Thin Line (18 page)

"So we watch the neighbors' back yards too," Pierre said. "We'll already have a team on the street waiting in case any of them flush out through the
front." He traced a line through the front door to where the street would be located.

"What's behind?" I asked. "Another line of row homes?"

"A little backyard," Pierre pointed with his pencil, then used the device to create a line approximately ten to twenty feet from the house. "A fence." He
shaded in the area behind the fence. "An alley." He looked up. "Then, a mirror image."

I said, "We need to know about the houses on the next street."

Pierre nodded. "We're on that."

The three of us remained silent for the next couple minutes, all staring at the papers aligned neatly on Pierre's desk.

"How many are we expecting to be there?" I asked.

Pierre drew in a sharp breath and exhaled through tightly pressed lips. "I won't have an answer to that until it is time to move. Best guess? I'd say six
to eight heavily armed men, two to four of whom are prepped to be jihadists."

"The ones to carry out the attacks in Paris," I said.

Pierre nodded, said nothing.

"So we don't give 'em time," Bear said. The big man clenched his fists and released them. "Shoot fast. Shoot to kill. We already know the sons of bitches
are guilty as sin."

Pierre looked from Bear to me. He held my gaze for a moment before redirecting his focus toward the door. I looked back to check for someone's presence.
There was no one there.

"What is it?" I said.

"This is why you're here." Pierre glanced down. Shadows darkened his face. "My team and I are support only."

"I'm not following you."

"We don't have everything in place, you see. We can't just go in there and take them out. Arresting them will only result in their expulsion from my
country. And, as you can imagine, that is unacceptable. We let them walk, that's a win. They'll triple their ranks. And they'll ride back in with
explosives strapped to their chests, prepared to detonate them in the most congested areas of our major cities on their first day back."

I said nothing. Bear cleared his throat, but remained silent.

"Under the cover of dark, two American secret agents infiltrated a house known to be associated with a terrorist cell. The Americans neutralized the men.
DGSE became aware of the operation only after it was carried out. They are looking for the American operatives at this time."

"You serious?" I said.

Pierre nodded once, letting his gaze bounce from me to Bear.

"You want us to go in and carry this out for you? Kill seven or eight trained men?"

"They'll get away, Jack. Bashir al-Sharaa will get away again. Do you want these bastards leaving, reconfiguring themselves, then coming back even more
powerful? That's what happens every time. It emboldens them. Think of all the innocents that will suffer because of this. We know they're preparing to
strike. We have a chance to put an end to them. And the intelligence we'll gather from their house will allow us to take out another twenty or thirty
terrorists."

"And what about the next one after that? And the one that follows them? As long as you leave the head, Pierre, you're totally screwed, because these people
are going to run you over if this is how you act. Why not let them flee? Follow them. They're bound to lead you to the next level."

"It's not my choice." Pierre's ears turned a shade of red I hadn't seen before. His cheeks came close to matching it. He didn't speak. Probably couldn't,
with the way his breathing had gone ragged and inconsistent. Finally, he calmed enough to continue. "Do this for me, and I'll place every resource I have
on finding Brett Taylor. And when we do, I'll place my own gun to his head and pull the trigger. Tonight, we can solve each other's problems. Are you with
me?"

THE LIGHT OVER Pierre's desk flickered. Shadows grew and retreated. Stale air forced from an overhead vent cooled my damp forehead. Bear, still seated next
to me, mumbled something that sounded as though he thought we should reject Pierre's offer. The big man was free to go. I had the chance to right a
four-year-old mistake by killing al-Sharaa. I was willing to see this through for that reason alone.

"I'm in," I said.

Bear groaned, turned toward me. "Dammit, Jack."

Pierre slapped his desk and rose, barely able to contain his rejuvenated energy. "We should get moving while there's still light."

Bear slid back until his chair slammed into the door, sealing us in. He pointed a finger at Pierre. Started to speak. Paused. "Jack, I don't think this is
a good idea. We're here for one reason, and one reason only. Getting caught up in French DGSE's operations is only going to lead to trouble for us. I know
why you're doing this. It's still a bad idea."

