Fatal Exchange

Chapter 1

The fate of the world hangs in the balance, and you’re stopping for a baguette?

I fought to keep a smirk from my lips as I paid for my baguette and started walking briskly toward the train station. Halluis knew I had plenty of time; he was just trying to provoke me. He and Ace were tracking my movements on the computer screen back at Paris headquarters, monitoring the operation and providing me information over the com in my ear as things progressed.

I couldn’t respond, of course. I was undercover—for the first time since coming to Paris four months ago—and it felt great, despite the steady stream of mockery I was receiving from Halluis. I could just imagine the smug look on his mustachioed face as he watched my dot progress toward the train station, knowing the whole time that I just had to take whatever he’d throw at me. Well, I might not be able to tell him just how immature he was being, but that didn’t mean I was completely defenseless.

I tucked the baguette under my arm—a distinctly Parisian move—and whipped out my cell phone. I texted a quick message to Ace, then slipped the phone into a hidden inside pocket of my skirt and ripped off a chunk of the delicious bread.

A second later I was rewarded with Halluis’s sharp cry of alarm over the com. "Tiens! What was that for? Oulà, that really hurt!"

This time I did smirk, hiding the expression behind my chunk of bread. Good man, H.

I could hear the two of them scuffling, as Halluis tried to get revenge for the flick I’d asked Ace to deliver to his unsuspecting ear. Ace had obviously ripped off his headset, but I could hear laughter and the scraping of chairs coming in faintly over the com. Both of them were easily ten years older than me, but sometimes they were just like kids, and I loved them for it. Around Paris HQ, they were often lumped together and called simply the boys, and the nickname was fitting despite their mega skills when it came to surveillance and information gathering. We’d all been transferred together from New York, and though I would never tell them to their faces, I felt incredibly lucky that we got to be a team.

I tuned them out and focused on my surroundings. I had just descended one hundred and twelve steps in beautiful and extremely hilly Montmartre to reach the entrance to the metro. Going down was never as bad as going up. Once I slid my card through the turnstile, I’d have to take another hundred steps down to reach my platform. Needless to say, it was dark and dingy, and I’d never get used to the faint smell of rotten eggs, but places like this were perfect for spy work, with lots of people moving quickly in and out. The only good thing was that it was a bit cooler down here. Paris in June was already hot and muggy.

Now, now, children, scolded a female voice—that would be Rosabella, the team leader, with her gentle Italian accent. Don’t distract Agent Hadden. Put your headset back on, and keep an eye on Dufor. I knew she must be sitting rigid in her chair, staring intently at the monitor, her espresso hair shimmering in the light. Even though we’d only known her for four months now, it seemed we’d always worked together.

I’ve got an eye on Dufor, Halluis grumbled, his voice growing louder as he placed the headset back on. Agent Hanson said Dufor’s on the train, and his tracker is live. He’s not going anywhere other than where we want him.

Rosabella turned her attention to me. Christy, I see you are at the station with time to spare. Good job. This is all in your hands now. You’ve got this. You’re the best.

I nodded imperceptibly, knowing she couldn’t see me, but acknowledging the compliment anyway. This was my first mission without Jeremy as my handler, and it made me slightly nervous knowing he wasn’t there watching me, that I was under the scrutiny of a completely new team leader. Just a few days after we’d all arrived in Paris, Jeremy had been called away to complete a mission for an agent who’d been killed. It felt so strange to be without him, and even worse not knowing where he was. His mission was completely dark—no communication in or out. All I could do was hope and pray every day that he was all right. In the meantime, it felt good to know I had Rosabella’s confidence.

Now, listen, Metro Spy Barbie, Halluis started in again, his French coming across in a sardonic drawl. Remember to approach slowly. Don’t spook the informant. This man is incredibly paranoid—

Well, wouldn’t you be if you worked for the most dangerous company in Europe, and you were about to spill their secrets? Ace laughed, but I could hear the tension in his voice. He was nervous. Were his nerves for me, or our informant?

Here comes the train, Christy, Halluis spoke in my ear. There was no trace of his former playfulness; he had his game face on. Despite all the mockery, I knew I could count on him for anything. If Dufor is where he is meant to be, he should be on the fourth car.

