The information board at Charles de Gaulle’s Terminal 1 showed Lotus’s flight from Istanbul had arrived twenty-one minutes ago, but still no Lotus. De Payns fought the instinct to check his watch and instead took an update from Claude—a former Army operator who had joined the Company two years earlier—who had identified two persons of interest milling around in front of the arrivals hall.
‘They’re standing off,’ came Claude’s voice in his hidden earpiece. ‘But they’re looking for someone, and it’s not you.’
‘Copy that,’ said de Payns, reaching for his warm coffee which sat on a table in the concourse cafe. ‘They armed?’
‘Claude copy,’ said his colleague. ‘Paulin overheard one of them; they’re Russian, or something Eastern.’
‘You know what to do with the cars,’ said de Payns, referring to their standby plan should a hostile team show itself at the airport.
De Payns was more fidgety than normal; Lotus was being brought to France because the FSB was on to his network, but the Russians seemed to also have a welcome committee waiting in Paris.
Balancing the odds was de Payns’ team, which was broken into groups: Templar and Thierry, waiting in a red BMW in the B1 car park; Paulin and Claude, in the arrivals area of Terminal 1, and Aline and Marc in a white Renault at B2. Danny was on a motorbike, ready to ride overwatch on the car that took Lotus into Paris from Charles de Gaulle. Their job was to deliver Lotus to the George V hotel in Paris without him being killed or snatched. They were all linked to de Payns’ radio set, which transmitted from a small box in his pocket, linked to a tiny earpiece in his left ear.
At 3.06 p.m. Claude’s voice crackled again. ‘Claude to Y—the package is moving towards you. Our POIs are moving towards the package.’
De Payns turned slightly to his left and saw a middle-aged Georgian man in a dark pea jacket and tweed trilby, who he knew as Lotus.
‘Greetings, Lado,’ said de Payns, rising and offering to take Lotus’s large suitcase. ‘That’s your only bag?’
‘Yes,’ said Lotus, taking a seat at the table, his face grumpy. ‘I’d love a coffee.’
Before de Payns could intercede the Georgian had ordered a coffee. ‘Delayed flights,’ said Lotus softly. ‘It just kills the whole day.’
‘Nice to see you, Monsieur Devashvili,’ said de Payns, aware of potential danger. ‘We have some unwanted visitors around us and I’d suggest we start walking. Just follow my directions, and when I ask you to accelerate, just do it, okay?’
Lotus’s face pinched slightly. ‘When you say unwanted, does that mean Russian?’
‘Yes,’ said de Payns. ‘They know you’re here. Do not look around or try to make eye contact with anybody, okay?’
Lotus nodded slowly and pointedly did not look around. ‘Are we safe in Paris?’
‘Probably,’ said de Payns, standing.
‘They’ve already killed two of my associates,’ said Lotus, ‘so I’d prefer that you were a bit more certain.’
De Payns grabbed the suitcase by its handle and urged Lotus onto his feet. ‘This way,’ he said, steering the Georgian away from the table and into the foot traffic of the dome-roofed concourse.
‘Aguilar for Y,’ he said into his mic. ‘I have the package. How are we placed?’
‘Both POIs are behind you; you have twenty-five metres on them.’
‘Aguilar copy, heading for the cars.’
He steered Lotus along the western wall of the terminal concourse and hooked sideways towards the elevators that took travellers to the parking garages below.
As soon as they were out of the concourse and into the elevator area, de Payns said, ‘Now!’
He pushed Lotus past the elevator doors and directed him down the spiral concrete stairwells, aiming for level B2. De Payns was quietly surprised by how fast his charge could move. They reached the B1 landing and could clearly hear feet entering the stairwell above him and running down the stairs. They reached the B2 door and burst through, finding the white Renault idling.
‘In you get,’ said de Payns, opening the rear door and showing Lotus where to lie, as Aline held a blanket aloft. ‘Stay down and do as you’re told,’ said de Payns, and he slammed the door as the car sped away.
De Payns turned and re-entered the stairwell, hearing the telltale chatter of people spotting their prey. He listened, and once de Payns was certain his followers had given up on B1 and were coming down to B2, he let them catch a glimpse of him before descending further to B3. Jogging across the B3 car park he headed for a secondary set of fire stairs that would take him back up to the main concourse. When he got to the secondary stairwell, he could see the Russians giving chase and he knew his exfiltration plan was working: the white Renault would have stopped at B1 and Lotus was being shifted into a red BMW. The BMW would be driven to the furthest exit of the parking building, while the white Renault exited through the main gate.
Reaching the main concourse again, de Payns hurried along the middle of the walkways, so the Russians could see him. When he was sure he was being followed, he made a filature, a sudden ninety-degree exit out a side door and onto a traffic apron, where he could see a shuttle bus taking on passengers. He jumped on the bus and moved to the back with the other travellers, watching out the window as the bus accelerated towards the next terminal. The two Russian followers stepped into the Paris sunlight and looked around like two lost puppies. Lotus was on his way to the George V, and de Payns got off his bus at the RER station between terminal 2C and E, and caught a train into Paris.