Chapter 25
GABE
Daniel kicks his feet up and sips a coffee. He smiles at the ugly looks he gets from passing Parisians. “You know who I hate most in the world?” He raises his eyebrows. “The French.”
“Can’t wait to hear why.” I watch across the street where two young men are sitting on a porch. Their motorbikes are parked nearby, their helmets on the ground at their feet. They smoke cigarettes and look at their phones.
“They had the world. Conquered Europe. Marched into Russia—“
“Are you talking about Napoleon?”
“Of course I’m talking about Napoleon.”
“That was like two hundred years ago.”
“They can’t get over it! That’s what I’m trying to say.
” Daniel bangs against the table. I swear, he’s doing this loud-annoying-American routine on purpose.
“The French peaked with Napoleon. They did revolution, then they did empire, and now look. They have no spirit. No industry. Nothing. Zilch. Nada.”
I frown, trying to think of one good French export over the last decade, but struggle. “They’re good at soccer?”
“Football, and not even that good!”
“Okay, fine, the French are terrible.” I watch as one of the young men finishes his cigarette, tosses the butt, and gets up. He talks animatedly into a phone. I check the tablet in my lap as text scrolls across the screen. “I think they’re about to move.”
“They should’ve stuck with Napoleon, is what I’m saying. Why exile your greatest leader? Did you know Waterloo was the first battle Napoleon had to fight without his top aide Berthier? He died a few days earlier.”
“Poor guy.”
“Imagine if Berthier lived and Napoleon had won. The world might be different.”
“It might be French.” I get up and knock Daniel’s feet off the table. “You’re drawing too much attention. Come on, they’re moving.”
The two young men get on their bikes and ride off into traffic.
Daniel keeps pace with me as I jog over to where our rental car is parked against the curb.
It’s a black BMW, barely a car really, more like a souped-up go-kart.
I hand Daniel my tablet and pull out while he gives me directions, the tracking app keeping tabs.
Paris traffic is a nightmare. The streets are old and small.
I’m not used to driving in these conditions, but I keep up with the bikes anyway.
They don’t seem to be in a hurry and I can’t figure out where they’re going.
Daniel reads out directions lazily, frowning at the screen and out the window, squinting at the midday sun.
A part of me wishes Nika were here, but mostly I’m happy she’s back at the hotel enjoying a nice spa day while half my men keep her guarded and safe.
“They pulled in that way,” Daniel says, pointing at a narrow alleyway between a cafe and a bakery. “Car won’t fit.”
“Fucking bikes.” I find a spot and pull over in front of a fire hydrant. “We better be fast.”
“Who cares if it gets towed?” Daniel hops out of the car, absently touching the gun at the small of his back. “Did you know he died mysteriously?”
“What?” I shade my eyes, eyeing the alley mouth.
Why the hell did those guys head inside?
We’ve been tracking them all day from one location to the next.
They always do the same thing: stop on a stoop, smoke, talk, make calls, hand off a package, and move on.
But this feels different, like they’re breaking from the routine.
“Berthier. Napoleon’s man. Nobody knows what happened to him.”
I turn my head. “You’re still talking about that?”
“He was trapped, honestly, rejected by both Napoleon for conspiring with the Bourbons, and the Bourbons for being too much Napoleon’s man. He was under house arrest when he fell out of his window and died.”
“Seriously? Just fell out?”
“Yep, and nobody has any idea how or why. Accident, suicide, murder, could be any of them.”
“Huh. That’s actually interesting.”
“Lots of interesting shit happened around Napoleon.” We approach the entry to the alleyway. Daniel pauses, peering ahead. “You need to read more.”
“When I’m Dragon, I’ll pick up a biography.”
“Good idea.” He meets my eye, grins, and draws his gun.
The bikes are parked up ahead, leaning against a wall, but the two young men are missing.
They must be on a drop. It’s the perfect time to make our move, and I follow behind Daniel.
