going through the CCTV archives from all the airports, running face-recognition algorithms.
Yes.
I found something.
Me?
Yes. Geneva. So far, I have managed to bury it.
Thank you.
No need to thank me. We are even now.
We always were.
How long do I have?
Days. A week perhaps. I will do my best. There are a lot of airports.
Thank you. Adieu. I made to end the call.
Wait. There is something else.
Yes?
The algorithm threw up another match. The day your husband and son disappeared. Charles de Gaulle airport. Air Egypt to Cairo. A woman. Almost you, but not you.
Mon Dieu, I gasped.
She was travelling with a little boy. You can see it clearly in the video. Dark, curly hair, toddler. She had him in one of those carriers you strap across the chest. His eyes are closed. He looks asleep.
What are you telling me?
It looks like Eugène.
I was quiet for a long moment, not believing what I was hearing. My God. Are you sure?
I can’t be certain. Do you understand? But it looks like him, the last time I saw him. And didn’t you say that a strange woman looking like you drove away with him that day?
Do you have a name?
I ran her picture through the airline’s database.
I was crying now, shaking. Please, tell me.
The woman was travelling on an Egyptian passport issued to Jumoke Quarah.
My God.
There is one more thing.
Vas-y.
We have received reliable intelligence that Al-Gama’a al-Islamiyya is planning a major attack in Egypt. This man called The Lion has recently taken over as the leader and is pushing for action. We believe the attack is imminent. Days. We are going to share the information with the Egyptians tomorrow. This is why I had to contact you, why I took the risk.
Wait, do you understand? We will share all of the information with the Egyptians.
Compris.
My God, could it really be him? Am I fooling myself, allowing my desperation to kindle a faint hope into a blaze of self-deception? Is there any logic to it? Even if it was that woman my friend saw in the CCTV video, why would she have spared my Eugène, risked going through customs with an abducted child? And why take someone else’s child? What could she possibly want with Eugène? No, it all seems too implausible. A set of random coincidences. My mind reels. Perhaps she…