Maybe.
They had either been moving to converge on Maxence’s location or to intercept the woman’s flight. It was hard to discern purposeful movement within the random flow of the room.
Arthur reran Simone’s mad dash through the crowd that swirled around her, and that time, he saw the men chasing her. “She had pursuers.”
Clicking in his ears.
Vlogger1 asked, “Five of them?”
“I saw four,” Arthur whispered.
“The four that entered behind her, but one guy was coming in from the right, see him? At the four o’clock.”
Arthur watched the footage of the room filled with people bumping into each other like water at a rolling boil.
This time, he saw the white man wearing a dark suit, as most of the casino’s guests were wearing, walking in from the right.
And then Simone ran in.
The man had his hand inside his suit jacket and sliding across his waist like he was readying himself to pull a gun from a cross-draw holster.
And then the man startled, looked back, saw Simone, and withdrew, fading back into the crowd and moving toward another exit.
Arthur whispered, “He was already moving, and then he saw Simone. Look.”
The others agreed with him, mumbling that he was, indeed, another jackal coming in.
Racehorse said, “We’ve got another one. Top-left corner.”
Arthur looked. Another man had begun purposefully walking toward the alcove where Maxence had ducked his head into view, and he kept following Simone on the video until she disappeared into the small doorway blocked in by Christmas trees. Only then, he ducked his head, pivoted, and walked the other way.
“Was there more than one party at play here?” Racehorse asked.
“I don’t know,” Arthur said, his heart falling. “I don’t know.”
He’d still been holding out hope that Maxence had decided to drop out of society for a few days and would be discovered in due time sitting under a banyan tree in India, futilely seeking enlightenment.
But if at least two parties were hunting him, and maybe at cross-purposes?
They had to find him.
“This is disconcerting,” Racehorse said, utilizing understatement. “Are we sure it’s Simone Maina?”
Luftwaffe said, “The facial app confirms it. Simone has been all over Paris during the last year. Lots of images to cross-check the identification. It’s her.”
“What’s she doing here?” Arthur asked, squinting at the screen. Simone had disappeared into the alcove where Maxence had been, and the crowd had resumed its aimless wandering.
Luftwaffe said, “Shit. I lost them. Damn Christmas trees. Here’s the room behind that doorway.”
Another view opened on Arthur’s tablet. It was from a different camera and of a different room. The carpet, upholstery, and decor in there were more muted, done in pale golds, blues, and white. Even the Christmas decor was white and pale gold, from the trees in the corners to the garland around the doors that led outside.
“Is that the White Room?” Arthur whispered.
“It looks like it,” Luftwaffe said. “I can see the terrace on the other side through the windows. I haven’t seen Simone or Maxence come out the other side of that doorway.”
Though the video footage playing on his tablet was grainy, Arthur watched for a man in a black tuxedo or a woman in a white dress to leave that alcove, but he saw neither.
The black-suited bodyguards did burst through from the alcove, look around wildly, and disperse into the crowd in all directions. They’d lost Simone’s trail, too. “Did you see the minders come through?”
