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Back The Frenchman
Chapters (76)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  3. DEDICATION
  4. AMIN
  5. PARIS
  6. … TWO YEARS LATER
  7. CHAPTER ONE
  8. CHAPTER TWO
  9. CHAPTER THREE
  10. CHAPTER FOUR
  11. CHAPTER FIVE
  12. CHAPTER SIX
  13. CHAPTER SEVEN
  14. CHAPTER EIGHT
  15. CHAPTER NINE
  16. CHAPTER TEN
  17. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  18. CHAPTER TWELVE
  19. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  20. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  21. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  22. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  23. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  24. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  25. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  35. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  46. CHAPTER FORTY
  47. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  48. CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
  49. CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
  50. CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
  51. CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
  52. CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
  53. CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
  54. CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
  55. CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
  56. CHAPTER FIFTY
  57. CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
  58. CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
  59. CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
  60. CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
  61. CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
  62. CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
  63. CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
  64. CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
  65. CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
  66. CHAPTER SIXTY
  67. CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
  68. CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
  69. CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
  70. CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
  71. CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
  72. CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
  73. CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
  74. CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
  75. CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
  76. EPILOGUE

Templar didn’t look convinced. ‘He finally cleared the IS at midday, apparently.’

‘He’s safe?’

‘Safe, yes,’ said Templar. ‘But we all need a drink, non? You up for it?’

‘Text me,’ said de Payns, as he moved past his friend’s bulky frame.

A drink with Templar would involve red wine and Jack Daniel’s, but the hangover would be worth it. He needed to be somewhere he could relax, among people he trusted with his life. He needed to be in a cocoon and get totally shit-faced.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

Jim Valley was waiting for him as he reached street level of the Port-Royal RER station. Port-Royal gave de Payns about five blocks of walking before he reached his apartment, giving him space to see if he was being followed. Now Jim was here. The former soldier made a show of putting on his cap, which translated to follow me. It was 5.46 p.m., on a beautiful Paris evening. De Payns wanted to get home. But he followed Jim, who led him along an avenue of horse chestnut trees into the Jardins des Grands Explorateurs.

Jim sat at an unoccupied park bench overlooking the La fontaine de l’Observatoire and De Payns sat beside him. They both reached for cigarettes.

‘So, anything for the director?’ asked Jim, tapping his cigarette on the pack.

‘Nothing,’ said de Payns, lighting up. ‘Our friend isn’t back.’

‘Not what I heard,’ said Jim, his heavy features slightly obscured by aviator sunglasses. He wore a black, lightweight windbreaker of the type Templar wore when he was armed.

‘He’s not in the Bunker yet,’ said de Payns.

‘What are they saying about Falcon?’

‘Confused, mostly. The DO is conducting an internal investigation.’

‘Do they suspect you?’

De Payns laughed. ‘No, Jim. Not me.’

Jim lit up and waited until two high school kids had walked past before saying, ‘So?’

De Payns shrugged. ‘There’s three theories.’

Jim numbered them on his fingers. ‘One, we have a mole. Two, we fucked up. And three?’

‘Sayef Albar has a more sophisticated operation than we first suspected.’

‘That’s number two.’

De Payns looked at him. ‘These operations are not a jigsaw puzzle, Jim, with all the pieces slotting neatly into place. It’s more like juggling plates.’

‘War is shit and then you die,’ said Jim, pulling a cheap flip phone from his windbreaker pocket and sliding it to de Payns. ‘That’s démarqué. The only number you need is under Q.’

De Payns took the phone and slipped it into his jeans pocket. ‘The drop?’

‘Rue de Bretonvilliers, number one-seventy,’ said Jim. De Payns knew the street; it was on the Île Saint-Louis. ‘In the courtyard is a letterbox for the complex. You use the box for twenty-eighteen. No key, you just curl your finger under the slot and flip the latch. Think you can handle that?’

‘Got it,’ said de Payns, controlling his annoyance.