Fugue State (19 page)

She took a few seconds to regain her composure. Then she stood and headed for a bathroom where she could clean up. In spite of everything that happened, her predominant thought was to get the stench of the river water off her body.

The bathroom odor paralleled that of the river. A commode resembling the toilets seen in planes sat against one wall. The other had a small sink, and a makeshift mirror composed of some sort of unbreakable glass. Alexa saw her pitiful reflection, with rivers of mascara streaming down her cheeks.
I have angered God, and he is punishing me.

She plunged her hands into the cool running water and doused her face repeatedly. Undressing in the private bathroom, she washed herself and her clothes with the hand soap on the wall. She braided her wet hair down her back. She redressed in her freshly wrung clothes and stared at her left shoe with the broken heel. The right one had fallen off in the river when she hit the water. She buried the remaining shoe in the bottom of the small wastebasket next to the toilet then opened the door to face the world again.

The cruiser seemed peaceful, filled with happy tourists floating down the river. She sat near the back, hoping to catch a breeze and some sun to dry her dampness. No one seemed to notice her disheveled appearance. They were too distracted by the sights to pay any attention to the barefoot American in the wet clothes.

Alexa wasn’t sure where the boat was going to stop, but she was sure by now the man with the bloody face knew where her boat would dock next. How quickly things had changed. Within twelve hours, she had gone from being the hunter to the hunted.
It isn’t possible to run forever. Who is chasing me, and how long will I be pursued?
She didn’t have any answers.
I need a way off this boat.

In broken French, she managed to find out that the boat made two more stops. The first was near the national library of France in the eastern part of Paris. The second stop returned to where she had boarded, close to the Louvre. Alexa feared her pursuer was waiting for her at the library stop, but she was even more afraid of returning to the scene where she had seen him last. She shuddered and chose to disembark at the first stop. She wished she had a weapon to defend herself with. She yearned for the little handgun Smokey Joe had sold her back in Austin, but it was safely tucked away with the rest of her belongings in Elizabeth Fuguay’s hotel room. At least with a gun, she’d have a fighting chance.

Maybe the man in the blue sweater isn’t trying to kill me. He could be an undercover officer — Parisian or American. Maybe he wants to arrest me.
Yep. That’s the bright side — someone wants to arrest me
. She let out a long sigh as the boat neared its next stop.

Her clothes were drier, and aside from being barefoot, she blended in fairly well with the other departing passengers. She tried to bury herself in the middle of the small crowd as they scampered off the boat. Groups dispersed in different directions, while Alexa darted into a little tourist shop. Inside she found beach gear. She purchased a pair of flip-flops and a large floppy hat with the wad of wet Euros in her jean pocket. She used the hat to disguise her face.

She scanned the faces outside the store before going back into the street. She wanted a taxicab. She saw a youngster on a bike built for hauling tourists in a little cart. It would serve little as a means of cover, but perhaps it would get her to safer grounds. Alexa jumped into the cart and yelled at the boy, “Eiffel tower!” before he had a chance to acknowledge her presence.

The boy started pedaling, and they gained speed. She had no desire to go to the Eiffel tower; she just needed a landmark the boy would understand easily because she didn’t have time to chitchat about any details or sort out French phrases.

She kept the brim of her floppy hat pulled snuggly against her cheeks and tried to mask as much of her face as possible. She continued that way for several blocks, and the number of streetwalkers quickly diminished as they left the waterfront. The boy stopped at a traffic light and turned back to Alexa.

“Eiffel tower eight kilometers.” It was farther away than she wanted to go. Eyeing a café a few blocks down the street, she pointed at it. He nodded. He stopped at the café, and she paid the boy with more wet Euros and strode inside.

