Dominic Briffaut sat in the passenger seat of the Renault Koleos, parked in a side street off the Quai des Grand Augustins, which gave him a small glimpse of the Saint-Michel bridge. He smoked his cigarette down to the end and flicked the butt out the cracked window, feeling the light splatter of rain on his hand as he did.
Beside him, Aline sat at the wheel and took radio updates from the six-person mission team placed around and inside the Cochinchine, a small bistro that overlooked the Seine.
‘You’re good to go, boss,’ she said, after they’d waited for seventeen minutes. ‘Bistro is empty. Target at the end table.’
Briffaut emerged from the Renault and walked onto the quai, passing two subs that were bristling with OTs from the Bunker.
He walked for twelve seconds then turned left into the bistro. It was just after 11 a.m., so the lunchtime rush hadn’t yet begun. Briffaut unbuttoned his overcoat as he walked towards a table at the end of the narrow room. A woman eyed him as he drew near, and he noted that Templar was at the neighbouring table and Jéjé was at the table beside the front door.
Briffaut sat opposite the table’s occupant, a beautiful Syrian woman in her late thirties with a head of black hair, a high forehead and very good dress sense.
‘Hello, Brenda,’ said Briffaut. ‘We finally meet.’
Her pupils dilated but she kept calm. ‘I don’t know a Brenda. You have the wrong person.’
Briffaut continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘You’re a CIA handler who operates out of the Red Lion, running an information network that includes Christine Zeitz and Henry Krause? I don’t think I have the wrong person.’
‘Perhaps the wrong name?’
‘Okay, I can call you Ana,’ smiled Briffaut. ‘I’ve confirmed your photograph with two services, and we can connect you with the Melissa.’
Ana let the point go. ‘Well, I’m honoured. This must be important.’
‘I won’t take up your time,’ said Briffaut.
‘Then why is your guy bolting the door?’
Briffaut didn’t take his eyes off her. ‘I have a situation you could help me with.’
‘I doubt it,’ she said, sipping on her coffee. ‘But try me.’
‘I have a dangerous impasse that could be resolved in two ways.’
‘Sounds like a dilemma,’ she said, reaching for a glass of hazelnut-coloured liquid. Briffaut guessed amaretto.
‘The person trapped in this situation was used in a game, but she’s not in the game.’
‘I see,’ said Ana, looking away.
Briffaut continued, ‘If I resolve the problem formally, the person in question has her life turned upside down. There’ll be months of surveillance and interviews, and computer and phone audits—and, of course, there are two children caught up in this. Not to mention the embarrassment for two friendly services.’
‘Or?’
‘I’m glad you asked me that, Brenda,’ said Briffaut, holding up his hand to stave off the bistro owner when she looked like she was going to approach him for an order. ‘Or we resolve this informally, professional to professional. I give you twenty-four hours to remove yourself and your family from France, and we can all get on with our lives. Romy de Payns won’t be subjected to hundreds of hours of interviews in which she has to recall exactly what you asked and how she replied, and you won’t have to worry about being hunted down by Alec’s colleagues—who, I can assure you, will not tolerate a family being infiltrated.’
Ana looked into her drink, and Briffaut thought he saw her back heave slightly. When she looked up, there was dampness at the corner of her left eye.
‘Don’t make me do this,’ she said. ‘I’m asking you, as a courtesy …’
‘And as a courtesy to Romy, I’d never put her or her children through the official meat grinder, if I can help it,’ said Briffaut in a flat voice. ‘So either you go, or I hand this to Alec’s colleagues.’
‘Do you have to do this?’ she pleaded. ‘Our families have become close. Those boys feel like my sons.’
‘Of course I have to do it,’ said Briffaut, annoyed by the emotional appeal. ‘You saw to that. You know where this goes.’
She shook her head and looked into her drink. Her sorrow looked genuine. ‘You know, I didn’t approach Romy. It was a friendship that grew naturally out of the preschool.’
‘And yet here we are.’
‘You don’t understand: if I’d known who she was married to, I would never have suggested her for the Tirol Council. I wanted a friend, that’s all. I wanted to put down roots in Paris. Please don’t do this to us.’
‘You shouldn’t have pulled her in,’ said Briffaut. ‘You know the rules.’
‘I was only told about her husband when it was too late,’ said Ana, tears welling. ‘You know, I’m a mother now—I’m getting out of the game and going back to consulting, I just hadn’t made it official …’
She sniffed, and Briffaut could see an attempt to control her emotions.
‘Twenty-four hours,’ said Briffaut, standing. ‘That’s the best I can offer.’
Ana nodded slowly, defeated. ‘I’ll take the deal,’ she said. She looked up at Briffaut, and then around the cafe at Templar and Jéjé, who stared back like two stone statues. ‘What guarantee do I have that I won’t be killed when I walk out of here?’
‘There’ll be no guarantee if you don’t honour our agreement.’
Ana nodded and stood, grabbed her overcoat. ‘Romy will not forgive you for this.’
‘Romy will never know, and neither will Alec.’
She wrapped her scarf around her throat. ‘Don’t worry. I could never tell her.’
She stopped at the door and paused, looking back at her coffee and amaretto.
‘Don’t worry about your coffee,’ said Briffaut. ‘I’ll take care of it. We know how to treat our friends in France.’
Briffaut watched her walk through the door and followed her outside, where light rain speckled the Seine. Templar joined him, and they watched as Brenda started to jog along the footpath.
‘Ah, Paris, the city of love,’ said Briffaut, lighting a cigarette but not taking his eyes off the American spy. ‘I’m pretty sure she won’t miss her flight.’