Suspects(29)

She translated the menu for him, and when the food came it was as delicious as it had sounded. She had bouillabaisse and he had oysters, followed by a steak for Mike and chicken with mushrooms that smelled delicious for her. It all tasted as good as it looked.

“It’s not as good or as much fun as the diner,” she apologized. “And no jukebox. They really should put one in, it would be so much fun!”

“I think it’s great as it is, and it feels authentically Parisian.”

“It is. I love it here, and they’re always nice to me. I used to eat dinner here all the time.” Axel and Matthieu loved it.

“You will again.” He smiled gently, and she told him what she’d been doing since she got back. She’d been busy, which seemed to be her normal style. He wanted to ask her what kind of security she had in her offices, but he didn’t dare. She’d wonder why he was asking, since he was supposedly a lawyer, not an agent of the CIA. He couldn’t say what he did anyway, it was all classified at a high clearance level, but he had to keep remembering to maintain his pretense of being a lawyer. She never questioned the story, and the evening sped by with good food, good wine, and good company. She looked relaxed and happy as they talked their way through dinner. She ordered profiteroles for them for dessert, which were like cream puffs, only filled with ice cream and drowned in chocolate sauce.

“Put this on our list of favorites, along with the banana splits,” he said, grinning.

“Good, isn’t it?” she agreed with him. “The banana split was better, but this is pretty good.”

“I think I’d reverse that.”

“I’d take you for my favorite ice cream tomorrow, but I think we’d better stay home. You can come to the apartment whenever you want. Just be careful. People can get really crazy and rock cars sometimes, or set fire to them.”

“What about yours?”

“I keep it in a garage farther away when there are protests. It’s sad that they get so out of hand. They even attack the monuments sometimes and put graffiti all over them or try to break them. It’s terrible when they behave like that. The police use tear gas on them, so be careful tomorrow if you come over.”

“I will, and you be sure to stay inside,” he said seriously.

“I promise.” She smiled at him. “I used to go away on weekends, especially if there were protests. But now I stay in the city.” She didn’t mention the chateau so he didn’t either. He was careful to avoid the painful triggers of bad memories for her. Fortunately, he knew what most of them were.

They walked a little way after dinner, and then they got in her car, and she dropped him off at his hotel.

“See you tomorrow?” she asked, smiling.

“I will, and thank you for the invitation.” He looked at her longingly, touched her cheek gently before he got out of the car, and she waved as he walked into the hotel.

She was smiling as she walked into the apartment and went to her office to answer emails, which was what she did at night, for lack of someone to talk to. She never went to bed until she was exhausted and had a better chance of sleeping. She sent Mike an email and thanked him again for dinner. He smiled when he saw it on his phone at the hotel. He had to remind himself that he had made a solemn vow to himself not to involve her in his life and the risks it entailed, but he could feel his resolve melting. All he had to do was see her, and he wanted to protect her, even from himself.



* * *



—

She went to bed late, as she always did, and woke in the morning when she heard the crowds start to gather under her windows. She peeked out and saw hundreds of protestors in the street and riot police standing by, biding their time, until they stepped in and began sending tear gas into the crowd.

She called Mike on his cellphone.

“Be careful when you come over,” she warned him. “It’s starting to look a little rough here, and they have the tear gas tanks set up on my street.”

“It’s not looking great here either,” he said, glancing out the window at people milling around, many of them looked like students. The crowd seemed restless and angry, shouting slogans and kicking cars. “Thank God they don’t use guns here, or they’d all be killing each other,” Mike commented.

“It can get pretty nasty. There will be a lot of injuries and arrests if it gets bad,” Theo added.

“I’ll come over soon. Jeans okay?” he inquired. It seemed smarter not to attract attention under the circumstances.

“Of course, you can come in pajamas.”

“Best offer I’ve had so far today,” he said, and didn’t tell her he didn’t own any. He slept in the buff, but he wouldn’t have said it to her.

“Just be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt.” She sounded worried, and he had a thought as he put on his jeans and a black sweater. He called the American embassy before he left the hotel. He asked for the duty officer at the CIA desk, and introduced himself with his CIA ID number, and said he had the proper credentials with him. They said they’d be ready for him when he arrived. They had no problem with his request.

When he got to the Faubourg Saint-Honoré, the street was closed to protect the British and American embassies, and the élysée Palace, the French White House. They had set up a movable bulletproof wall and there were swarms of riot police on the street. All the shops were closed and many boarded up to discourage looters. It was the fanciest shopping street in Paris, full of jewelers and luxury stores. When he got to a police barricade, Mike showed his badge and credentials and pointed to the U.S. Embassy, and the policeman in charge waved him past the barriers. He wove his way through the riot police, gendarmes, and regular police, and entered the American embassy. A battalion of marines in combat uniforms were protecting the building, but inside, people were busy and grateful to be well protected. Mike asked for the CIA duty officer, who was expecting him, and they led him into a room where the agent was waiting.