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He lay in bed. Curled in his father’s arms. Reading Babar together.

One more, one more. Please, Daddy. I don’t want to go to sleep. Not yet. Don’t leave me.

I will never leave you.

Daniel felt the kiss on his forehead, and heard the deep, soft voice: Sleep tight. I love you.

Kissing his father’s forehead, Daniel whispered, “I love you, too.”

As they walked down the stairs, Girard and Pinot heard a burst of gunfire.

“Here she is.”

The nurse handed the pink and crying child, wrapped in a blanket, to Jean-Guy. He held her close against his chest. Cradling her, tears streaming down his cheeks, he kissed his daughter’s forehead and whispered, “I love you.”

CHAPTER 42

The GHS board meeting was finally called to order.

There had been twenty minutes or so of chat, of drinking strong coffee and teasing each other about their night out in Paris. Alain Pinot was a particular target since he’d arrived disheveled, in the same clothes he’d been in the night before, and looking slightly ill.

Thierry Girard had placed the file in front of Eugénie Roquebrune.

“Is this … ?” she asked, looking at Girard over her reading glasses. Another declaration of power. No contact lenses.

“Oui. It’s all here.” He bent down and whispered, “There was some trouble, but we have it contained.”

“Where’s Monsieur Dussault?”

“Tragically, there was a series of terrorist attacks overnight, assassinations really, including the Prefect of Police while he was with a Québec colleague and some others. The police will soon be on full alert.”

“The Prefect is dead?” Madame Roquebrune asked, her tone abrupt and businesslike.

“Oui.”

The CEO simply gave a small nod. “Fluctuat nec mergitur. Paris will be in mourning.”

“And those responsible will be found.”

“Alive?”

“Who can say?” said Girard.

The CEO looked at Girard. They could both say. Then her eyes traveled down the long shiny table. “And him?”

Girard followed her gaze, to Alain Pinot. “As you know, journalists, and the head of media organizations, are often targets, too. Loiselle—”

Madame Roquebrune held up her hand. “Merci.”

Girard was dismissed, and the board chair, after taking a long sip of fresh-squeezed orange juice and rearranging the papers in front of her, called the meeting to order.

The luminaries took their seats around the table once used by Louis XIV to sign official documents.

“I don’t think this will take long,” said Madame Roquebrune. “Some of you clearly need to catch up on your sleep.”

There was a rumble of amusement as all eyes went to Pinot, who lifted his coffee cup in acknowledgment.

After going through the usual business, the board chair said, “I’m sure you’ve had time to study the annual report. If you’d like I can read it out loud—”