Pierre settled into his seat, slowly, as if he were a balloon with a slow leak. For a moment he stared at the planner laid out on the corner of the desk.
Then his focus shifted to me. Both men held their breath, waiting for my response.

"We've got one thing to do, Bear, and that's take down Taylor. I don't care how it goes down. The one thing I know is that I don't want to see Taylor
leaving France alive. We escort him to the UK, who knows who he's got waiting and watching there? We do this now, and the situation is over. Done with
Taylor, McLellan, Skinner, all of them."

Shaking his head, Bear said, "How do we know he's gonna hold up his end of the bargain? And how do we know he's not gonna have us thrown in jail or subject
us to endless interrogation after we do his dirty work?"

I looked at Pierre. The man's face was solemn, tight. "We'll have to trust him."

Bear grabbed a handful of his own hair and pulled back, laughing. "Jesus Christ, Jack. I've heard everything now."

"You have my word as a Frenchman." Pierre leaned over his forearm, halfway across the desk.

"Fuck the French," Bear said. A moment later he offered a weak apology, then added, "We need additional assurances, Pierre."

"We're running out of time." The Frenchman tapped at his watch without breaking off the stare between him and Bear. "You tell me what assurance I can give
you that is suitable, and I'll do it."

Bear rose and took a step toward the desk. His knees rapped against the metal casing. He started to extend an open hand toward Pierre. "You come inside the
house with us."

If there was one area of the operation that concerned me, that was it. For all we knew, Pierre was operating in coordination with Langley, and this entire
operation was a set up aimed at framing Bear and me. We'd be operating illegally in a foreign country. A DGSE team who had been monitoring us would be in
place. They'd bust and detain us, before sending us off to a CIA field office. Or maybe they'd prosecute us in France.

The only thing that moved was Pierre's eyes. His hands remained flat on the desktop, his back rigid. How he responded would tell us everything about any
ulterior motives. His gaze shifted from Bear, to me, back to Bear. Slowly, he rose, pushing off the desk. Standing erect, he extended his hand and grasped
Bear's.

"I will enter the residence with you. But fair warning, should you two do something stupid prior to leaving France and get pinched, I could be forced to
testify and recount the events as I witnessed them." Pierre's eyes widened after making the threat. I glanced down. The muscles on Bear's forearms bulged.
His fingers were pale. The tips of Pierre's were red, ready to burst.

"Easy, Bear," I said. "He's just covering his team and himself. That's all."

The relief in Pierre's face was instantaneous the moment Bear released the man from his grip. Pierre held his right hand with his left and massaged the
pain away. He said nothing. A gesture toward the door was his signal that it was time to leave.

In the situation room, we met with Laure and the two male agents who were to accompany us. One of them, a man who introduced himself as Jean, led Bear and
me to another section of the building. He armed us each with an HK 9mm pistol and an HK MP7 equipped with a suppressor. We donned body armor. Earwigs and
microphones were provided for constant communication. Since the operation would take place in the dark, the man presented us with night vision goggles.

Pierre, Laure, and the other male agent were waiting for the three of us at the rear of the main hall. Pierre nodded, pulled a panel off the wall, and
reached inside. A moment later, a hidden door opened to a courtyard, where a black van with tinted windows idled a few feet away. Jean exited and took the
driver's seat. The rest of us piled in. There was no sense of rank or authority inside the vehicle. We said little during the thirty minute drive. This was
a kill mission. What was there to say?

As we neared, Pierre received a phone call. He listened and said nothing. After hanging up, he broke the silence. "We've got teams in place at the suspect
houses, as we discussed. Snipers are positioned out of view. They can provide support if necessary, but only as a last means of defense."

"Visuals on the men at the house?" I asked.

"It's been under surveillance for a while now. Eight men are present."

"Taylor?"

Pierre said nothing. He gave no indication whether his intelligence indicated Brett Taylor's presence at the terrorist's house.

"Pierre? What about Taylor?"

