Prince of Fire

hiss. Amira stood and wheeled the woman into the carriage.

27

P ARIS
    T HE G ARE DE L YON IS LOCATED IN THE 12 TH Arrondissement of Paris, a few streets to the east of the Seine. In front of the station is a large traffic circle, and beyond the circle, the intersection of two major avenues, the rue de Lyon and the boulevard Diderot. It was there, seated in a busy sidewalk café popular with travelers, that Paul Martineau waited. He finished the last of a thin glass of Côtes du Rhône, then signaled the waiter for a check. An interval of five minutes ensued before the bill appeared. He left money and a small tip, then set out toward the entrance of the station.
    There were several police cars in the traffic circle and two pairs of paramilitary police standing guard at the entrance. Martineau fell in with a small cluster of people and went inside. He was nearly into the departure hall when he felt a tap at his shoulder. He turned around. It was one of the policemen who’d been watching the main entrance.
    “May I see some identification, please?”
    Martineau drew his French national identity card from his wallet and handed it to the policeman. The policeman stared into Martineau’s face for a long moment before looking down at the card.
    “Where are you going?”
    “Aix.”
    “May I see your ticket, please?”
    Martineau handed it over.
    “It says here you’re supposed to return tomorrow.”
    “I changed my reservation this afternoon.”
    “Why?”
    “I needed to return early.” Martineau decided to show a bit of irritation. “Listen, what’s this all about? Are all these questions really necessary?”
    “I’m afraid so, Monsieur Martineau. What brought you to Paris?”
    Martineau answered: lunch with a colleague from Paris University, a meeting with a potential publisher.
    “You’re a writer?”
    “An archaeologist, actually, but I’m working on a book.”
    The policeman handed back the identification card.
    “Have a pleasant evening.”
    “Thank you.”
    Martineau turned and headed toward the terminal. He paused at the departure board, then climbed the stairs to Le Train Bleu, the famed restaurant overlooking the hall. The maître d’ met him at the door.
    “Do you have a reservation?”
    “Actually, I’m meeting someone at the bar. I believe she’s already here.”
    The maître d’ stepped aside. Martineau made his way to the bar, then to a table in a window overlooking the platforms. Seated there was an attractive woman in her forties with a streak of gray in her long, dark hair. She looked up as Martineau approached. He bent and kissed the side of her neck.
    “Hello, Mimi.”
    “Paul,” she whispered. “So lovely to see you again.”

28

P ARIS
    T WO BLOCKS NORTH OF THE G ARE DE L YON : THE rue Parrot. 6:53 P . M .
    “Turn here,” the girl said. “Park the car.”
    “There’s no place to leave it. The street’s parked up.”
    “Trust me. We’ll find a space.”
    Just then a car pulled away from the curb near the Hotel Lyon Bastille. Gabriel, taking no chances, went in nose first. The girl slipped the Tanfolgio into her handbag and swung the handbag over her shoulder.
    “Open the trunk.”
    “Why?”
    “Just do as I say. Look at the clock. We haven’t much time.”
    Gabriel pulled the trunk-release lever, and the hatch opened with a dull thump. The girl snatched the key from the ignition and dropped it into the bag along with the gun and the satellite phone. Then she opened her door and climbed out. She walked back to the trunk and motioned for Gabriel to join her. He looked down. Inside was a large rectangular suitcase, black nylon, with wheels and a collapsible handle.
    “Take it.”
    “No.”
    “If you don’t take it, your wife dies.”
    “I’m not going to take a bomb into the Gare de Lyon.”
    “You’re entering a train station. It’s best to look like a traveler. Take the bag.”
    He reached down and looked for the zipper. Locked.
    “Just take it.”
    In the tool well was a chrome-plated tire iron.
    “What are you doing? Do you want your wife to die?”
    Two sharp blows, and the lock snapped open. He unzipped the main compartment: balls of packing paper. Next he tried the outer compartments. Empty.
    “Are you satisfied? Look at the clock. Take the bag.”
    Gabriel lifted the bag out and placed it on the pavement. The girl had already started walking away. He extended the handle of the bag and closed the trunk, then set out after her. At the corner