Chapter 24
St.-Germain-des-Prés
Paris
“Dad, you have to leave.”
Mac pressed the phone to his ear. “Jaycee, that you?”
“Who else has the number?”
“I’m sorry,” said Mac, a little hazy. “Hold on a sec. I must have dozed off.”
He sat up and threw his feet onto the floor. He checked his watch. It was nine o’clock. He’d slept two hours. He looked around the flat, remembering where he was, his flight from Gerard Rosenfeld’s apartment, one step ahead of the police.
“Jaycee, I’m here,” he said, rousing himself. “Listen, I need your help.”
“Dad, stop,” said Jane. “You need to leave the safe flat immediately. Hear me? Get the hell out.”
“Leave?” said Mac. “I haven’t had my coffee yet.”
“I’m not joking,” Jane continued. “The DDO is flying to Paris. She might already be there. She’s canvassing all the safe houses in Paris to see if any are in use.”
“But no one knows I’m here,” said Mac. “Right?”
“No one knows you—Mac Dekker—are there. But safe houses are equipped with security systems that let station chiefs know when they’rein use. If anyone checks, they’ll find a record of someone entering the premises. For all I know, there are cameras there too.”
“Who is she?” asked Mac. “The new DDO. Anyone I’d know?”
“She came over from State,” said Jane. “Consular Affairs.”
Consular Affairs. There was a shady outfit. A bunch of glorified scalp hunters. “She’s coming to Paris to look for me?” asked Mac.
“No one is saying as much, but yeah.”
“How do you know? Friends tipping you off?”
“I just know,” said Jane. “I’ve got ten years on the job. Give me some credit.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” said Mac. “Last thing I want to do is get you into trouble.”
“I’ll only get in hot water if they find you there,” said Jane.
Mac stood, grabbing the pistol off the night table and tucking it into his waistband. He could be dressed and gone in ninety seconds. “I’m up and moving,” he said. “Can we talk later?”
“I’m not finished,” said Jane. “Word is that you’ve been red-flagged.”
The news hit Mac like a sock in the gut. “Red flag” was agency lingo for a termination notice. A contract issued for an individual’s murder. He’d been red-flagged once before. He’d escaped, but at the cost of his name and nine years’ exile. “Shoot first, ask questions later,” he said. “That’s extreme. Who the hell is the new DDO, anyway?”
“Eliza Porter Elkins. She likes to use all three names.”
Mac thought he was hearing things. “Eliza Porter Elkins? For real?”
“Yeah. What about her?”
“Nothing, sweetheart,” said Mac. “The name rings a bell, that’s all. Think she’s someone I escorted in Baghdad back in the day. Congressional delegation.”
“Her father’s a senator,” said Jane. “He’s the longest-serving member of Congress. She’s got some juice.”
