Claude gestured to the open backseat door. “Monsieur,” he said as Janusz entered. From the other side of the vehicle, Arnauld entered the backseat. At the same moment, Claude walked around the vehicle and entered the car from the front passenger’s side. They were now both facing Janusz.

  “What is this about?” Janusz asked.

  “Sir, can I see your passport?” Claude said.

  “Certainly.” Janusz handed over an Australian passport.

  “Mr. Ian Phillips?” Claude said while leafing through the blue passport with the kangaroo and emu emblem on the cover.

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “How long have you been in France?”

  “Four days.”

  “This stamp shows you were in Zurich.”

  “Yes, I had business in Zurich before my arrival in France.”

  “Where have you been staying in France?”

  “My company owns a chalet near the town of Corps. I was there till this morning.”

  “You staying by yourself? Can anyone vouch for you?”

  “I’m staying with a female friend.”

  “What brings you to Lyon today?”

  “Shopping. We’re running out of food. We also wanted to buy some gifts for friends. Now can you please explain what’s going on?”

  “Have you also traveled to Geneva recently?”

  “Geneva, no. Why?”

  “You sure you’ve not passed through Geneva? Perhaps for an evening, to go dancing?”

  “No, I have not. Where are you headed with this line of questioning?”

  Claude turned to Arnaud. After a slight pause, Claude broke in once again. “Are you watching the news, Monsieur Phillips?”

  “No, I have no interest in the news. I’m here on vacation.”

  “Well, if you’d watched the news, you would know about the shooting at Studio Twenty in Geneva. Three men were killed and several others injured. We’re working closely with the Swiss authorities. Of course, given the proximity of Geneva to Lyon, it’s only natural that the suspect may try to hide in this city.”

  “That’s terrible! Was it the Chechen mob?”

  Both Frenchmen stared at him silently.

  “Perhaps the Albanians?” Janusz suggested without hesitation.

  “We don’t know yet. The Swiss are still trying to put the pieces together. Which brings us back to you,” Arnauld replied suggestively.

  “Yes, I’m late for an appointment with my friend, who is probably worried by now. Please get to the point.”

  “The only clue we have from the Swiss is this,” Claude said. He unfolded a computer printout that was hidden in his coat pocket. It was a picture of a man holding a pistol.

  “Who is this?” Janusz asked.

  “We thought you could tell us?” Claude said

  “How so?” Janusz stared at both Frenchmen inquisitively.

  “The image was sent by the Swiss this morning. This man is their prime suspect,” Claude said, pointing at the picture. “Arnauld and I are in Lyon on a separate matter, however. We need to locate an individual who has traveled here on business. It just so happens that our suspect was supposed to come down the same street where we spotted you. When I recognized your face from this photo, I was certain it could not be a coincidence.” The French were apparently just as close to Dr. Ahvazi as he was. They would grab him soon, if they had not already done so.

  “So you’re telling me you’re here for someone else, yet you grabbed me instead because I resemble the man in this photo?” Janusz replied in anger.

  “Something like that. We’ve got people around the city searching for the other man. Since we’ve not spotted him yet, we thought it might be good to check in on our other suspect. I just have this feeling that you’re somehow connected with all this.”

  “I can assure you that I’m not the man in your photo. For one thing, his nose is thick, and mine is not. For another, his eyebrows are bushier than mine. I also don’t own a pistol, and I have not been to Geneva in years.”

  “So you say. We need to corroborate your story to be sure. I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “This is ridiculous. You can’t just detain me because I resemble a man in a picture,” Janusz said.

  “The man in the photo is wanted for a triple murder. We need an hour of your time at the station to take some pictures. The computers will take care of the rest. If there is no match, you’re free to leave.”

  “I don’t have time for these games. I’m not the man in the photo. I demand to be released or taken to the Australian consulate at once.”

  The Frenchmen seemed unsure of themselves now. They obviously did not want a diplomatic incident. On the other hand, they would be foolish to let the Geneva suspect slip through their fingers. Janusz was certain the facial-recognition software would match him to the surveillance photo.

  When Claude took out his cell phone, Janusz acted without hesitation. A quick jab with his right elbow smashed Arnaud’s head against the backseat window. Claude dropped his phone to reach for something in his coat pocket. Before he could do so, Janusz wrapped his right arm around his neck from the backseat, locking it in with his left hand. Janusz squeezed with all his might, choking the Frenchmen’s neck tightly. Claude flailed around, gasping for air. No need to worry, the windows were tinted from the outside. Janusz took his time squeezing Claud’s neck until the Frenchman passed out. In the backseat, Arnaud was moving again. Janusz punched him in the face once more before exiting the vehicle.

  He closed the door behind him and ran toward Rue Gailleton, divided in half by a small park. Janusz passed several concrete benches placed in front of the waterspouts. He took out his cell phone to contact Kim.

  “Where the hell are you, Janusz?”