My heart sped up as the train approached. Henri Dufor, our informant, was taking on a huge risk. As Ace had said, he worked for the most dangerous company in Europe, Sécurité Un. To the average civilian, Sécurité Un appeared to be just an Internet privacy firm, benignly protecting passwords and other mundane aspects of online life. But Division 57 had discovered that their real service was protecting secrets, especially dangerous ones. They were hired by the world’s most nefarious groups to keep things hidden. And they had never once had a breach of security. If anyone knew what Dufor was about to do, his life would be forfeit.

That’s why he’d been extraordinarily cautious about setting up this drop. He had contacted us just yesterday to say he had something important for us. He couldn’t explain it over the phone—he was too afraid someone might be listening in—but it involved some incriminating evidence against a high public official. Not your run-of-the-mill affair or campaign bribes, he’d assured us—but something that needed our immediate attention. Something that involved the safety and security of all of France. He’d agreed to copy the encoded information to a flash drive and deliver it to an agent. But he insisted he couldn’t do anything out of his ordinary routine, or his superiors would suspect him. Rosabella had made the arrangements for the drop to go down along his normal route home after work the next day.

Today.

I knew Rosabella wished she could be the one to make the drop—but she was no longer a field agent. She didn’t like to talk about why, but I gathered that something traumatic had happened, and she had never recovered. She was a good agent, though, so she stayed on in HQ, running the operations.

I was good with disguises and excellent at sleight of hand, so I’d been chosen to complete the mission. I silently promised I would execute the job perfectly, not just for the fate of the world, as Halluis had put it, but for Rosabella.

For today’s mission I would be Gabrielle, a young intern working for a fashion designer. With my billowing silk blouse, a sweet pink double breasted trench coat with flap pockets, and expertly tied scarf, I blended in perfectly with the Parisian business people in the train station. Yet, the tools of my true trade were close at hand. A knife fit nicely into my soft leather, three-inch heeled boots, and my light and airy, just-above-the-knee skirt easily hid the little .380 pistol strapped to my upper thigh. I hated wearing the long, brown wig, but it was all part of the game.

The job was simple—identify Dufor, retrieve the drive, then stick with him until he left the train. Two other field agents would tail him after that, ensuring his safety, but while he was on the train, he was my responsibility.

As the train pulled into the station, I counted the cars. I located the fourth one and subtly put myself in position to board there when the doors opened. I drummed my fingers on my leather satchel, hiding my own anxiety in my alias—a tired French intern, eager to board the train and get home. Finally the train stopped and the doors hissed open. I stepped lightly onboard, my heels making a sharp clack on the floor. I found a seat in the center of the car, a good position to assess the area for threats and locate my informant.

Good girl, Christy. You’re right on top of him, Rosabella whispered. I could hear the tightness in her voice. We were so close.

Keeping my face impassive, I carefully scanned the crowded car for the asset. I panicked slightly as my eyes flitted from face to face, not seeing him through the crowds of people. I only had two stops to locate him and make the pick-up. Dufor was exceptionally distrustful—understandable considering his line of business—and he’d only agreed to make the drop on the train. He felt that as long as he was moving, there was less chance of him being caught. If he got off the train with the drive still in his possession, he’d made it clear that the drop was finished for good. It had to go well. There wouldn’t be a second try. I fought to keep my breathing calm as my search continued fruitless.

There. Finally. He was standing next to the car’s other door, holding onto what I’d affectionately named the pickpocket pole. Seriously, most people would lose at least one thing standing at that pole as people jostled about with the train’s arrivals and departures. Paris was a pickpocket’s paradise. Even the Louvre was full of signs warning people of the threat. But I didn’t think anywhere was as risky as the poles on the trains. Dufor, however, was a security man; I was sure he was aware of the risk. I spotted the signal right away. He was supposed to be wearing a gold tie pin in the shape of a tiger if he believed all was well on his end. I inwardly nodded my approval. For a civilian about to do a drop, he looked completely calm and collected. Then like a hunted bird that can’t be patient long enough for the hunter to pass by and flaps his wings, rising to the sky, only to be shot down, Dufor patted the pocket that was supposed to hold the drive. His eyes darted about and his breathing sped up.

