She had a sudden, chilling insight: He had retrieved nothing; he had left something behind.
Stiff as she was, she did not hesitate. She raced across the living room to the back room of the bizarre apartment, pulled a rug down to expose the rear window, hurled the window up, and climbed out on the fire escape.
She was almost to the bottom when the floor above exploded in a sheet of flame.
She slid down the rest of the way and ran left through another building to the front where she peered out into the street. Mauritania still stood across the street from the now-burning building. She smiled grimly. He thought he had eliminated a tail. Instead, he had made a mistake.
When he turned and walked away at the first sound of the fire engines, she was not far behind.
Chapter Ten
The Cafeacute; Deuxiegrave;me Reacute;giment Eacute;tranger was on the rue Afrique du Nord, one of the serpentine streets that circled below the great dome of Sacreacute;-Coeur. Smith unbuttoned his trench coat and sat alone at a small table in the corner, taking a long drink of his demi and eating a roast beef sandwich as he studied the Second Bureau’s dossier on the Black Flame. The cafeacute;’s owner was a former Legionnaire whose leg Smith had saved in the MASH unit during the Gulf War. Displaying his usual hospitality, he saw to it that no one bothered Smith while Smith read the file from first word to last. Then he sat back, ordered another demi, and mulled what he had learned:
The “small” evidence against the Black Flame was that the Deuxiegrave;me Bureau, acting on the tip of an informant, had picked up a former member of the terrorist group in Paris just an hour after the Pasteur’s bombing. Less than a year ago, the man had been released from a Spanish prison for his part in long-ago crimes attributed to the Black Flame. After he and his associates were arrested, the Black Flame dropped from sight, apparently no longer active.
When the Bureau grabbed him in France, he was armed but swore he was completely out of polities, working as a machinist in Toledo, Spain. He claimed he was in Paris simply to visit an uncle, knew nothing about the Pasteur’s bombing, and had been with his uncle all day. There was a Xerox of a photo of him. According to the date, the photo was shot when he was taken into custody. He had heavy black brows, thin cheeks, and a prominent chin.
The uncle confirmed the man’s story, and the police’s subsequent investigation failed to turn up evidence that directly connected him to the bombing. Still, there were a few holes, since the man had several hours unaccounted for that day. The Bureau was holding him incommunicado and interrogating him around the clock.
Historically, the Black Flame’s center of operations was always mobile, never settling in a single spot for longer than a week. The organization favored the Basque provinces of the western Pyrenees: Vizcaya, Guipuzcoa, and Alava in Spain, and, only occasionally, Basse-Pyrenees, France. The most frequent choices were in and around Bilbao and Guernica, where the majority of the Black Flame’s sympathizers had lived.
As a movement, the Spanish Basque nationalists had only one goal separation from Spain into a Basque Republic. Failing that, the more moderate groups had occasionally offered to settle for an autonomous region within Spain. The Basques’ desire for independence was so strong that, despite their extremely devout Catholicism, they fought against the Church during the Spanish Civil War and supported the secular left-wing Republic, since it promised them at least autonomy, while the Catholic fascists would not.
Smith wondered how the bombing of the Pasteur Institute in Paris might figure into that long-standing goal. Perhaps it was to embarrass Spain. No, probably not. None of the Basque terrorist acts had yet shamed Spain.
It could be that the point was to incite friction between Spain and France, which might ultimately make possible convincing the French government to pressure Spain to accede to Basque demands. That made more sense, since it was a tactic that had been used by other revolutionaries, although with only varying degrees of success.
Or had the French Basques decided to unite with their brothers and sisters south of the border, spreading the terrorism into two countries, in the hope that by carving their new country from small areas of both, they would encourage the French, who would lose less, to force the Spanish to make a deal? Of course, there was the added incentive that the involvement of two nations could trigger the United Nations and maybe the European Union to lean on both Spain and France to find a solution.
Smith nodded to himself. Yes, that might work. And a DNA computer would be invaluable to terrorists, giving them a compelling weapon for many purposes, including convincing governments to capitulate to their goals.
But assuming the Black Flame had Chambord’s molecular machine, why attack the United States? It made no sense unless the Basques wanted to force the United States to support their objective and increase the pressure on Spain. But if any of that was true, there should be contact and demands. There had been none.
As Smith continued to consider it all, he turned on his cell phone, hoping to hear a dial tone. There was one. He dialed Klein’s secret, secure number in D.C.
“Klein here.”
“Are all of the wireless systems back up?”
“Yes. What a mess. Discouraging.”
“What exactly did he do?” Smith asked.
“After he took down the Western utilities grid, our phantom hacker got into the key code of one of our telecommunications satellites, and the next thing our people knew, he’d infiltrated the whole spectrum dozens of satellites. The FBI’s forensics team threw everything they had and knew at him, but he broke every code, figured out every password, acted as if firewalls and keylocks were jokes, and zeroed in on the army’s wireless transmissions. The speed was blinding. Unbelievable. He cracked codes that were supposed to be uncrackable.”
Smith swore. “What in God’s name did he want?”
“Our people think he was just playing, building his confidence. The Western grid came back on after a half hour, and so did the wireless communications. Precisely, as if he timed it.”
“He probably did. Which means you’re right, it was all a test. Also a warning, and to make us sweat.”
“He’s succeeded. Right now, to say our technology’s being outclassed is the understatement of the century. The best defense is to find him and that machine.”
“Not just him. This isn’t the work of a solitary hacker, not considering the attack on the Pasteur and the kidnapping of Theacute;regrave;se Chambord. There’s still been no contact?”
“None.”
Smith looked at his beer. It was a very good beer, and until he had called Klein, he had been enjoying it. Now he pushed it away. “Maybe they don’t want anything from us,” he said grimly. “Maybe they’re planning simply to do something, no matter what we say or do.”
He could almost see Klein, wherever he was, staring into space, seeing a vision of apocalypse. “I’ve considered that, too. A straightforward, no-warning attack, after they’ve finished testing the prototype enough to get the bugs worked out. It’s my nightmare.”
“What does the Pentagon think?”
“It’s best to serve the brass reality in small doses. But that’s my job. What else have you got on your end?”
“Two things. First is news that the police have matched Emile Chambord’s fingerprints with a hand that came out of the rubble. General La Porte told me about it this morning.”
“Jesus,” Klein breathed. “So he’s dead. Chambord’s really dead. Damnation! I’ll have Justice phone over there to see what else they know.” He hesitated. “Well, that just makes Zellerbach all the more important. How is he?”
Smith filled him in. “I think there’s an excellent chance we’re going to get Marty back whole,” he concluded. “Anyway, that’s the way I’m operating.”
“I hope you’re right. And I especially hope he recovers in a timely fashion. I don’t mean to be crass, Colonel. I know how fond you are of Zellerbach, but what he knows could make all the difference. Is the protection on him secure enough?”
“About as tight as it can be. French special forces guarding, Sreteacute; watching. Anything tighter, and they’d be tripping over their own feet.” He paused. “I need a reservation on the next flight to Madrid.”
“Madrid? Why?”
“To rent a car and drive to Toledo. Toledo’s where I pick up the trail of the Black Flame.” He described the report Captain Bonnard had acquired from the Sreteacute; and copied for him. “Now that you’ve found out the symbol on the handgrip of the gun was for the Black Flame, Toledo’s my best lead. If the Black Flame really is responsible for Theacute;regrave;se Chambord’s kidnapping, then I’m hoping to use them to find her and the DNA prototype.” He paused. “I’ve been to Toledo several times, but I’d like some help on this. Can you get me the Basque’s home address and a detailed map of the city? Somebody at the Sreteacute; must have it.”