“Everything has been agreed,” said the emir. “The French president wishes to address the country. He wants to make sure no one can change their mind.”
Tariq struggled to pull up his pants with one hand. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Just bring the champagne.”
“Of course, Father. I’m on my way. One thing: Did Jabr tell you where the announcement is to be made?”
“Where do you think?” said the emir. “The Palace of Versailles.”
Chapter 42
Passy, sixteenth arrondissement
Paris
“Think it’ll work?” asked Mac.
“My part or your part?” said Harry Crooks.
“I thought it’s one plan,” said Mac. “Both parts together.”
“I’m not the one breaking into a prince’s mansion,” said Crooks. “All I can promise is that you’ll have a chance to get in. A chance, nothing more. After that, you’re on your own.”
“You’re a real confidence builder,” said Mac.
“Confidence is one door down,” said Crooks. “Next to bullshit and vanity. I’m selling the truth. It was confidence that put me in this chair.”
They’d spent an hour discussing how to get into Tariq al-Sabah’smaisonparticulier. The problem wasn’t how to break in so much as how to lessen the chance of discovery once he was inside. A six-story home. Twenty-two rooms. An unknown number of occupants, including armed security. The odds were overwhelmingly against Mac discovering Ava before he himself was discovered. The solution was plain to see. It was also impossible. Somehow Mac must convince TNT and everyone else in the house to get out.
If Mac couldn’t do it, he had to find someone who could.
The time had gotten to 1:00 p.m. The clouds had parted. A weak autumn sun shone through a pale sky. Mac flipped through photographsof TNT’s Paris residence. His problem was that the magazines showcased the same rooms each time: the living room, the primary bedroom, the study, the kitchen. While he was able to glean a little bit of handy information about each room, he was left with little or no idea where in the six-story building they were located. All he knew was that Tariq would not keep Ava in any of them. She was locked up somewhere else.
Most helpful was a photo essay about the home’s expansive rooftop garden. Mac wasn’t interested in what flowers Tariq al-Sabah was growing or the bougainvillea hanging from the trellises. He was drawn to several photographs showing the door leading to the rooftop garden. To look at, it was a hundred years old, weather beaten, in need of paint, and guarded by a simple Schlage lock. It was, Mac decided, the only thing in the entire building TNT hadn’t renovated.
He had his way in.
But, as they’d already concluded, getting in wasn’t the problem. It was what happened afterward.
Crooks handed Mac a cell phone. “It’s all set up. When you’re ready, call 112. The number that will appear on their call screens belongs to TNT, if that was him that kidnapped Ava.”
“It was him,” said Mac.
Crooks called it “spoofing,” using software to disguise a caller’s number by substituting another for it. Most often, it was used by telemarketers to fool people into answering what otherwise might appear on their phone’s register asSpamor an unwanted solicitation. “You can’t just call and ask for help,” Crooks had said. “Before they send anyone out, they have to confirm who exactly it is calling.”
“How long before they show?” asked Mac.
“To TNT’s place?” Crooks spun in his chair. “A Qatari prince on the Avenue Montaigne? Fifteen minutes tops.”
Mac liked fifteen minutes. He didn’t want to be hanging around TNT’s rooftop garden longer than that.
“Did you finish writing the speech?” asked Crooks.
“More like three lines,” said Mac. “What do you think?”
Crooks read Mac’s words. “How did you get through school with penmanship like that? At college in Ghana, they would have beat my knuckles bloody.”
“Palmer Method went out with my mother,” said Mac.