CHAPTER 22

E
xhausted, she ordered a bowl of soup and a cup of hot tea and collapsed into a seat away from the door. She peered through windows clad in red and white print curtains that hung too short for the panes. She saw no one. Above the drapes, ceramic knick-knacks lined the walls on a ledge that circled the room. Little candles in red glass votives decorated the tables.
There is something familiar about this place. I’ve been here before
. She cocked her head toward the window and looked off into the distance, and she saw the Eiffel tower. This was the café where she and Britt had their fight. The night their funny little waiter pointed down to the candle and said
levende lys
. After all of this time hunting throughout Paris, she finally found it. If only she had the time to enjoy it. She pushed aside the urge to reminisce and concentrated on her next step.

The man chasing me has sandy-blond hair — not the type of character Mohammed Ahmed would associate with.
She hoped Castro’s party was not on her tail.
He could be American, and may work with Charlie. Or, perhaps, an undercover French officer, but that seems less likely.
If he works with Charlie, his motive could be to kill her, arrest her, or question her; she wasn’t sure which was more plausible.

Her thoughts switched tracks, like a train derailing.
I’ll flee Paris, using my alias!
Everyone who knew her in Paris knew her as Alexa DeBrow; only her hotel was booked under her new identity. She hoped that meant she could safely return and gather her things before leaving Paris.
I’ll head south, to Nice. Perhaps I can absorb a few glorious days by the beach before deciding where to spend my life in hiding.

Alexa took another sip of her tea, unaware of the man next to her until he put his hand on her shoulder. The touch sent a shock from her head to her heels. The hand gripped tightly. Another hand pulled back a tan blazer to reveal a handgun in a holster mounted to the man’s side. Too distraught to look at his face, she sat unmoving, refusing to believe that she had been found. Her plan to escape would never materialize. She would never run away as Elizabeth Fuguay.
It can’t happen this way. Not here. Not in our place, our café in Paris filled with beautiful and perfect memories of Britt!
Those memories were ruined now, forever tainted by the new memory of a man revealing his gun and filling her with fear.

“You’ll want to stay where you are, Miss DeBrow.”

She’d heard that voice before. She looked up at the man and saw a face she didn’t recognize.
But that voice, I know that voice.

“Charlie Mac.” She said it casually, like two old acquaintances running into one another in a restaurant. Their eyes locked. She had thought of him as a confidant, but now he was giving her orders like a prisoner.

“We meet at last, Miss DeBrow. Funny, I didn’t think it would happen this way.” He softened his grasp on her shoulder and pulled up a chair with the other hand. He sat close to her. She looked at his pale gray eyes. Shallow crevices formed at the corners of his eyes and spread across his forehead.

“I’m afraid you broke the nose of one of my co-workers, Miss DeBrow.” Alexa arched an eyebrow, satisfied in knowing she had broken the nose of her assailant.

“I trust you’ll be more well-mannered in dealing with me.” He paused for her response, but she said nothing. “All right, Miss DeBrow, gather your things. We are going to take a walk.”

Suddenly terrified by his demeanor, she blurted out, “Why are you here?”
Are you going to take me somewhere private where you can make me disappear?
He was already standing, but her tone stirred the attention of onlookers. He pressed his gray houndstooth trousers flat and sat back down.

“Mohammed Ahmed is dead. This is old news to you. After your phone call to me, things happened rather quickly. My men went to the location you gave me and made several arrests. They found Mohammed’s pretty pink body. He looked like a Muslim cherub, Miss DeBrow.”

Alexa couldn’t hide her faint smirk.

“His allies are being held for questioning. Most of them aren’t talking. Some are.” His stern look softened for only a moment. “All of this happened because you called me. Now I need to question you.”

“I’m sure you know more than enough about me, Charles. There isn’t much to begin with. You know my history, you told me so. I was a doctor. They tried me for murder. But they released me . . . and now I’m here.” Her voice faded into nothingness, like she had somehow lost track of her life along the way.

“Why are you here, Miss DeBrow? Why did you decide to kill Mohammed Ahmed? Why did you call me? You involved me in this situation. I’m here because I couldn’t ignore your phone call that day. So tell me, why did you call?”

She bit her lip while she hesitated. The difficult conversation required delicate word choices, and she never chose her words wisely enough. She stared at the well-dressed man in the Kenneth Cole wool-blend blazer across from her and felt like she was on trial all over again.