I pulled my bag onto my shoulder, making sure the pockets faced out and were easily accessible to me, then stood and made my way over to the door. To any casual observer, it would look like I was simply anticipating the train’s arrival at the next stop and getting ready to disembark.

I came to a stop right next to Dufor, pushed my way between two others and gripped the pole above him.

Excusez-moi, Monsieur, I said in perfect French. Quelle heure est-il? Excuse me, sir. Do you have the time? It was our code phrase. If he didn’t have the drive, he’d look at his watch and give the time, and the drop would be aborted. It was the last chance for him to back out.

I held my breath.

Dufor glanced at me and pursed his lips. Ma montre est cassée. My watch is broken. He’d completed the code perfectly—he not only had the drive, but he felt secure in passing it along.

I sighed in feigned disappointment, then shrugged and turned toward the door.

The train began to slow, and I steeled myself for the quick sleight of hand I was about to employ. The train lurched to a stop, and I allowed myself to be thrown slightly into Dufor. My left hand came up to his chest, disguised as an effort to steady myself, and while I was profusely apologizing, I slipped it stealthily into his right breast pocket and, quick as lighting, palmed the drive and something else—a thick piece of paper.

I flushed and pulled away from Dufor, playing an embarrassed young professional who’d been caught off guard. I patted my hair and rearranged my bag over my left shoulder, dropping the drive surreptitiously into the outer pocket and switching the paper into my other hand. Dufor frowned slightly and took a step away, to the other side of the pole. He played his part well. He looked like any other grumpy Frenchman, irritated at the disruption of his daily routine. In truth, from all I’d learned about him, he was a really nice guy.

The doors hissed open, and I turned my attention to the flood of people about to board the train, scanning faces for anything that looked suspicious. I saw nothing to worry about and relaxed slightly as I waited for the doors to close. This was a textbook mission. At the next stop, Dufor would get off, remaining under the care of Division until he got home, and I’d ride two more stops before disembarking and heading for headquarters. I could just imagine the excitement Rosabella must be feeling right now. A mission well planned and perfectly executed. I took a moment and glanced at the small piece of paper in my hand that I’d taken from Dufor’s pocket along with the flash drive. It was a ticket stub for l’Orangerie museum. I tucked it into my jacket pocket. Just one more stop.

Suddenly, I felt a wrench at my side and an abrupt emptiness where my satchel should be. I gasped. The drive! It took me only a split-second to identify the thief—a young boy running swiftly away from the train, through the crowds and up the stairs, my satchel slung around his neck. His black jacket had an embroidered yellow sun on the back. I didn’t have time to think—the doors were already closing. I glanced at Dufor and quickly scanned the people on the train once more. No threats. Dufor’s eyes were wide with fright, but I couldn’t focus on that. That drive could save millions. I could not lose it, and Dufor would be safe until he reached the next stop. I dove off the train, barely squeezing through the closing doors, and ran after the boy.

I pushed my way up the stairs, cursing my choice to wear three-inch heeled boots on this mission. It was a good thing that I had some nice thick stockings underneath. I pulled out the sheathed knife I had stashed in there, sliding it into my front waistband, just under my silk shirt. I kicked the boots off as I climbed, hoping someone who could really use the lovely things would find them.

Ace and Halluis talked over each other, hurling agitated questions at me over the earpiece. I didn’t have the concentration to spare to decipher their words, so I just gave my report through gritted teeth. Pursuing thief out of the metro. Dufor safe on train, but solo. Requesting backup at Gare du Nord. Once up the stairs, I ran at top speed out of the metro tunnel onto rue de Dunkerque.

I spotted the boy only a few streets ahead of me, the yellow sun on his jacket standing out like a beacon. He was walking now, believing he had gotten away. The bag, now in his hand, swung at his side. I took off after him, people gawking as I passed. Only one more street and I’d have him. I wove my way through the crowds of tourists and only had half a street to catch up to him, when he looked back and spotted me.

