“No,” said Ava. “It’s all right.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not over,” said Ava. “There’s a bomb. He means to use it.”
“I saw the tablets in your medicine bag,” said Mac. “The ones from Israel. It took me a little, but I figured it out. For radiation sickness. That kind of bomb?”
“The bad kind,” said Ava.
The sound of activity on the floors below them grew louder, more frantic. Doors opening and slamming. Raised voices.
“We’re going up and out,” said Mac. “Roof, then hotel next door.”
“You have it all set,” said Ava.
“Don’t go in if you don’t know how to get out.”
Mac led the way upstairs, moving quietly and resolutely. No time for talk. A glance into the stairwell; two floors below he caught a rustle of blue. The police officers’ voices carried through the building as they called to one another, going room to room, checking for gunmen or terrorists or anyone killed or wounded, as TNT (or at least his voice) had claimed in his call to the emergency services. They reached the top floor. “Where to?” she asked.
Mac pointed to a door at the end of the hall. “Stairs to the roof.”
“What are we waiting for?”
Mac hurried to the door and held it open, allowing Ava to pass. He closed the door behind him, checking if there was a lock. There wasn’t. Up a short flight of stairs. The door to the roof was open, and as he walked through it, he recalled with crystalline clarity that he had closed it behind him. It was a rule to conceal your activity. Leave things as they were.Or had he?
He jogged past the skylight to the brick wall and took hold of the rope. “When’s the last time you walked the wall?”
“Never,” said Ava. “That was your training.”
“Always a first time,” said Mac.
He pulled the rope tight and handed the end to her. “Give me your shoes. Make it to the top of the wall, then onto the roof of the hotel. It’s a little slick. If you need to, take off your stockings; it will be easier with bare feet.”
Ava removed her shoes and handed them to Mac. “What then?”
“I have a room at the hotel. Regroup. Figure out how to find this guy.”
“Versailles,” said Ava. “There was an important international conference in town this weekend, and they are going to sign a treaty there.”
“Let me guess,” said Mac. “Israel, Saudi Arabia, and Qatar are involved.”
“Ten points,” said Ava.
“First thing: We tell the cops,” said Mac. “Better yet, we call your people in Paris.”
“They won’t listen,” said Ava. “That’s why I’m here. And forget the police. By now, I’m on some sort of watch list. Believe me, these guys are thorough.”
“Then the Agency.”
“You?” Ava stepped closer to Mac. “Don’t you get it? This is on us.” She took the rope in both hands and pulled it taut, giving Mac a side-eye. “If you say ‘You got this,’ I’ll kill you.”
“One step, then another. Walk the wall.”
Ava placed her left foot on the wall and hauled herself upward. Right foot. Left foot. Suddenly, she was halfway to the top. “Harder than it looks,” she said, between clenched teeth. She glanced over her shoulder. “Mac! Down!”
Mac threw himself onto the ground. He knew an order when he heard it. As he fell, he looked behind him. A slight woman in dark clothing fired a gun at him. The bullet struck the wall, a few inches below Ava. Ava let go of the rope and fell to the rooftop. Mac rolled to his left, reaching for his pistol. A bullet grazed his shoulder, paralyzing his arm. No matter how he tried, it refused to move.
The shooter approached him, pistol held with both hands, aimed squarely at him. Mac lay helpless. He remembered the shadow stalking him early that morning, an elfin figure wearing a beret. And Jane’s warning about the red flag on his name.
