I wondered about that, wondered whether Ali Farad knew cops in Marseille that he suspected were corrupted by Rivier. But before I could come up with reasons for or against the possibility, the doctor returned.
“The pilot wants us to take our seats for landing,” she said.
“Okay,” I said, and buckled myself into the jump seat next to her bed. “Rivier’s brother, Benoit. He cares about you.”
“He was in Cannes when I first met Phillipe,” she said softly. “He always cared about me. A true friend.”
“Did he know his brother was mistreating you?”
Kim shook her head. “Benoit lived in Paris, and never visited the yacht while I was there. He was shocked when I showed up at his door and told him.”
“So you were staying with him in the Marais the night of the shoot-out in the club?”
“Yes,” she said, and we banked in and landed.
When we’d pulled into a private jet hangar, I left my seat and held out my hand to shake hers. “They’ll refuel, take you to Los Angeles. The doctor will be with you the whole way, and I know your granddad will be thrilled to see you.”
Kim gripped my hand, tears in her eyes, and said, “Thank you for saving me even when I didn’t seem to want saving.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, and moved toward the divider.
“Jack?” she called after me.
She had this pitiful expression on her face when she asked, “Can people change for good? Someone like me?”
I flashed on my brother, Tommy, and felt torn, but said, “I hear it happens all the time if you just have faith and accept help from the people who love you.”
Chapter 77
Charles de Gaulle Airport
10:40 a.m.
WE WAITED UNTIL the jet had lifted off before taking a car back into Paris. From the highway we could see fingers of black smoke rising above the eastern suburbs. We’d been gone less than nine hours, but we entered a city that had fundamentally changed.
The rocket grenade attack and gunfight in Les Bosquets was all over the French media. Three police officers had been killed and nine wounded in the HEAT explosion and ensuing gun battle.
Six immigrant youths had died. Two had been weaponless. Four had been armed with AK-47 assault rifles. The footage of the AB-16 battle had gone viral, and more violence had erupted in public housing areas throughout the suburbs.
Cars were seized, sprayed with the tag of AB-16, and then set afire. Police who’d rushed to the scenes had been met with automatic weapons fire and forced to withdraw.
In the front seat, Peaks seemed to have had enough. He pulled out his phone, punched in a number, listened, and then said, “Your highness, I’m thinking that today might be a good time for the princesses to be leaving Paris.”
He listened and said, “If you can make that call, I will arrange everything.”
Peaks hung up and said, “He’s calling his wife to pull the plug on the shopping spree, and it sounds as if I have a job for at least another day.”
“My loss,” I said.
Peaks began making arrangements for three bulletproof limos to be brought to the Plaza Athénée in three hours’ time. That was followed by a call to the prince’s pilot. An estimated departure was set for four that afternoon.
I called Justine, who, it turned out, was visiting Sherman Wilkerson.
“Put him on,” I said.
“Jack?” he said in an airy voice. “Do you have her?”
“She’s on her way to L.A. as we speak,” I said. “She’s a little beat up and will need first-class medical attention, but I think she’s going to be all right.”
“And the danger she was in?”
“That’s been taken care of, sir,” I said.
For several moments I listened to Sherman’s labored breathing, and then he said, “You are one of the good ones, Jack Morgan. Everyone at Private.”
“We aim to please,” I said, and asked that Justine be put back on.
“You want me to meet her at LAX?” she asked.
“Yes. White-glove treatment,” I said, and then explained how Rivier had been trying to get Kim addicted again.
“I’ll get her to Betty Ford,” she said.
“But not until Sherman has seen her,” I said.
“Sure,” Justine said. “How’s the art professor?”
“I haven’t seen her in several days,” I replied. “Kidnappings, murders, and general insurrection have a way of killing the whole romance thing.”
“So there was a ‘romance thing’?”
“I’ll admit to a crush and nothing more.”
There was silence.
“What?” I said.
“Nothing,” she replied. “When should I tell people you’re coming back to L.A.?”
“What people?”
“Your brother, for one,” she said. “He keeps calling.”
“His trial is coming up,” I said. “Maybe I’ll stay in Paris until it’s over.”
“Really?”
“No,” I said, sighing. “Thanks for your work with Sherman. Job well done.”
“I’ve just been a regular in the ICU, but thanks.”
I hung up, feeling weirdly disconnected from my “normal” life back in L.A.
How long had I been in Paris? Five, six days?
It seemed longer. It seemed like-
“I have seen twenty-nine AB-16 tags just since we left the airport,” Louis said. “A week ago, there were none.”
“Okay…” I said, yawning.
“I think this is a tipping point,” he said at last. “With the rocket grenade and the AK-47 assault rifles, the government won’t have a choice now. They’ll declare martial law.”
Chapter 78
7th Arrondissement
Noon
INSIDE THE WAR School, Major Sauvage and Captain Mfune stood at attention with four of their classmates. They had only just been summoned to the office of Brigadier General Anton Georges, commander of École de Guerre.
General Georges was a tall, laconic man, proud of his bureaucratic skills. Sauvage, however, thought him a fraud and a jackass because he had risen to his rank and station in life without ever once experiencing combat.
“Gentlemen,” General Georges began. “Paris and les banlieues will be subject to martial law as of nineteen hundred hours, and to curfew between twenty-three hundred hours and oh six hundred hours. All French students of the War School are needed, especially the six of you, who speak Arabic. You will be deployed in command positions this evening throughout the eastern suburbs.”
General Georges said they’d be issued weapons and combat gear, and he handed out their assignments.
Sauvage wanted to pump his fist in the air when he saw where they were putting him. Mfune was also pleased.
“Go home and take care of your personal affairs,” the general said. “Rendezvous at seventeen hundred hours. Dismissed.”
“General?” one officer said. “Any idea how long we will be in the field?”
“Unclear, Captain,” General Georges said. “Depends on how quickly the AB-16 movement can be brought under control.”
The officer groaned softly. Sauvage understood and glanced at him scornfully. War School was a necessary stop on the way to high command. The officer was asking what would become of his career if he didn’t get to check the “War School” box on his résumé.
Another jackass, thought the major. Can’t he see the possibilities? No, of course not. He’s like the generaclass="underline" incapable of it.
Sauvage, however, saw all the possibilities, and he was almost beside himself with excitement. The army was putting them inside the flash points!
As the general was dismissing them, an audacious idea popped into Sauvage’s head. It bloomed and became part of the plot in an instant.
Outside, Sauvage told Mfune what he had in mind, and they split up with promises to stay in close touch. The major took the train to Pantin, and went straight to the Canal de l’Ourcq, where he entered the condemned linen factory through the footpath door.