He gave me a snide, taunting look before hauling off running. He slipped my bag back over his neck. That rotten kid really thought he was going to get away with it. That wasn’t going to happen. A desperate ache spread through my gut as I thought of the team and how I’d made a mess of everything. I took a sharp breath in and squelched it. This was no time to wallow in self-pity.

My pulse pounded in my ears, making it hard to understand the voices raging on the earpiece, but the panicked tone came through loud and clear. I made out that Dufor’s train had arrived at his stop. Over it all, I could hear the frustrated voice of Rosabella, and heat seared through my heart. I was letting her down.

I called out, "Two minutes. I’ll have the drive back in two minutes." Please let me get the drive. Please. And then there was silence. I pushed on my com as I ran, my eyes focused on that jacket. Nothing. No sound. It was just as well, I had other things to occupy my brain and body right now.

The thief was fast. I had to give him that. But thanks to rigorous physical training, I was faster. I closed the distance between us with a burst of speed. Only a bit further. I reached out and caught a fistful of his jacket, but he simply shrugged it off and ducked behind a corner. I let the jacket fall to the ground and turned the corner after him. The alley’s narrow walkway was packed with people. I looked around, frantic, running down the walkway, bumping into people as I went, searching for him and any doors or windows he could have entered. As I made it to the end, it was obvious there were none, only solid stucco walls on both sides of me. He was gone.

I rubbed my hands roughly over my face and shook my head. This was not good. My chest squeezed with what this would mean. My mind scrambled for solutions—I needed to find that thief. I gritted my teeth and fought back a groan. I’d had him—his jacket had been in my hands, that yellow sun taunted my memory.

There was nothing for it. The drive was long gone by now. I needed to get back to headquarters and start brainstorming with my team how we were going to get that information. We’d just have to convince Dufor to recopy it. I knew he’d be reluctant, but perhaps he could be persuaded. I took a deep breath, fighting back the wave of nausea and despair that threatened to crash over me. Dufor would have to help us. He was our only hope now. I ran back the way I’d come, bumping through the crowds to the metro, people calling out about my lack of footwear. C’est dégoutant, ça!

As I gasped for air, waiting on the platform for the train to arrive, Ace’s voice sounded in my ear once again. Christy. Christy. Do you read? Report to headquarters immediately. His voice was loud and clear. Dufor is dead.

Chapter 2

I called Ace as soon as I exited the metro and found a quiet spot.

What happened, Ace? Tell me it’s not true. He can’t be dead. Heat seared my heart, and I gripped the back of a bench to steady myself.

Someone stabbed him three times before shoving him off the train at his exit. His Canadian French was so distinctly different from what I’d learned during my three-month intensive training, I had to focus to catch every word.

I gasped. This is all my fault. I never should have left him. I stood still, my hand grasping the bench tightly.

There was a slight pause. You had to get the drive, Christy. Dufor knew the risk.

I tilted my head to the sky and closed my burning eyes to prevent the tears. I didn’t get it, Ace. The thief—he just disappeared.

For a moment, there was nothing but stunned silence. Then Ace said, Come in, Christy. We’ll figure this out. His voice was firm, but lacked its usual confidence when giving instruction.

Okay. It was almost a whisper as I stood.

Are you okay?

I didn’t answer.

We’re meeting in the conference room. It’s all going to be okay. Don’t worry.

I’ll be there soon. My head hung down as I walked toward the building that housed Division.

I walked to headquarters, barely registering my surroundings. My chest felt tight, and guilt ate at me. Dufor had been my responsibility, and he’d been killed on my watch. I kept seeing his face—the look of utter dismay right before I’d left him on the train. The decision to go after the drive played over and over in my mind and for a terrible second, I thought about running away so I wouldn’t have to face my team. I trudged up the stairs. I was a failure in the worst way, and someone had died because of my error. I wiped my hands on my skirt before grabbing the door handle and entering the building. I wished I could talk to Jeremy.

After taking the stairs to the basement, I pulled open the first door on the left, marked Médecine Gaston. To a civilian, it appeared to be the entrance to a doctor’s office, complete with receptionist, chairs, magazines, and crappy music playing. I looked up in hopes of clearing the tears that welled up in my