The DGSI ordered a public action to be conducted by Colonel Tibaut Jenssins. He ran GIGN, the tactical response unit of the French National Gendarmerie, based at Satory, south of Versailles. GIGN had a chemical–biological–nuclear ready-reaction role and were supposed to be the first responders. The GIGN unit would be supported by the Commandement des Opérations Spéciales—special forces—commanded by Colonel Laurent Francisci.
Claude Malle from the DGSI reluctantly allowed Briffaut’s DGSE to accompany the operation, but required they take up the rear and not join in.
‘You two, with me,’ said Briffaut, pointing to de Payns and Shrek.
As they left the SCIF, Lafont handed a printed photograph from the printer to de Payns.
‘You’re the only person in Western intelligence to have eyes on Murad. Is that him? In the background, white shirt, black tie.’
De Payns took the A4 page. The shot was of an Indian politician cutting a ribbon at a facility. In the background were three men, one of them standing out because of his height and well-groomed looks. He looked like a Pakistani Errol Flynn but without the moustache.
‘That’s the man I saw on the ferry,’ said de Payns, touching the page. He looked to the foot of the photo, where the caption included the name and title: Nasim ul-Huq—Chief Engineer, Rotterdam Associates.
‘We’ve got this fucker,’ said Lafont, retrieving the photo and moving to a phone.
They descended to the ground floor and walked into the armoury, where they checked out CZ handguns and 416 assault rifles. As de Payns took his ballistic vest, Templar arrived, a white cast across his nose and cheekbones.
‘Where’re we going?’ he asked.
‘Did Frasier assign you?’ asked Shrek.
‘You really think I’m letting you go alone?’
They suited up and ran to the lawn in front of the Bunker, where Briffaut stood beside Frasier, waiting for the helicopter to land.
‘Did I include you in this, Templar?’ asked Briffaut as the Caracal flared and aimed for the grass.
‘No, boss,’ said Templar, smiling through a bruised and battered face. ‘But who’s gonna pick up these ladies when they trip over their high heels?’
‘You’re injured—I can’t let you in the field.’
‘I’m fully recovered,’ said Templar. ‘Can’t you see?’
‘You take longer to get over a hangover,’ said Briffaut, shaking his head as the helicopter touched ground. ‘Fuck it, let’s go then.’
Frasier walked back into the Bunker to coordinate with DGSI. It was six minutes by chopper to the Saint-Cloud plant and en route Frasier patched them into a radio connection with Jenssins’ unit. De Payns could hear it in his helmet speakers.
They flew across south-western Paris, the city going about its business as if nothing were wrong. Over the radio net, Jenssins told Colonel Francisci that his GIGN unit would land first and establish themselves. ‘There’re civilians in there and the terrorists have a biological agent right on our water supply. Give us two minutes.’
‘Got it,’ said Francisci, whose COS special forces operators were assault specialists, not bioweapons experts.
Briffaut asked his pilot to hold back and land in the car park of the plant, which was an industrial facility in the middle of a green parkland.
‘Okay,’ said Briffaut, muting his mic, ‘remember to stay back when we land. We’re observers here—spare me the paperwork.’
On the GIGN and COS radio net, Colonel Francisci from special forces was talking to Thorens. ‘Can you shut it down?’ he asked.
‘It takes several hours,’ said Thorens. ‘You don’t just shut down the water in Paris.’
‘We’re landing,’ said Jenssins. ‘Where are the consultants?’
‘The Rotterdam engineers are already inside the security perimeter,’ said Thorens, ‘but I believe some of their supplies are still in the trucks.’
‘I doubt they’re engineers,’ said Jenssins, ‘so stay away from them, and stay clear of those canisters. We’re landing now.’
De Payns could see the two GIGN helicopters landing on a field beside the large staff car park. A massive structure—the Saint-Cloud drinking-water plant—rose up out of the greenery like a grey behemoth. The Y Division helicopter lined up behind the two choppers carrying COS soldiers. From his window de Payns could see two Rotterdam trucks parked at the building, one of which had its side curtains raised, showing two-metre-tall blue canisters stacked one on top of another. A forklift approached the canisters.
De Payns and Shrek made to follow the special forces soldiers, who deployed along the side of the building to the loading bays, but Briffaut pulled them back. ‘You’re worth more to me if you’re anonymous and alive,’ he reminded them. ‘We’re not in Islamabad anymore, boys.’
