“Do you know who ‘Nine’ might be?” asked the man in charge of the security detail.
Baland studied the message, and said, “No, it means nothing to me. You’re saying it arrived attached to a drone?”
They were together in the study, Baland having excused himself from dinner with his family. Earlier he’d given Jacqueline and the girls a gentle version of what had occurred at Le Quinze. They all took it as well as could be expected, but having armed men now surrounding the house did nothing to lighten the mood. That being the case, when the team leader came to the door, Baland had told them it was a routine check-in, knowing full well it wasn’t.
“And you didn’t see where it came from?” asked Baland.
“No, I’m afraid not. I didn’t want to bother you with this, sir, but the way the message is worded—I thought you might have some insight as to what it meant.”
Baland shook his head.
The security man said, “I’ll have to pass this up to my commander.”
Baland looked at his watch. It was 7:52. The security team was DGSI’s own, and the man who would soon be director said, “Whoever sent it must be nearby.”
“Probably, although we have been briefed that some of these drones can be programmed to fly preset courses. They go beyond the controlling transmitter’s range using GPS.”
“Even so, before you call in reinforcements, let’s try to deal with this ourselves. You and your men do a quick sweep across the street. Don’t disturb anyone unnecessarily—I have to live with these people. Just check the backyards and rooflines. Ask anyone you meet if they’ve heard or seen anything strange.”
“Very well. But I should call in extra personnel to—”
“No,” Baland cut in, “that’s not necessary. Just leave one man in front, and the rest of you try to figure this out. We’re already paying enough overtime tonight. I won’t take manpower away from units with better things to do.”
“Sir, I really think it would be better if—”
“Be quick about it!” Baland said decisively, and turned away.
The detail’s leader didn’t argue any further. He used the radio to relay the plan to his team.
Soon Baland was watching it all unfold from his front window. There was a brief huddle with all four men, then one became a fixture on his sidewalk while the others got busy across the street. It gave Baland the chance he needed.
He went to his second-floor study, and from the bottom drawer of his desk he extracted the burner phone he’d taped into a recess. He turned it on, looked at the screen, and was stilled for a moment. There was one unanswered call. Baland shook away his surprise, and was soon quick-stepping downstairs with renewed urgency.
In the kitchen he gave Jacqueline very specific instructions, and he kissed each of his daughters good night. Two minutes later Baland was out the back door. He bypassed the still-broken swing and the finely trimmed hedges, and fast disappeared into a deepening night.
* * *
Four minutes after Baland left his home in Courbevoie, a phone rang in Raqqa. So deep was the handset buried in his backpack, Uday almost didn’t hear it. When the ring did register, he practically fell off his chair trying to reach it. To begin with, he was surprised that a mobile signal was available—coverage had been acutely unreliable in recent weeks. The second and more unnerving shock, made clear by the special ringtone, was which of his phones was receiving the call.
He checked once over his shoulder to make sure he was alone in the room. Satisfied, he swept up his backpack, reached deep inside, and pulled out the special handset he’d begun carrying for just this contingency.
“Bonjour,” he said, his range of French expended in a single word.
The caller began rattling away breathlessly in the language, and realizing his error, Uday interrupted with, “Wait! Please … is English possible?”
“It is,” said the agent named Argu.
“We must be quick,” Uday said, again looking back toward the main hall.
“We have sixty-three seconds,” said Argu, “or so I’ve been told.”
Uday closed his eyes, feeling stupid. Think! I must think clearly!
Argu said, “I saw that you tried to contact me earlier. I assume it has to do with Malika. I don’t know what her condition is or where—”
“No!” Uday said, cutting Argu off. His next words seemed to burst forth, as though they’d been held inside him under great pressure. “My name is Aziz Uday, and I am in charge of the Islamic State Institution for Public Information! I wish to defect with a woman, and I can bring valuable information with me!”
Uday thought he might have heard an intake of breath over the line. He wished he’d rehearsed the rest of what he had to say. At the very least, he knew he had the man’s attention. But there was still one hurdle to climb. “If you help me,” he said with all the conviction he could muster, “I believe your connection to Raqqa can be buried forever.”
The silence on the other end of the line was resounding.