Chapter 50
50
2 JANUARY 2019, PARIS, FRANCE
Lines snake around the four bronze legs of the Eiffel Tower. Excited faces from far away shuffle and smile. Hector Herrera stands next to the pilier nord . He chose that corner as it was the least crowded and had the shortest queue. Not that he’s planning on going up it today; he just wanted a comfortable vantage point, so he could see the spot in the middle, which is surprisingly empty but for a few photographers peeping up the tower’s iron girdle.
Hector stands on his own, leaning, surveying the throng of people around him who are looking at maps or taking selfies or sipping hot coffee in a queue or huddling together in the bleak and bitter cold of a grey day they will never forget. He inhales the sweet and earthy scent of chestnuts roasting in a metal pan nearby and pulls his revolutionary’s cap down low over his eyes. He rubs his gloves together as if he’s standing at a campfire. He observes.
Midday, under the Eiffel Tower, in the middle.
Hector pulls up the cuffed sleeve of his fleece-lined military jacket. He had to borrow it from Ricky because Ricky had been to the Rockies a few years ago; Hector didn’t even own a coat. He looks at his watch and feels like a child in fancy dress; a boy on an adventure, like the cover of TinTin Au Tibet he picked up yesterday from a vendor on the Rive Gauche.
12.30 p.m.
I’ll wait.
She’s not there.