Chapter Thirty-One
Thorn
Paris, France
Sunday, Twenty-one Twenty-two Hours
T horn tucked the wand back in his case. He’d swept himself and then the room for electronics after Brigitte left. He’d sent her out for some supplies. A fresh set of better-quality sheets, better blankets, more clothes. He’d made the list as comprehensive as he could to keep her busy somewhere else. But he expected her back any time.
Hopefully, Lynx would be back from her meeting by now. Thorn wanted to find out about the X-rays.
After another vitals check on Juliette, Thorn put a cool wash glove on her head and smoothed the covers.
Digging his computer out from the duffle, Thorn sat at the desk in the darkened hotel room and pulled up the encrypted account. “What the hell is going on.”
“You’re unusually testy,” Nutsbe said.
“Strange times, man. Brigitte wants to sit on Juliette like a hen who’s just laid a Fabergé egg. There’s a whole lot of cloak and dagger without a lot of context. I have no real idea of who our allies are, who we work for, who the heck Juliette is, or what’s going on. I had a dream about this.”
“Yeah? What happened?” Nutsbe shoveled up a bite of chocolate cake.
“Lynx patted me on the shoulder.”
“Comforting,” Nutsbe dead-panned.
Thorn squinted at the screen. “I thought so. I have meal replacement bars to sustain me, and you’re eating dessert. Seems cruel.”
“Lynx lost a bet. It’s my reward.” He shoveled up another bite. “I’ve never won a bet against Lynx. Let me relish this victory, man. My ass has been in this chair supporting you since the airport. I’ve barely gotten up but to go use the can.”
“Appreciated. Is Lynx there now? Can you update me?
Juliette moaned.
Thorn held up a finger and moved over to the bed to see if she was rousing.
Juliette was mouthing something that Thorn couldn’t make out.
“Put your phone at her mouth,” Nutsbe suggested. “Let’s see what the computer can do with it.”
Thorn put his computer on the stool where he could still see Nutsbe. He pulled his phone from his pocket, swept his finger across the screen and quick dialed the war room as he heard Nutsbe call out. “Hey, Lynx I need you here.”
“Check.” Thorn spoke into the phone and listened for Nutsbe’s “Affirmative. I have it connected to the software.”
Thorn moved the phone in front of Juliette’s mouth.
The computer amplified and compressed the words, making them comprehendible. Through his ear comms, Thorn heard Juliette saying, “Do you know what’s going on? Why are we here?” then the language slipped into something else that Thorn couldn’t understand.
She was silent.
Thorn waited.
“Russian,” Lynx said. “Hang on, I have a translation on my screen. ‘George for god sake what did they do to you? Are you all right? It sounded…did they burn you, too?...Whales. Whales…Free I want to be free!...It’s science not magic!’”
“Fevered gibberish,” Nutsbe said.
“She said, ‘Did they burn you, too?’” Thorn sat down on the bed next to Juliette’s leg. “Surely that happened before her accident, right? It happened before her operation?”
Now in English, Juliette mumbled, “Free me. Whales.” And as odd as that was to hear, it was a little clearer.
Thorn felt a glimmer of hope that they might be getting some answers.
“This is her subconscious brain,” Lynx said. “Per the burns, I suppose that in a delirious state, someone might be able to remember things that were wiped from the conscious brain. My mentor, Spyder McGraw, trained me in hypnotism, and that’s exactly the goal, to calm the brain’s protective layers so that one can access what’s beneath.”
“This would be our opportunity, right? To ask some questions and maybe get some answers? Like why is she thinking about whales?”
Juliette was writhing. “I have no choice. Stop…What choice do I have?” That was in English. The words and the agony that came with whatever decision she was making was hard to listen to.
Thorn shifted on the bed. He wanted to soothe her, but he also wanted to know what was going on. He thought he could lull her back into a sleep by stroking her arms. Calming her though, might shut this window of opportunity. The more their team understood, the better they could protect the outcome. Thorn pulled back from his instinct to gather her in his arms and hold her, so she’d feel safe.
Again, he thought about how reactive he was to this woman.
That wasn’t a good thing.