“Let’s go for that walk, Charles. I don’t want to taint the air of this place with this kind of talk.”

He stood and took her arm in his. Charles dropped a couple of euros on the table, and they walked outside. Alexa didn’t want to talk about it; the emotions she felt were too overwhelming to explain. But she didn’t have a choice. She fought hard to find the words.

“Why did I kill Mohammed Ahmed?” She directed her speech into the empty space in front of her. “Because I believe the world is safer without him in it. I believe justice is the death of a man who is a murderer a hundred times over. I think it was the right thing for me to do — in spite of how wrong I know it sounds.” Her words evaporated. She was still making sense of it herself, and she couldn’t put her thoughts into words in a manner that formed a convincing argument.

When Charlie lit a cigarette, she saw the pale circle around his left ring finger and wondered how long he had gone without his wedding band.
Are you married to the job, Charlie?
She reached down and rubbed her own bare ring finger.

“I’m not here to judge you, Miss DeBrow. The majority of my business doesn’t involve doing what is right. My job is to benefit the cause. The cause for our country is determined by the minds of a few choice military and political authorities. I’m not to give my opinions or deem what is necessary. My job is to carry out the wishes of those above me.” She avoided his glance, keeping her gaze on the pavement. “It just so happens that my superiors wanted Mohammed Ahmed dead, and his confidants captured. With your help, we were able to attain that goal.” He tossed his cigarette on the pavement and snuffed out the fire with his Italian loafer. “That’s why I’m here, Miss DeBrow — because your decision to kill Mohammed has summoned my appearance.”

Summoned? Like a genie in a bottle? When do I get my three wishes, Charlie? I wish to disappear.

He continued, “Now that I’m here, I need to evaluate your character. I need to see if this delicate sort of information is safe with you, and I need to see if you can be of any additional service to me.”

His words rang with casual threats. She feared a slip of the tongue now could cost her her life.
And if you decide you can’t trust me? I’m sure you’ll find a way to keep me quiet.
She feared his strategy would require the use of a bullet rather than a muzzle.

“What do you want from me?”

“I have a proposition for you, Miss DeBrow.”

“What proposition of yours could interest me?” Her tone came off defiant.

“You have managed to impress a few of my colleagues. Not because you were sly enough to slip a drink into Mohammed Ahmed’s willing hand. Not because you are lovely enough to capture his eye. And not because you were cunning enough to plan it so carefully and pull it off — but because you knew the risk involved and proceeded despite it. That’s what makes for successful careers in my field — a willingness to put your life on the line for the cause. That’s why I’m here. I need to know if you would be willing to put your life on the line for the cause, if such an opportunity arises in the future.”

“What do you mean, exactly?” she pressed.

“Why don’t you tell me how you convinced Mohammed to drink from that glass? Bodyguards surrounded him. Not one of them tried to stop him?”

She shrugged.

“I drank from the glass first. I had to convince him that it was safe.”

“You drank the poison. How?” He sneered.

“I took the antidote. I attached it to an IV. I took the antidote right when swallowing the poison. It made him to trust me.” She blinked.

“I see.” Charles sighed a long, deep sigh. “That’s enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to offer you a position, Miss DeBrow. I want you to consider a job with me. I realize you are a layperson. You would require training of sorts. Any training you require would be offered on a case by case basis.”

Alexa interrupted. “I’m sorry, didn’t we already have a business agreement? One million dollars for the death of Mohammed Ahmed?” She was more than a little disgruntled by the fact that he hadn’t yet mentioned this.

“Yes. We have an agreement. All of that will be settled. I will need an account number. I’ll have the money transferred to your account, tax-free. Everything will be arranged shortly. I have other matters to discuss with you. I want you to consider an indefinite position with my department. I think your skills and accomplishments thus far make you an ideal candidate for such a position. You assassinated one of our most wanted criminals, you averted capture by Agent Harrison, and even managed to break his nose. I’m convinced we can use you, Miss DeBrow.”