“I understand perfectly. I will post a sign on the door. What is it you Americans say on your signs? GONE FISHING!”

In spite of himself, Jack laughed. Harry grinned.

Jack held out the wad of euros. “Does this buy your silence, mademoiselle?”

Vivian François didn’t have to think twice about her answer. “Yes, monsieur, it buys my silence. Now if you would be so good as to leave, I need to close down.”

The moment the door closed behind Jack and Harry, the blinds inside were pulled. A second after that, a single white sheet of paper was Scotch-Taped to the door. In big bold letters it said, GONE FISHING. Jack clapped Harry on the back just as a cab pulled to the curb. They climbed in, handed over the map, and settled back for the forty-five-minute drive. Both Jack and Harry passed the time by sending texts Stateside with a real-time update on what was happening in France.

“We just might get out of here today, Harry, if we can do the snatch and grab. Call the pilot and put him on alert.”

Jack finished with his last text and pulled up the morning edition of the Post, and scrolled down. Good going, Maggie, he thought. Everything’s in play now. He smiled to himself and suddenly realized his throbbing head was still quiet. He actually felt peaceful. He closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to run amuck.