Steam rises from grates and the place stinks like trash.
The ground’s damp and muddy from the rain last night, the water brown with sludge.
I step in a puddle, soaking my foot, and leave a slight trail as I step to the other side.
I curse quietly to myself and look down—
Only to notice more footprints. Wet footprints, which means they were made recently. I can’t tell how many people, but there were a few.
Which shouldn’t be odd. It’s an alley near a busy street.
I’m sure workers need to come up and down this walkway, but I get a bad feeling.
Artyom’s men can’t possibly know we hacked into their cell network and have been trailing them thanks to that phone I found in the safehouse, but this feels all wrong.
I slow my pace, falling behind Daniel as he confidently creeps toward the bikes.
“Hold on,” I say sharply, turning back. I draw my gun, gripping it tightly. “Pause a second. We can wait for them further back, take them quiet, talk to them in the car—“
Daniel looks over his shoulder.
One of the men steps out from a deep recessed doorway and shoots him in the chest.
The gunshot is loud in the confined space.
Daniel drops instantly, blood blooming in the gutter, turning the black water a slick black.
I fall to a knee, which is all that saves me, as my attacker goes for a headshot and the kill.
I fire back, catch him twice in the shoulder, then throw myself sideways.
His partner rolls out of hiding, fires at where I was a second ago, and takes a bullet in the mouth.
Teeth rattle to the ground, skittering around the stones.
I pause to catch my breath. One attacker is dead. The other’s alive, but dying. I can still question him, maybe even keep him alive and get as much information as I can. These men are part of Artyom’s network in Paris. They’ll know locations, drop points, safe houses, hiding spaces—
Daniel groans and coughs.
Fuck, he’s still alive. Fuck, fuck fuck. Artyom’s man is right there—I can get him, drag him to the car, even with all these witnesses—
“You’re alright, I got you.” I scramble to Daniel’s side. Blood seeps from wounds in his right chest up near the shoulder. “You’re alright. You’re okay.”
“Fucker… bad shot…” He wheezes and grimaces.
“Be quiet. You’re bleeding a lot.” I grit my teeth and lift him. “This is gonna hurt.”
“Fuuuuuuck,” he moans. “Already does.”
“You’re… god damn… heavy.” I growl as I drag him from the alley. The surviving attacker drags himself the opposite direction, trying to escape. I watch him, livid with myself, but I keep moving. “I got you, damn it.”
Daniel goes quiet. I’m not sure if it’s the shock or what. Daylight hits us when we reach the end of the alley. Nearby pedestrians are watching in horror. One approaches and rattles off something in French. “Attacked… robbery… hospital.” I throw words out there, hoping they understand.
Nobody tries to stop me as I shove Daniel into the back of the car.
He’s cursing softly, which is a good sign.
No blood on his lips. No sucking, wet, airy sounds from the wound.
I think that means the bullet missed his lung.
I pull off my shirt and shove it against the wounds and press his hand down against it.
“Pressure. Stay conscious.” I get behind the wheel and freeze.
Can’t go to the hotel. That’s a dead end. But there’s a house we bought for emergencies not far from here. It’s a dump, but it’s private. I can go there, only once we use it, the place is burned. It was supposed to be a last resort…
Damn this to hell. I put the car in gear and race away from the shooting, driving like a maniac until I’m far enough away to calm down.
I call my security team and tell them to meet me with a local doctor as soon as they can.
I’m using all my resources right now, but there’s no other option.
We reach the house a few minutes later, and Daniel's only half conscious when I pull him inside, struggling with the door, before dumping him on a ratty old couch.
“Thought… you’d leave me…”
“I should’ve.” I hold my shirt on his wound. “Your history lesson was a pain in the ass.”
He grins, but it fades fast. “They… ambushed…”
“We got made. I don’t know how. Now shut up. Doctor’s on the way.”
He looks like he wants to argue, but only turns his head and grits his teeth against the pain.