Chapter 23: Grace

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Sophia surveyed the commuters as they filed out of the trains at the Part-Dieu station in Lyon, France. Grace’s target was a Chinese diplomat, Zhai Jiechi. He had a slight limp in his right leg, a hard-on for trains since childhood and a predilection for wearing women’s underwear. Cotton, not lacy. He was a sensible man.

A little boy clung to his father as they negotiated a path through the crowd. The boy disappeared behind Zhai. Sophia scanned every face. She spotted a young Chinese woman with shoulder-length black hair, chalk-white skin and a swimmer’s physique. Grace. She cut through the crowd, moving between a patisserie stall and an elderly woman taking photos with her iPhone.

Grace’s movements were casual and relaxed as she followed Jiechi, but Sophia could tell her pace was just a fraction faster than everyone else’s. She estimated Grace was a hundred feet ahead. Sophia maintained the distance and kept her attention on the platforms so she looked as though she was trying to find her train. She’d disguised her earpiece as a hearing aid so she could wear it in public. She needed it to communicate with Cecilia, who was in place to cover the main entrance of the train station.

Sophia made sure to stay behind a group of commuters so Grace wouldn’t be able to see her. Between heads, Sophia could see Jiechi walking a shaky line. She hoped he’d turn left and leave through the main entrance, but it looked like he was heading for the north entrance instead, which led to another taxi stand altogether. If he took that entrance, she’d have no visual surveillance.

She silently cursed to herself. It wasn’t like her to slip up like this.

Jiechi turned left, going for the main entrance. Sophia exhaled slowly, only now realizing she was holding her breath. A hundred feet ahead, Grace shifted to match her target’s direction.

It was difficult relying on an untrained observer to cover her, but at this point Sophia didn’t have a choice. As long as Cecilia remained on the lookout for any movements that were coordinated and symmetrical, she should spot any other operatives before it was too late.

‘Grace isn’t working alone,’ Cecilia said into her earpiece. ‘I have an operative outside. No, make that two.’

The operation brief could have been amended at the last minute, making it a triad of operatives. But Sophia suspected a trap. Nonetheless, she needed more proof before she bailed. She discreetly held down the push-to-talk button on her throat mike, concealed under the collar of her woolen jacket. ‘I’m holding back. Keep me informed.’

She wandered leisurely through the crowd. Rather than turning left towards the main entrance and following Grace, she continued straight ahead to the north entrance. Allowing her gaze to casually drift to her left, she peered through the glass panels at the main entrance. From her position, she couldn’t identify faces directly but could notice particular movements.

She spotted one operative, male. He was wearing a gray jacket and stonewash denim jeans. His hands were empty but she knew he was carrying. One under the waistband, another concealed elsewhere, usually against the calf. And a knife sheathed along the opposing calf. If she knew which operative it was, she might even be able to guess where the knife was, depending on if he was right- or left-handed.

The operative closed in on Jiechi as he approached the taxi stand. Sophia made out the side of his face and recognized him instantly. Short black hair, high cheekbones and milk chocolate skin; a mix of Portuguese and African—Pardo. And there was only one Pardo operative working for the Fifth Column. Jay.

Alarm bells went off inside her head.

She kept her eyes on the main entrance, hoping to catch a glimpse of the other operative. She spotted someone moving alone, purposefully. He had dark features but not quite as dark as Jay’s. His skin was a few shades lighter, a pale caramel. His hair was longer, brown, scruffy. He had smooth skin and an aquiline nose just a fraction too big for his face. Southern European, for sure. She recognized the lopsided quiff and large hazel eyes. Damien.

She watched them move on Jiechi from behind. Their tactics were wrong. Grace should be in front of Jiechi, not behind. More alarm bells went off inside her head.

Jiechi wasn’t the target.

***

‘One operative entering the building,’ Cecilia said into Sophia’s earpiece.

Sophia picked up her pace. They knew she was here. They’d been expecting her. And judging by their body language, it wasn’t for a tea party. Grace had probably spotted her back at the platforms. Things were going to get messy. Very, very quickly.

‘It’s Damien, and he’s armed,’ Cecilia said.