The radio net sprang to life as the lead GIGN operators rounded the corner of the main building, so they were facing the loading bay. The gunfire started, echoing loudly in their earpieces—the gunfight was also clearly visible just sixty metres away. Concrete chips flew as three gunmen fired from the loading bay, partially obscured by a truck. They were good marksmen, for water engineers. One of the gunmen at the truck slumped, shot dead. Two other Rotterdam gunmen retreated back inside the facility. The soldiers gave chase and the DGSE team lost sight of them.
‘Wouldn’t mind a look in there, boss,’ said Templar.
‘Stay where you are,’ Briffaut ordered as the clatter of automatic gunfire crackled on the radio, making them wince at the sudden burst in volume. The shouting between the GIGN troopers was constant and the team leader’s instructions and the feedback suggested the operators were advancing through the facility towards the rear of the building.
Shrek nudged de Payns and pointed. From the main corporate entrance of the building, a tall middle-aged man with a crown of pushed-back silver hair approached the helicopter.
‘Be nice,’ said Briffaut, as he slid out the helicopter side door and stopped the man from reaching his team.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ asked Briffaut.
‘Thorens,’ said the tall man, holding out his hand. ‘Jean-Pierre Thorens. I’m the CEO.’
‘Dominic,’ said Briffaut, taking the proffered hand. ‘We spoke earlier.’
‘What should I do with my employees?’ asked Thorens. ‘They’re frightened.’
‘What did GIGN say?’ replied Briffaut.
‘They charged straight through, told us to stay in the foyer, but it’s dangerous—we can hear the gunfire, it’s very close.’
De Payns looked at the glassed-in entrance—civilians milled around wide-eyed, the occasional one making a break for the car park.
‘What’s going on in there?’ asked Briffaut.
Thorens explained that inside the loading bay was a long, open area where five different stages of filtration and water treatment took place. A gantry crane ran the length of the building and the GIGN troopers were fighting their way towards the two massive steel sliding doors at the end of the facility, where the security area started.
‘That’s where the Rotterdam Associates people were,’ said Thorens. ‘They were working on the final filtration system, where the water is cleansed by chloramine before it goes into Paris’s water pipes.’
‘They’re behind those security doors?’ asked Briffaut. ‘The Rotterdam engineers are in the water system?’
‘Well, yes,’ said Thorens. ‘They had their passports, which were all cleared by our security check. I don’t know how your guys will get through those doors—I believe they’re bomb-proof.’
What sounded like a grenade barked in their earpieces. De Payns wasn’t too concerned about those security doors—the GIGN trained in this sort of critical infrastructure and they had master keys and manual override codes that the CEOs of these places might not even be aware of. He was more worried about bullets going through the epsilon toxin canisters or being spilled deliberately into the water system, even as the GIGN operatives approached.
De Payns turned back to the building itself, where the sounds of a gun battle were pushing crowds of employees out of the main corporate lobby and into the parking area. Others clustered in groups inside the foyer. Whichever way they went, they were sitting ducks for one of the gunmen, and de Payns didn’t like it.
He turned to Briffaut. ‘Some of those folks need a hand.’
Briffaut was not happy, but he could also see the panicking crowd. ‘Okay, but no bang-bang.’
De Payns leaped out of the helicopter, Shrek and Templar behind him, and they ran to the main lobby. A man of around thirty raced out of the lobby, straight into de Payns.
‘Is that gunfire?’ asked the man. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Stay calm,’ said de Payns, grabbing the man by the upper arms. ‘Are there any armed people in there?’
‘No,’ said the man. ‘The soldiers went into the building and the shooting started on the other side of the wall. Am I safe?’ he asked, looking at the rifles.
‘Safer with us standing here,’ said Templar. ‘What’s going on in there?’
De Payns turned back and saw Briffaut staring at them from the helicopter doorway—he decided against going into the building even as the automatic gunfire rang out and voices screamed in renewed terror.
As he turned back from Briffaut, he was struck by how orderly some of the employees were in their departure. ‘Follow those people,’ he said to the man, pointing to the people making their way calmly across the car park. ‘Get out on to the footpath,’ he said, pointing to the main road beyond the Saint-Cloud campus. ‘But take it easy—no panicking.’