The Frenchman threw a cursory glance toward his team, then said, "Let's take care of this first, Jack. Then we'll handle the other situation."

The van stopped in the middle of a residential street. Porch lights illuminated the front stoops that lined the road. Cars were packed tight to one another
along the curb. Cracks in the drawn blinds and curtains gave a glimpse inside the family life of many of the street's tenants.

"Let's go," Pierre said.

Laure slid the side door open. She, Jean, and the other male agent exited. Bear followed. Pierre grabbed my arm, halting me.

"We don't think Taylor is here right now." His gaze drifted toward his advancing team. "But we do have a location to follow up on. We'll go tonight, after
we finish here."

I nodded and broke free of his grasp. Sliding out of the van, I breathed in the crisp, wood smoke-laden air. Clouds lined the dark sky. The last traces of
the sun lingered to the west, the direction we walked. Fire fueled me. Anticipation of taking out al-Sharaa overruled every emotion. No matter what I did,
who I helped, who I saved, the failures stuck with me. Tonight, I had the chance to erase one of my worst ones.

Pierre and I caught up with the others. We joined five additional agents, three of whom I recognized from the situation room. One of the men stepped
forward. He had blond hair, and pale blue eyes, and skin that seemed translucent under the street lamps. A scar ran the length of his left cheek, blending
into the crow's feet that surrounded his eye.

"We're one block south. There's an alley about six meters from here, between two fences. That will deposit us directly across the street from the target
house. Teams are in position in the two houses we had no ownership information on. They've locked them and the occupants down. Snipers are in position.
Should you need them, call. Same with us. My team is going to position one block north. Pierre and his team will remain on either end of the alley."

We'd caught the attention of a few residents, who watched from their windows and porches. Probably figured we were cops about to bust someone for drugs.

The blond man continued: "You can abort at any time up until you make entry. After that, well, you know the drill. Give us five minutes to get into
position." With that, the man and his team slipped into a van and disappeared into a right turn.

"You didn't tell him," I said to Pierre.

He shook his head.

"What?" Laure asked.

"I'm accompanying them into the house."

"You know what you're risking?"

Pierre nodded at her. "It's the only way, Laure. If I don't do it, they skate."

Bear pulled me aside. "You still sure about this?"

I shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

"Up to eight men. Close confines."

"These guys are experts at blowing themselves up, Bear."

He clasped his hands behind his head. "You know that's not true. These guys've been trained in camps. You've seen the propaganda videos. We witnessed this
type of fighting in Baghdad."

"I know, Bear. I know. And we left undefeated. For what it's worth, I bet on us. Add in a power outage and night vision, odds are heavily stacked in our
favor."

Pierre's phone rang. He answered it, nodded a few times, and hung up. "They're in position. Laure, have the grid shut down the moment we reach the end of
the alley."

She nodded, then directed the other two men to take position at the alley's entrance.

"Pierre," I said.

"Yeah?"

"Silence that phone. I don't want any surprises once we enter that house."

We walked down the narrow alley and stopped shy of the end. The street in front of us looked like a mirror image of the one we'd left behind. I let my eyes
go unfocused by staring at a point to the left of a light. I watched, waited, on alert for any movement within my field of view.

Pierre gestured toward the house. I scanned the rooflines, spotted one sniper. Wondered where the others were.

Jean approached and joined us.

"What the hell are you doing?" Pierre asked the man.

"My OCD won't allow for a group of three to enter that house. It has to be done in pairs."

Pierre shook his head, and then rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. It killed the man to deviate from the plan. As far as I was concerned, this
whole thing was a deviation.

"Do not shoot unless fired upon," Pierre instructed Jean.

The terrorists' front porch light was on. The window to the right of the door was bright. The other was illuminated, barely, with flickering blue light. A
television. Soccer, maybe, or cricket. I pictured al-Sharaa, with his sparse beard and thin mustache, leaning back on a couch, watching the game. The
upstairs lights were off. Of course, that was only half the house, and it didn't mean the rooms were unoccupied. On cue, someone spoke over the comm
system.