Operatives had to keep their emotional distance to be coldly calculating. Honey would have been a better choice for this assignment. He had a knack for managing both empathy and calculation. It was a unique trait, and it was why he was so successful at pulling victims away from their kidnappers. Honey could leave them vulnerable, dangling them over the pit of hell, until the means for getting them out safely was cleared. Yeah. That wasn’t Thorn’s nature. Thorn wanted a bad guy and an opportunity to take that bad guy down. Action. Brute Strength. Strategic thought. And a reward on the other side of a job well done.
This time, he’d taken his reward too soon.
He shouldn’t have screwed around with Brigitte. The mission wasn’t done. She’d called herself a piece of pie; he known since he was a toddler not to eat dessert before his vegetables.
Of course, if he hadn’t, she wouldn’t have been able to pass that information. And he wouldn’t be here with Juliette now.
Lynx had insisted that he be here. And he bet Lynx had seen in his eyes that this mission felt different to him.
That kind of pissed him off.
It made the situation dangerous. Emotions were dangerous .
When Thorn turned his gaze back on the screen, Lynx was hard focused on him. “I’ll be happy to debrief in private when you get home. You and me. And you can tell me all about how ticked off you are.”
Nutsbe scratched his head. “Our boy is a little moody. I’d say he needed to get laid but…” He stopped to make a show of looking at his watch. “It’s just over the twenty-four-hour mark.”
Lynx rolled her eyes.
“Moving on.” Thorn mouthed into the comms. “Lynx, I think it should be you who talks to her, a woman’s voice.”
“What language though? She’s speaking in Russian and that’s not one of my languages.”
“If you were here, you could see how agitated and twitchy she is. I don’t want to lose this window.”
“Nutsbe said that when Brigitte called through the door she was speaking in Arabic,” Lynx said. “If Juliette is Syrian, Arabic might be the most comfortable language for her, I’ll try that. Can you hold the computer, so I can read her face as I talk to her?”
Thorn tapped the phone call off and put his cell phone back in his pocket. He angled the computer and checked to make sure that Juliette’s face was on the screen.
“I probably need more light.” Lynx was still talking into the comms in his ear, and Juliette couldn’t hear her yet.
Thorn hesitated but turned on the overhead and was pleased to find it was a low wattage bulb. It didn’t rouse Juliette.
“If this is before the accident, she may not be Juliette yet,” Thorn said. “Don’t use a name.”
“Right, okay. Here we go.” The next time Lynx spoke, it was a soft encouraging voice in Arabic. Thorn thought her accent was west African, Moroccan maybe.
“I’m looking for you,” Lynx said. “Where are you?”
“Snow.” Juliette swiveled her head around as if she were looking at a panorama.
“Are you alone?”
“George.”
“Is it my friend George? What is George’s last name?”
“George Matthews.” Louder this time. Desperation. Pain. “I can’t…” Tears trickled past the veil of her lashes.
“Is George Matthews hurt?”
Juliette moaned and gripped at the sheets.
Lynx changed tacks. “I love whales. Are whales important to you?”
“CHAMP.”
Lynx repeated. “Champ.”
“CHAMP…stop CHAMP…stop ships…stop pain…” Her agitation increased. She kicked at her sheets and blanket, writhing around.
Thorn was worried that she’d pull out her IV. His phone buzzed. Balancing the computer in one hand, he pulled the cell phone from his pocket. An unknown number had texted. He used his thumb to swipe it open, only vaguely listening to Lynx trying to pry fever induced words from Juliette. He was looking at dark pictures of a car, trying to make sense of what they showed, wondering who had sent them.
“You’re safe here. You’re with friends. That’s over,” Lynx said.
The next picture that popped up on Thorn’s phone must have been to show him the street signs. That was one block down. The third picture focused on a car make and license. Who sent these? The next pictures turned his blood cold.
Lynx had changed her voice. It was more commanding. “He’s not here. He can’t hurt you. He won’t hurt you anymore. We won’t allow it.”
But Thorn only vaguely paid attention to her. He was scrolling back through the last photos.
A snap shot of each of the Omega crew from the airport, wearing black. Tibor Yegorovich was on crutches and looked like he’d be staying with the car.
The next picture was them conferring and pointing.
A picture of the Petit Coin.
A picture of five other men rounding the same corner that Thorn had taken before he popped the lock on the front door that morning. They were headed toward the alley.
The next text said: I give it two – three minutes tops. Get out. Get out now.
It had to be Brigitte.