“Look,” her words tumbled out slowly, “I’m already in breach of at least a half dozen protocols by not dragging you to the local authorities.”
“You’ve sat here for twenty minutes complaining about how the brothers have been able to get away with so many crimes, and how if only more had stood up to stop them it would have alleviated so much pain and misery in the world. Jakub is a terrorist. He’s sold arms to both sides in Somalia, the Boko Haram insurgency and countless others. He’s ordered the murders of UN peacekeepers, bombed embassies and killed any official who had the audacity to want him held accountable for his crimes. He’s murdered, raped and terrorised.” Nash held up the phone. “What if we have the power to end his tyranny once and for all?”
Sophia leaned back in her chair. Nash was sure the arch in her back and the heave of her chest were deliberate.
“What are you proposing?”
“We see who answers the numbers saved in this phone,” he said, fluttering his eyelids, as innocent as a newborn fawn. “Nothing more.”
“Going rogue like that, even to take down someone as vile as Jakub Andrysiak…” Sophia squinted. “You’re going to lead me astray, aren’t you, Mason Nash?”
“I get the impression you only go to places of your choosing, Sophia Ocon.”
Her tight red lips turned upward in a flirtatious smirk, then she shook her head defeatedly. “You’ll be the death of me. What’s the play?”
Once she’d heard it, Sophia let out a low whistle. “You are a risk taker, aren’t you?” Her eyes drifted outside, but it was clear it wasn’t the street scene that was occupying her thoughts.
“My organisation expressly forbade me from taking Jakub Andrysiak on,” she twirled her hair, “unless it is in direct `connection to an active investigation.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Seems I’ve found a man who qualifies.”
“You wouldn’t be using me to get to him, would you?” Nash asked.
She cast him a c’est la vie expression. “I’d say we’re using one another for mutually beneficial outcomes, no?”
Minutes later the two of them were crowded in a tiny phone booth in the back of the café. Once used for payphone calls, it now hosted mobile phone calls in a quieter environment, away from street noise. Sophia’s body was pressed against his in the small confines. Neither seemed troubled by the proximity. Nash certainly wasn’t. Her Chanel Nº5 was intoxicating.
“It’s a bit tight,” Nash observed.
“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” Sophia answered with lashings of self-assuredness.
Not helping.
Forcing himself to concentrate on the matter at hand, Nash hit the first number in the phone and waited. Sophia pressed her ear against his hand to listen. The call was answered on the second ring.
“Allo?”
“We have Franciszek,” Nash stated evenly in English.
He held his breath. There was an elongated pause.
“Let me speak to him.”
“No.”
“No?” the voice at the other end asked in anger. “Do you have any idea who you are speaking to?”
Nash did. It was unmistakably Jakub.
“I do. But you have no idea who you’re speaking to, or what we’re capable of.”
Sophia leaned back and arranged her impressive features into an impressed look. Nash went on.
“Your brother was flagged by Interpol as having been spotted in the Latin Quarter. A rather populous part of the city for a wanted man to be frequenting, one would have thought. Every law enforcement agency in the country wants your brother; we happened to get to him first. We think we deserve some sort of recompense for keeping him out of their hands, wouldn’t you say?”
“If you hurt my brother I’ll—”
“Save the threats. This isn’t a Hollywood movie. He’s fine,” Nash lied, “but it will only remain so if you follow my instructions very closely. Do we have an accord?”
Nash could virtually hear the gnashing of teeth through the phone.
“State your demands.”
Three hours later, Sophia and Nash watched the pre-dawn light spread across the grey Paris architecture as they sat on the lower steps of the Basilica of Sacré-Cœur in Montmartre. The view of the awakening city was spectacular. In the cold, they huddled as close as lovers. It was Paris, after all.
Only a few souls braved the chill to watch Paris come alive from the most beautiful vantage point in the city. On the steps, two small clumps of people sat with phones at the ready, eager to capture a moment to post for the folks back home.
A large American town car rolled slowly into the forecourt of the Sacré-Cœur. It was a dead-end street leading to a small cul-de-sac at the end. They drove slowly, ominously.
In a low voice, Sophia asked, “Is this plan going to work?”
Nash gave her a reassuring squeeze. “There’s an old military dictum.” Her face turned to his, her eyes tired but expectant. “If we don’t know what we’re doing, the enemy certainly can’t anticipate our future actions.”
Her face crumpled into concern. “I thought you were going to give me some reassuringly sage advice.”
“I think we’ve known each other long enough—”
“Eight hours?”
“—that we don’t sugar coat things. This could go pear-shaped in an instant. We need to be ready.”