Sophia was in a tightly packed crowd. She had no exit strategy. She couldn’t run. Besides, she wanted things to be different. She wanted Damien and Jay on her side.

‘We need to recruit them sooner or later,’ she said into her mike.

‘Now’s not the time,’ Cecilia said. ‘You’re not safe.’

‘I can do this.’

‘Jesus. Get down!’

Sophia pretended to trip. A man beside her bent down to help. There was a tiny cough: the sound of a suppressed round. Terrified screams erupted from around her.

Les terroristes!’ someone screamed.

The man collapsed, the top of his head blown off. On her knees, Sophia crawled desperately through the crowd. Her hands slipped on pieces of pink meat and bone. She found herself at the feet of the little boy she’d seen earlier. His face was dotted crimson. He’d just seen his father’s head get blown away.

An explosion of pain in Sophia’s ribs forced her to curl up. She couldn’t breathe. Shoes kicked into her, trampled on her arms and legs. People screamed and yelled above her. She got to her feet and ran with the terrified commuters, then slipped into the more oblivious crowd ahead. This lot hadn’t seen the shooting, but were exchanging nervous opinions about what had happened as they picked up their pace. Sophia kept quiet, said nothing, and wiped blood from her face with her woolen sleeve. The dead man would be surrounded by police officers by now.

She threw herself behind a tall fern sitting in a square pot. The pot was barely large enough to conceal her. In front of her, there was a row of bar stools bolted to a high benchtop. A nervous hand rested on beige slacks. It belonged to a man in his sixties, who, until now, had been sitting peacefully with a takeout McDonald’s beverage in an oversized paper cup. He had a gray moustache and a receding hairline, both beginning to frost white. He peered over the benchtop at her as she pulled her pistol from her waistband.

Ne me regardez de de pir que je vous tue,’ Sophia said. Don’t look at me or I will kill you.

The man averted his gaze quickly. He brought the paper cup to his lips but was too nervous to drink.

‘Jay’s entering through the main entrance,’ Cecilia said into her ear. ‘Grace is passing the main entrance, heading north.’

Grace was moving to block her off at the second entrance. They weren’t wasting time. She couldn’t stay here long.

Sophia’s hand, covered in red specks of drying blood, was shaking. She ignored it, pulled the slide back on the Beretta 92F pistol Cecilia had given her. It was a fill-in until Cecilia could source something more concealable.

Pointing the Beretta at the man, she said in French, ‘A man holding a pistol. Look around the corner—what is he doing?’

He craned his neck over the table to see. ‘He is walking towards us . . . he’s looking for you.’

She peered around the pot and spotted a family of six coming towards her. They’d heard the commotion and quickened their pace.

Sophia stood, took the man’s paper cup with a quick ‘Merci’ and stepped out in front of the family. She lifted the lid to find the cup almost full to the brim with black coffee. She didn’t risk looking over her shoulder, just kept the family as a barrier between her and any operatives behind her.

As they steered her towards the north entrance, she searched the faces ahead, expecting to see Grace’s any moment now. She reached the entrance without incident and found a larger crowd to integrate with. Directly ahead, she spotted a woman walking with purpose towards her. Raven hair, alabaster skin. Grace. SIG Sauer P229 pistol in hand.

Shit.

Sophia hit the sidewalk outside. Grace marched straight for her. Sophia removed the lid from the coffee. The family she’d used as cover was now part of the larger crowd that encircled her. Good. No one had noticed Grace’s pistol. Yet. She had to time this perfectly.

Grace reached the edge of the crowd, her gaze never straying from Sophia. She began pushing her way through. Only seven or eight feet away. She leveled her pistol at Sophia’s chest.

Now.

Sophia splashed the coffee into Grace’s face, stepped in and tripped her. Grace lost her balance. Sophia seized the barrel of the pistol as Grace fell, pulled it back towards her own forearm. Grace’s wrist couldn’t bend that way—without breaking.

Grunting in pain, Grace released her grip. Sophia had the pistol. She sprinted, made the street corner and ran for the Part-Dieu shopping mall.

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