“We won’t know until we talk to Hanna,” Olivia said pointedly.
The intelligence officer was quiet, considering their request. Then she nodded.
“Given the circumstances, I prefer to bring Ms. Ayari to Paris to meet you. I don’t think it’s a good idea to take you to her.”
Marielle allowed herself a moment to breathe. Their gamble worked.
“That would be fine with us.”
Fine was an understatement. They’d steered the conversation so that the idea to meet in Paris would come from Sabban, and not them. Anissa Sabban’s psychological ownership of the idea would make the change more palatable to Interpol and, importantly, Hanna.
Then the full impact of the woman’s words hit her. “We know our circumstances, but what circumstances are you concerned about?”
Sabban’s expression grew grim. “We’re tracing calls to Ms. Ayari’s mobile number, although we understand the phone itself was discarded. In a pond, I believe.”
It was actually a culvert, but Marielle had no intention of interrupting Anissa.
After a moment, she continued, “There have been two phone calls to that number. We traced both calls to prepaid phones purchased with cash in Tunis. There’s also been one attempted breach of our database.”
“Someone tried to hack Interpol?” Olivia’s voice rose slightly.
“Tried and failed. But it confirms that someone is very interested in finding Ms. Ayari.”
“Her father or Idris,” Marielle said.
“Or both.” The officer stood. “I’ll arrange a car service. Ms. Ayari and I will be in Paris by early afternoon. Where and when shall we meet?”
“We’ll scout a location and let you know,” Olivia said.
“Please be careful. I’d rather not have to explain to my superiors why two American intelligence contractors ended up dead in Paris.”
“We’ll do our best,” Marielle said dryly. “Wouldn’t want to saddle you with all that paperwork.”
Either Anissa Sabban didn’t get sarcasm or she really did view their potential deaths as a bureaucratic burden. “I appreciate that.”
They watched her exit the gate and follow the riverwalk to the Interpol building with a swift, purposeful stride.
They waited to see if anyone trailed the Interpol officer out of the park. Nobody did, so after a reasonable pause, they started moving, too.
They crossed the park to a cab stand to hail a car to the Gare de Lyon Part-Dieu train station. As they reached the sidewalk, Marielle’s neck prickled a warning.
Someone was watching them.
She didn’t turn around or change her pace. But as they continued along the sidewalk, she casually scanned the crowd.
There. A man in a dark jacket, approximately forty meters back. He’d been near the fountain in the park earlier.
She caught Olivia’s eye, and Olivia nodded. She’d seen him, too.
Her expression didn’t change, but her hand moved to the small of her back, where she carried a compact 9mm.
They hailed the first cab they spotted and dove into the back seat. As the driver headed toward the train station, Marielle twisted around to see the man getting into a taxi as well.
“Should we try to lose him?” she whispered.
“No, let’s confront him,” Olivia said in a low tone.
“Confront him?” Marielle was sure she’d misheard.