  “No time to explain. Forget about our suspect for now. I’m headed down Rue Gailleton away from the river. The French police are after me. Use the tracker on my phone to meet me in the back alley,” he said before checking his tail. Someone was running at full speed toward him. Unfortunately, Arnaud had recovered much faster than expected. Janusz slid the phone in his pocket before taking off. He ran past the memorial at the end of the Rue Gailleton toward Rue de Fleurieu. It was another street with a high cobblestone wall on one side. The other side of the street was lined with shops. Arnaud was closing in rapidly.

  “Stop, stop,” Arnaud shouted. It would not be long before a uniformed policeman would appear. An outdoor café was several meters ahead, small tables and green chairs on the sidewalk. Janusz crossed the street to avoid a collision. Two women seated outside stared at him running by. A narrow alley to his left emptied into an intersection where three streets converged. Janusz ducked into the alley under a restaurant sign.

  He gasped for air. Within seconds, the approaching footsteps of Arnaud reached his ears. Janusz clenched his fist. As soon as Arnaud emerged in the alley, Janusz struck with a right cross. The shot instantly connected with Arnaud’s jaw and dropped him to the ground. Arnaud landed with a loud thud and was out cold. Janusz shrugged at the onlookers as he quickly left the scene. Several patrons came out of the restaurant to check on Arnaud, who would probably not be able to talk for a while. In front of Janusz was Rue de la Charite and the Tissue Museum. He veered left, trying hard not to draw attention to himself. He passed a bakery on his left in search of Kim. He continued past several stores, keeping an eye on the next intersection. Any minute now, Kim would emerge to rescue him. Straight ahead was Rue des Ramparts. He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted the vehicle.

  Before Janusz took his next step, he felt a sharp object in his back.

  “Ah-ah, no sudden moves, please. Face forward and keep walking.”

  The voice sounded familiar.

  “You fucking Australian, you almost killed me. Keep walking.”

  Janusz wondered whether Claude would shoot him in the back.

  “I have a perfectly good explanation,” Janusz said.

  “Shut up,” Claude yelled.

  A boisterous group of men turned the corner in front of them. They had to be North Africans. He waited until they were several meters in front.

  “Hey, you fucking Arabs,” Janusz said in broken French.

  “What are you doing, you idiot? I told you to shut up,” Claude said nervously.

  “Yes, I’m talking to you cunts,” Janusz continued.

  The four men gathered around them.

  “You have something to say?” one of them shouted as he stood face-to-face with Janusz.

  “My friend here says Arabs should stay in North Africa,” Janusz said as he pointed to Claude. The group turned to face the Frenchman.

  “Well, perhaps he wants to tell us himself,” one of the North Africans said.

  Claude froze in place. Janusz suddenly struck him in the face. The Frenchman shouted out in pain as he hunched over. The Arabs stared in confusion. Janusz grabbed Claude’s head, bringing it toward his knee. The strike knocked him unconscious for the second time. The Arabs were stunned.

  “He’s a police officer, better run,” Janusz said as he ran toward Rue des Ramparts. Kim was still waiting in the car. He opened the door to jump in next to her.

  “What the hell happened?” Kim asked.

  “I don’t want to talk about it. Where is our suspect?”

  “On the way to the meeting.”

  “Let’s get on with it before we lose him.”

  “Not to worry. When I saw you leaving with those men, I placed a tracking device on his vehicle before he drove off.”

  “Lovely girl, we don’t have time to waste. Those guys were DGSI, and they’re also looking for Dr. Ahvazi. We need to get to him before they do.”

  “Roger that,” Kim said.

  “Where are you going now?” Janusz asked.

  “Following the tracking device, of course,” she said as she made her way across Gallieni Bridge toward Avenue Leclerc.

  34. White House Situation Room, Washington, DC

  October 22

  “Excellent work, gentlemen! You can all pat yourselves on the back.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. The best part is no one can pin this on us,” DNI David Schultz declared proudly.

  “What’s the damage assessment on this, Pete?” the president asked.

  “A predator overflight an hour ago indicated the QF camp south of Idlib was completely annihilated. The Russians demolished the adjacent olive farm as well. It was a temporary QF headquarters,” General Beck replied.

  “Any numbers on casualties?” the president asked.

  “Our satellite indicates there were no survivors. The Russians confirmed our observation. The NSA sent a transcript of the Russian reports from Idlib.”

  “Do they know what’s happened?”

  “You mean the deception operation, Mr. President?”

  “Not that, David. Do the Russians know they’ve attacked the Iranian QF?”

  “Yes, sir. That was about an hour ago. General Zelnikov sent a Spetznaz team to get a ground visual on the damages,” the DNI replied.

  The president flashed a smile at those seated around the table. The only other person in the room besides himself, David Shultz, and Peter Beck was the national security adviser, Paul Upman. Outside of this small group, the president did not trust anyone. As an outsider to Washington, President Robert Adkins was constantly under attack by the establishment. To make matters worse, his administration had been subject to damaging leaks, the kind that had never been seen before in Washington. The president opened his briefcase to pull out a long red box, tied at the top with a black bow. After removing the wrapping, he placed the box of chocolates in the middle of the table.

  “Gentlemen, I’d been saving these for a special occasion. President Devereaux of France gifted them to me during our last summit in Paris. It’s the first time since my inauguration that I feel we’ve done something worthwhile without interference from the politically correct police. Help yourselves.”