The car park was now awash with people, many of them running, but amid the crowd he noticed a woman in a yellow hard hat and a hi-vis vest. She was walking away from him, across the car park, but in a very controlled way. De Payns was intrigued—how could someone turn their back on a scene of armed conflict without so much as a glance over their shoulder? It was loud, it was confronting; a gun battle demanded your attention. You couldn’t not look at it.
The woman made a left turn, seemingly to get to her car, and de Payns’ heart jumped slightly, like he’d woken up. He’d seen that profile, that blonde hair, just recently—it was Heidi Winnen.
‘Christ, it’s Winnen,’ he said, lifting his rifle to a two-handed grip and accelerating away from Templar and Shrek.
He raced across the concrete car park, triggering screams from the employees as they realised there was an armed man in plain clothes running among them. The commotion alerted Winnen and she turned, thirty metres away from de Payns, and as she pivoted she raised a handgun from her belt. She aimed at him and de Payns stepped behind a Peugeot, keeping his rifle sights on the blonde woman.
‘That’s enough, Heidi,’ he shouted, sights on her as she shuffled sideways behind a van, loosing two shots in his direction.
‘Well, if it isn’t the secret service. How the hell did you find me?’ she yelled.
‘Some hard work, some luck,’ de Payns shouted as Templar joined him. Shrek was using a car to the left as a hide. There was another car between the Y Division guys and Winnen, and he thought about running for it, but when he stuck his head out to assess the distance another bullet pinged into the Peugeot.
De Payns ducked back to safety. ‘You know, Heidi, this is sick what you’re doing,’ he said, as Shrek continued to outflank her. ‘Putting that shit in drinking water.’
‘It’s science, Monsieur Dupuis. Or should I call you Aguilar?’
‘Really?’ he replied. ‘You’re smart, you’re an engineer, you could do anything. But you’re poisoning Paris? Think about what you’re doing.’
Winnen didn’t pause. ‘Oh, I’ve thought about it a lot, thanks Aguilar. I’m where I want to be.’
‘Poisoning a whole city? Your parents must be so proud.’
‘You know something?’ she replied. ‘The West is a virus—a disease that is killing every other culture.’
‘It’s assisted most cultures to improve their standard of living and their life expectancies. Raised expectations for girls and women, too. Not a bad CV.’
‘It’s a cancer and we’re right here in the middle of where it all started,’ shrieked the Dutchwoman. ‘Every disease has its starting point and the origin of the Western plague is Paris.’
Templar moved to the car to his right as more gunfire shook the building behind them. De Payns attempted to keep Winnen talking, buying time. ‘You know, I met the architect of this bioweapons program, in Islamabad.’
‘I heard,’ said Winnen, shuffling to check on the other side of her van.
‘Bijar was a most unimpressive human being,’ said de Payns. ‘With leaders like that, who needs criminals?’
Winnen laughed. ‘You’re a funny guy, Aguilar. But he’s a genius—what would you know about that?’
‘Not much,’ admitted de Payns, keeping his gun sights on the back of the van, where her booted feet told him she was looking to where Shrek was creeping closer. ‘But an hour ago I was smart enough to work out Murad’s true identity.’
There was a pause, no longer cocky. ‘I doubt that.’
‘Nasim ul-Huq, a campus radical at the University of Amsterdam,’ said de Payns. ‘Must have made quite an impression on young Heidi, with all of that horseshit about Palestine, while Arafat gets rich on Iranian oil money.’
‘What would you know about Palestine?’ she yelled, betraying anger. ‘You French! Oh my God, you’re worse liars than the Israelis!’
‘You really think Nasim cares about Palestine? He’s Pakistani intelligence.’
There was silence again. ‘Liar!’
‘Well, he recruited you, Heidi. Tell me, did he ever share with you the millions he makes from the Taliban’s heroin sales?’
One row behind Winnen, a silver Iveco van accelerated for the car park exit, and Winnen turned and ran to it. De Payns looked at the vehicle and locked gazes with the driver—the former campus radical, now known as Murad, the terrorist he had first laid eyes on months earlier, sailing to Palermo.
Winnen ran towards the van, but rather than slow for his lover, Murad hit the gas and kept driving.
‘Stop,’ yelled de Payns, as Winnen almost comically ran after Murad and the van. She slowed, confused, and suddenly turned to face her pursuers. ‘No!’ said Shrek, but Heidi Winnen started shooting and Templar opened up with his rifle, killing the Dutchwoman before she hit the concrete.