Jeff Abbott - Trust Me

‘Why would you help me?’

‘Because I just want to be left alone. By you, by Quicksilver. The fight is between you two.’ Luke knew if he made a scene to get Mouser arrested in the airport, he’d be arrested too. And he wouldn’t ever find out the truth.

Quicksilver would be watching their every move. They have the resources; they’ll see Mouser coming well ahead. And they’ll kill him , Luke thought.

‘Me help you save your woman after you killed mine.’ Mouser’s whisper was so soft that as the plane parked and everyone stood to gather their belongings Luke could barely hear him. ‘I feel like I’m making a deal with the devil.’

Me, too, Luke thought.

Paris.

Luke had not been there since he was an undergraduate. He had accompanied his stepfather and his mother to Paris for a conference. At nineteen he had wandered the streets in blissful freedom – bookstores, bars, the expansive parks, the old student quarter near Notre Dame. He had loved the city, but it had been a brief affair, and he had not been back since.

But he hoped his brief familiarity with Paris would save him. Mouser had given no signs of even a basic comprehension of French beyond oui or non and that might be his salvation. Neither had a suitcase other than their carry-ons, and after a desultory check of their documents at passport control he and Mouser walked out into the dull gray morning, toward the taxi line.

He checked his cell phone as they walked outside and retrieved a text message: Meet at the Eiffel Tower for Aubrey one hour after your plane lands. Mouser grabbed the phone, read the message. Luke yanked the phone back.

‘But they don’t know I’m here,’ Mouser said.

‘No.’ But considering Quicksilver’s reach – it would not surprise him. But let Mouser be surprised.

‘The Eiffel Tower. How touristy,’ Mouser muttered in a low growl. ‘I’ll take your phone.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t want you calling them and letting them know I’m with you.’

He’d thought of trying to text just the word Mouser or help to the number that had just called him. To warn Quicksilver. He hesitated.

‘I will kill you the second you pull a fast one on me,’ Mouser said. ‘Give me the phone.’

Luke gave it to him.

Mouser put a steel grip on his shoulder. ‘Come on. I have a ride for us.’

The car sat in the parking garage in a back corner. Mouser found keys in a container locked under the bumper. It was a Mercedes sedan, gleaming, high-end.

He opened the trunk. Inside were bags and cases. Some were long and narrow, marked with the logo of a British golf club manufacturer. Luke figured they were not golf clubs. Weapons. Someone had given this man an armory and driven it to the airport for him. So Mouser had allies in France.

The Night Road was bigger than a mere group inside America. He had only researched American extremists, but if those domestic terrorists were linked to, cooperating with, other extremists around the world… the thought was frightening.

‘Get in the car,’ Mouser said.

Luke obeyed. Mouser didn’t slide behind the wheel; rather he seemed to be studying the phone. As though he’d gotten an email. He turned his back to Luke. Thirty seconds later he slid into the car, an angry look on his face.

Mouser roared out of the garage.

Mouser had taken one of the long cases from the car’s trunk. He slipped an earpiece into Luke’s ear, saying, ‘I’ll be able to hear your every word. Dump this and you’re dead.’

‘Where will you be?’

‘Watching. Don’t screw this up or I’ll shoot you, accounts or not. You play nice, you and Aubrey walk.’

No, Luke thought, you’re the one who’s going down. But he turned and walked toward the tower. When he glanced back, Mouser was gone. He had not counted on Mouser being able to eavesdrop on his conversation. This made his plan much harder. And if he dumped the earpiece, he had no doubt: Mouser would shoot him, and Aubrey. He had to think of another way to warn Quicksilver.

The base of the Eiffel Tower was broader and the plaza wider than Luke remembered. He saw French soldiers with assault rifles wandering the sprawling grounds, scanning faces in the scattered crowd of hundreds of tourists and sightseers, watching for the unusual or the threatening. A kiss of sunshine came through the late spring clouds.

His phone rang. He answered it.

It was Aubrey’s voice, scared. ‘Luke.’

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes. I’m going to give you your directions now.’ She steadied her voice. ‘Walk away from the river, away from the Tower, go toward the half-circle where the tour buses stop. You’ll see me.’

He could see in the distance, past the walkways and the low shrubberies, a wide loop of street, a double-decker bus parked, tourists not bothering to get off the bus but snapping photos of the grand tower. ‘All right.’

In his other ear, he heard the whisper of Mouser’s voice: ‘If you warn them, I’ll shoot first and learn to live without the money.’

‘Yes,’ he said, as if to both Aubrey and Mouser.

So much for his brilliant trap. He had brought this maniac to the meeting, and he could only hope that the Quicksilver people had spotted his uninvited guest. If they hadn’t… then he was going to have to talk through the meeting without handing over the encrypted thumb drive, get Aubrey, and figure out a way to get the Quicksilver people and Aubrey to safety.

He walked past a beggar woman, with outstretched hands who said, ‘Speak English?’, past a fellow wearing a belt of cheap Eiffel Tower replicas that jingled. He glanced around to see if he could spot where Mouser had gone.

To his right was another pathway that led to a shuttered gazebo and a playground that was unoccupied. Beyond that was a large wide walking and jogging trail; and beyond that was a cluster of grand mansions, one of which, he remembered from strolling around here before, was the Czech Embassy. He didn’t think Mouser could hide there, so he cast his gaze toward the half-circle, looking for the spot where Mouser would be and trying to spot Aubrey in the dozens of faces.

Mouser had walked down the broad jogging path in the shadow of the Tower, Allee Leon Bourgeois, after sending Luke on his way to the rendezvous. The allee was not busy; a few joggers, iPods insulating them from the world. He scanned the area, looking for the best point to make his stand. To his right, shaded trees bordered the allee, with an empty playground and a shuttered gazebo that sold treats on warmer days. He walked with complete purpose, which was always the most convincing camouflage. He went to the back of the gazebo, stepped onto an electrical unit, and climbed onto its green roof. He would not be concealed for long; anyone on the allee who looked up would see him sprawled on the roof, but the joggers were absorbed in their solitary orbits. That’s the problem with everyone today, Mouser thought. They’re all in their own world, oblivious to civilization around them descending into hell.

He slid the rifle free from the golf bag. Just a matter of seconds and his work would be done. He put the crosshairs on Luke’s head.

Luke tried not to panic. So where was she? A flock of tourists herded and moved between him and the bus, which pulled out, to be replaced by another bright-red bus.

‘Speak English?’ another woman asked him. He ignored her and pushed past a small group of Japanese visitors. And saw Aubrey, several yards away, on the edge of the walkway. Aubrey wore a raincoat, a heavy hat on her head, her face pale and gaunt.

And standing next to her was a man who turned and met his gaze.

His dead father.