  “I’d hate to rain on this parade, but you forgot one thing, Mr. President.” It was the national security adviser who spoke. Paul Upman folded his hands, glancing around the table.

  “What’s that, Paul?”

  “Congress! The success of this SOCOM deception operation is something the Armed Services Committee will want to hear about.”

  President Adkins took a moment to consider Paul’s warning as he put another piece of chocolate in his mouth. He washed that down with a sip of coffee.

  “Fuck ’em!”

  “What do you mean, sir?”

  “You heard what I said, Paul, fuck ’em. We’re not going to tell those assholes anything because the second we do, it’ll be on every TV set, website, and newspaper around the world. This town has become a partisan sieve. My opponents will leak this to the press just to get even with me. That means the Russians will know what we did.”

  “Not necessarily. This whole thing came to fruition because we learned the Russians had broken the encryption of ISIS leadership and were monitoring their conversations. At that point, we transmitted a fake conversation between the ISIS leader and his deputy stating that ISIS was planning an immediate attack on Russian forces from the olive farm in Southern Idlib,” Paul said.

  “Yeah, so what’s your point?” the president asked with palpable irritation.

  “The point is the Russians can only be certain they were duped if they learn that ISIS never planned that attack. But the Russians can’t do that, sir.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I authorized General Beck to destroy the ISIS leadership complex right after our fake transmission. The Russians will suspect some sort of foul play, but they’ll never be able to put their finger on it.”

  “What so we tell the Armed Services Committee?”

  “Simple, we tell them the clandestine operation used ISIS communication channels as a prelude to a decapitation strike. We leave the Russian angle out of the briefing. This way, the press leak will indicate that our operation was setting up ISIS for elimination. As long as the Russians don’t know they were the target, the rest is manageable,” the national security adviser declared.

  The president took a moment to let the words sink in. “Paul, that’s brilliant, just brilliant.” The president popped two more chocolates in his mouth. He picked a champagne truffle and a raspberry ganache, his favorites.

  “I’m starting to enjoy this way of doing business, gentlemen. We get things done without interference from our enemies in both Congress and the press. The Iranians will also think twice before causing trouble outside their borders,” the president said while wondering how the Iranian regime would respond to this incident.

  35. ProtoVax Headquarters, Lyon, France

  October 22

  They waited under the shade on Rue Jean Grolier. To the left was an abandoned lot with overgrown weeds and bushes. Across the street was a modern three-story building with Swedish architectural designs. The outside of the building had rectangular windows with colored glass in shades of green, white, and black. Horizontal metal railings, resembling a steel cage, covered the exterior of the second and third floors. Metal gates sheltered the interior courtyard of the facility. The headquarters of ProtoVax, located in the industrial section of Lyon, resembled a fortress. Security cameras adorned the outer edge of the building like coconuts hanging from a tree.

  Inside their vehicle, Janusz and Kim talked facing each other to avoid raising the suspicions of the frequent security patrols cruising the street. Between them, the GPS tracker showed their target to be inside the compound. There was little to do but wait patiently for him to come out.

  “Jesus, I wish you’d brought some snacks,” Janusz said, agitated after his skirmish earlier in the day.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to get picked up by the French.”

  “I didn’t get picked up, I was briefly detained.”

  “You should’ve been watching your six. What if they’d been assassins?”

  “It was your job to watch my six. You’re the one responsible for the delay. If —”

  The GPS tracker came to life unexpectedly. The target was on the move.

  “Let’s not lose sight of him now,” Janusz said as he fired up the engine.

  “That’s fine by me,” Kim replied, visibly annoyed.

  Janusz made a U-turn on Rue Jean Grolier and waited. The meeting had ended rather quickly. Perhaps the French were no longer interested in a joint venture. It was odd, though, the ProtoVax website was littered with elicitations for foreign investors. The Iranians probably lowballed as they usually did in negotiations. When the target’s vehicle was on Boulevard Jules Carteret, Janusz was not far behind. He kept enough distance to not spook the target.

  “You’re going to lose him, hurry up,” Kim complained.

  “That’s what the GPS tracker is for, Kim. Would you like me to leave you here on the side of the road while I follow him by myself?” Janusz said, annoyed. She turned away in silence. With Kim’s warning in mind, Janusz stepped on the gas. He panicked briefly when he could not see the vehicle. It had come to a stop.

  “All right, he’s stopped moving,” Janusz said to his partner. She was in no mood to respond. He stepped on the gas, weaving around several cars to reach Avenue Tony Garnier. On his right was a Total Gas Station, a subsidiary of Total SA, the largest energy company in France. Janusz glanced around frantically.

  “Do you see him anywhere, Kim? Do you see his vehicle?”

  “Yes, there he is, parked next to pump number eight.”

  “He’s not in the car. Probably inside the minimart.”

  Janusz parked across from the minimart. He handed the GPS tracker to Kim and asked her to follow.

  “And where are you going?”

  “Don’t worry about me. You need a little time to get over whatever it is that’s bothering you. Just follow the target vehicle.”

 

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