The two men looked at the floor plan of the villa where the human trafficker would be staying. On the wall was a plasma screen containing more data, including all roads in and out of the target area.

Frank clicked a button on a control pad on the table in front of him and a set of pictures came up on the large screen. “He always travels with these guys, all major kick-ass types. And that’s the ones we know about. There may be more as backup.”

“He’ll advance-team the site, lock it down, and then sit on it,” added Shaw as he studied the bodyguards, each one looking tougher, meaner, and more capable than the last. “How reliable is the intel on his travel itinerary?”

“Very. We got it off phone chatter, email, and company credit card transactions.”

Shaw looked up. “Americans? They’ve got the best hard- and software for that.”

“Let’s put it this way, I owe the heads of NSA and CIA a really nice meal.”

Frank pulled out some docs and read over them. “His flight plan was filed. He’s flying from Montreal to Paris in his private wings. Refuel and then on to the airport at Avignon. Short hop in the bird. He typically travels in a three-vehicle motorcade. He’s got car rentals reserved in Avignon.”

Shaw pushed a button on the laptop and another picture came up, an exterior shot of the street where Waller’s rental was located. “There’s a villa next door.”

“Already leased to someone.”

“Who?”

“Did a prelim. Tourist. Looks absolutely clean.”

“Right next door, though?”

“Gordes is a very popular destination and those villas are in high demand. We couldn’t exactly stop them from being leased without raising a big red flag. But it doesn’t matter. We’re not doing the snatch in Gordes. Too much collateral damage possibility.”

Shaw looked at another computer screen that gave a partial itinerary for Evan Waller. He sat up straighter. “How do you know he’s going to the caves at Les Baux-de-Provence?”

“He had to get special permission for the tour and we accessed that data.”

“Why? Isn’t it open to the public?”

“Well, our Mr. Waller wanted a very private tour. Closed off to the public. To make that happen he paid big bucks. The place is in private hands. They can do what they want. When we saw the payment going to them we hacked their computer system and found the schedule. So we know the exact date he’ll be there.”

Shaw swiveled in his chair to face another computer whose hard drive was clean except for factory-loaded software, including a browser. They used it to connect to the Internet. He hit some keys and read over the results. “Okay, I’ve actually heard of this place. It’s a photo-exhibition gallery; light show on the rock walls, a narrated tour, recorded documentary, yada yada. They choose a different artist each year.” He sat, mulling this new information over. “I think we have our extraction location.”

He spun the laptop around and let Frank look at the screen. It was information about the exhibition venue. “The caves have one entrance, lots of rooms, and few attendants, so it’s easy to get lost or disoriented. We cut the power source and the extraction team is already in place with optics and one-shot-and-drop tranquilizer guns. We separate the boss from the muscle and off we go.”

Frank thought about this. “Limits collateral damage too. We’ll need eyes on the ground ahead of time to confirm all the details.”

“No argument there. But what better place to take a rat than in a hole?”

“But if the hit misses at the caves the guy’s going to be on his private wings out of France.”

Shaw sat back. “It’s not perfect, but it’s the best we can do under the circumstances. His trip to the caves is the only time we’ll know for sure where he’ll be going. And I really don’t see how we can miss.”

14

THE EXTRACTION PLAN was in place. The caves had been gone over thoroughly by assets on the ground in Provence. Shaw would also visit the caves when he got there. In the meantime he had studied detailed plans of the caves’ exterior and interior until he could draw them out on paper from memory. Waller was scheduled to travel there less than a week after his arrival; his private tour began at 10 a.m. sharp.

After each long day of work, which included handpicking the members of the hit team and prepping them, Shaw would go to his hotel, change, do his run, and then wander the streets of Paris alone until the darkness thickened and his energy waned. One night he was eating alone at a café across from the Jardin du Luxembourg, a place Anna Schmidt had loved. They’d walk through the gardens, hand in hand, watch the children sail their wooden boats in the large central fountain, and then sit and observe people drift by. He couldn’t go back there now because for him it was hallowed ground that could not be trod on again. But he had ventured close enough to see some of the flowers from a distance. That was the best he could do before his chest started to tighten and his eyes moistened.

He’d just ordered his food when he looked around the restaurant, checking each table. A decades-long habit, it was as natural to him as drawing breath. He drew a quick one when he saw her standing there in the doorway that separated one dining area from another.

Katie James didn’t look as thin as the last time he’d seen her, which was good because she’d needed to put on some weight. Her naturally blonde hair, spiky and dark the last time they’d been together, had grown out and now nearly touched her shoulders. She had on a white skirt, two-inch heels, no hose, and a dark blue long-sleeved blouse. He’d never known her to wear a sleeveless shirt, primarily because of the bullet wound on her upper left arm.

As she walked toward him he could see that her makeup did not quite cover the darkened circles under her eyes. She was a beautiful woman; many men in the room turned their heads to stare, incurring the wrath of the ladies with whom they were dining. Yet apparently a glimpse of Katie James walking across the room was worth the risk.

She didn’t wait for him to extend an invitation; she simply sat down across from him. “You look good,” she said. She eyed his hair. “A little gray?”

“A little. You look all the way back. Put on a few needed pounds. Although I kind of liked the dark, spiky hairdo.” He paused. “How did you know where I was?” He answered his own question before she could. “Frank. What’s his interest? I’ve never known him to care one way or another about my personal life.”

“I don’t think he did until Anna was killed.”

“He told me you called him.”

“I wouldn’t have had to if you’d ever called me back.”

“I’m sorry I walked out on you.”

“There were no ties. You’re a big boy, I’m a big girl. My only problem with that was I wasn’t sure you were alive. That’s why I called Frank. To make sure you were okay.”

This made Shaw feel even guiltier. “Well, I’m fine. Back working. Everything’s okay. I told you that on the phone.”

“I wanted to see for myself.”

He looked down at the table. “Have you eaten dinner?”

“I’m not hungry.”

This surprised him, her turning down his invitation to dine with him, and his face showed it. “Katie.”

She rose. Their gazes locked for an extended moment. “Good luck, Shaw.”

She hesitated for another second, long enough for him to say something to keep her there. Yet he remained quiet.

She turned and left.

Shaw sat there for several beats, a massive struggle going on inside his mind. Finally, he threw some euros on the table, hustled from the restaurant, and looked up and down the crowded street.

But Katie was already gone.