Don helped them load into the Renault before speeding off the airport property and hitting the Autoroute du Nord. They hadn’t gotten far when the traffic crawled past an accident.
Traffic resumed speed as they passed an amusement park to the right. They sped by the patchwork of farmland they’d seen during their descent into Paris, but now Chris could see a herd of Holstein Friesan cows grazing in one of the fields. He’d once heard a French diplomat explain how eco-friendly their farms were. Farmers ran water through a pipe beside the milk to cool it down, significantly reducing their energy costs, and the same water exited the pipe and entered a trough for the cows to drink. But from the outside, the farms didn’t look so different from American farms.
They crossed over a gentle bend in the River Somme. It was the sight of one of the bloodiest battles of World War I, with over a million killed or wounded, but now the river was tranquil. Chris had seen his share of the horrors of war, and rather than dwell on it, he focused on the serenity of the bubbling water.
Traffic became sluggish again, this time for construction. Chris breathed deeply, channeling the calm waters, even though his mind was screaming at him to hurry.
Hannah’s phone rang. She listened for a moment, then hung up. “Xander’s heading northwest on Autoroute des Anglais now,” she said, the instructions clear.
Don nodded and turned off onto the highway leading to England.
“Maybe England is where Xander’s next target is,” Hannah said.
“Michael worked for United Kingdom Petroleum,” Chris said. He used his smartphone to search the internet for United Kingdom Petroleum’s headquarters. “I’ve got their address in London.”
“At the rate we’re going,” Sonny said, “Xander could swim the English Channel and walk to London before we get there.”
Chris chuckled at the truth of the statement. “Now, if Xander is heading to UKP, he could get there a number of ways, right, Don?”
“Yes, sir,” Don said. “From Calais, he could take a ferry, drive, or ride the train through the Chunnel.”
Chris nodded. “Okay, so we’ll just have to figure out which way he went.”
“That won’t be difficult at all,” Sonny said, sarcasm dripping from his words.
“Well, it’s all we’ve got.”
Nearly three hours after leaving Charles de Gaulle Airport, the trio arrived in the city of Calais, France’s gateway to England. Hannah received a call from the surveillance team, and she put it on speakerphone. “Xander parked his car at a restaurant here in Calais and went inside. When we checked to see if he was eating, he wasn’t there. He must’ve already slipped through the kitchen and out the back. His car is still sitting in the parking lot.”
“You lost him,” Hannah said. She heaved a deep sigh.
There was no reply.
“Do you think he made that move in the restaurant out of caution, or did he make it because he knew you were following him?” she asked.
“Hard to say.”
“You check the ferry, and we’ll check the Eurostar,” Hannah said.
“If he abandoned his car,” Chris said, “he might plan to take the train across.”
“Or he could’ve had another car waiting for him,” Sonny said.
“True,” Chris agreed. “Xander isn’t a freshman at losing a tail, I’m sure.”
Don drove them to the Eurostar Station at Calais-Fréthun, where he dropped them off. They spread out on foot, making themselves less conspicuous and a more challenging target. They blended into the crowd and entered the station, giving the appearance of normal passengers, but they were observing everyone and everything, looking for any clue as to where Xander was. They examined the area, including the restrooms.
After searching the station, Chris and Sonny stopped in front of a fast-food stall.
“This is like trying to find a preacher in a whorehouse,” Sonny said.
Chris frowned. “Instead of trying to follow Xander, we could try to anticipate where he’ll be next.”
Hannah joined them. “I just received a call from Young. He said when he hacked Xander’s laptop, his team downloaded some web-browsing history Xander had tried to delete. Young’s team discovered a lot of internet activity regarding UKP headquarters and its neighborhood in London.”
“London,” Sonny said.
“The train leaves in twenty minutes,” Hannah said. “And we still have to buy tickets and make our way through security.”
Because they were carrying pistols, they wouldn’t be able to pass through the X-ray machines, so after getting their tickets, Hannah led them through the lane for crew and VIPs. A train conductor passed through the lane ahead of them, and when the trio reached the security guard, Hannah showed her diplomatic passport. As the guard examined it, a puzzled look came over his face.
The security guard scratched his head, and a crew member came up behind them. The guard looked at Hannah, then back at her passport, again and again. He asked to see Chris’s and Sonny’s passports, as well.
Meanwhile, the crew member behind them tapped his foot impatiently. When he tried to pass them, Sonny stopped him with a stiff arm. “Hey buddy, we were in line first. You wait like the rest of us.”
The crew member became angry and shouted in French. “Fils de salope!” Son of a bitch! Then he complained about being late for his shift. Chris could communicate in French, in addition to being fluent in Arabic and Russian.
Sonny didn’t know French, but the crew member’s body language was clear, and Sonny smiled, eating it up, which only made the crew member raise his voice louder and spit out more obscenities.
The security guard told Hannah to wait for his superior. After arriving at the crew/VIP gate, the man gave the passports a cursory inspection.
Chris knew his passport was created by the Agency’s finest, and his confidence in the document was the critical link between the passport and the official’s approval. Such confidence could mask a minor error in a document. Likewise, the lack of confidence could raise suspicion, even if the document was perfect. Chris’s faith in his passport was solid, and the head security officer waved them through without a fuss.
As the trio walked to the Eurostar platform, Chris observed the other passengers. None of them were Xander or Animus. Minutes later, the bullet-shaped train pulled up in front of them and stopped. Its doors opened with a hydraulic hiss, and Chris’s team boarded. They located their seats and sat down.
“Who’s going to search the train?” Chris asked quietly.
“It won’t take all three of us, and we don’t want to stick out like turds in a glass of milk,” Sonny said.
“I’ll be the least conspicuous,” Hannah said.
Personally, she was the last person he’d send. He didn’t know what he’d do if something happened to her. Professionally, she was the obvious choice. He wanted to go along as a tail, but that came from his personal feelings, not his professionalism.
Hannah looked to Chris, as if waiting for a response. He kept his mouth shut and forced his head to nod approvingly.
Hannah smiled, stood up, and walked away. She passed through the doors into the next compartment and was out of sight. She was a pro at recruiting and running agents, and she was an accomplished MMA middleweight, but her shooting, although better than most CIA officers, wasn’t at the level of Chris’s or Sonny’s. And it might not be at the level of Xander’s, either. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to find out.
Speaking English with a slight French accent, the conductor announced the time in France over the loudspeaker and that the Eurostar would arrive in London in one hour. As the train pulled forward, the conductor repeated the announcement in French. Outside, sunlit poles and barricades disappeared, replaced by the blackness of the Chunnel, the Channel Tunnel. Inside, artificial lights flicked on, pushing out the darkness.