On the Hunt

CHAPTER

1

QUAI BRANLY MUSEUM COMPLEX

PARIS, FRANCE

Damn, it was still burning.

Kira Drake and her dog, Mack, moved through the fiery rubble of what was once one of the most beautiful museums in Paris. There was almost nothing left of the glass buildings and picturesque grounds. It had been more than thirty-six hours since a string of explosions had decimated the museum, and a dark haze still lingered, almost completely obscuring the Eiffel Tower, which loomed over the scene from just blocks away. The tower and the businesses within a radius of almost a mile were closed, and the surrounding neighborhoods were cordoned off to everyone except investigators and rescue workers.

Kira leaned over and rubbed the back of Mack’s neck. He was a four-year-old golden retriever, and they had worked together in disaster scenes all over the world. Mack sniffed the air, which was thick with an acrid odor they’d smelled practically from the moment they’d landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport an hour before. Kira glanced around the depressing scene. Hot spots had erupted in flame pockets all over the grounds, and more appeared as quickly as firefighters could extinguish them.

“What are you getting, boy?” she whispered to Mack.

Her dog was on high alert, sniffing in every direction as he led her through the narrow pathways that crews had swept free of the twisted metal and shards of glass.

This wasn’t a body hunt; 230 corpses had already been removed from the scene and identified, and she’d been assured there were no more to be found. She and Mack were there for a different reason.

“Kira!” a voice called out behind her.

She turned to see that it was Matt Graves, who had practically begged her to come to Paris and visit the site with Mack. Graves was a special investigator with the United Nations Office of Counter-Terrorism. She’d never seen him in anything but a business suit, but today he was wearing a long yellow firefighter’s jacket and tall boots. He stepped closer and spoke with his usual French accent. “Thank you for coming. Good flight?”

“Fine.” She looked around the still-smoldering scene. “This is sickening. Any theories about who’s responsible?”

“Lots of theories, but little concrete evidence yet. This museum features artwork by indigenous peoples of Europe, Africa, Asia, and the Americas. There have been protests calling for the return of some of the artifacts to their homelands, so it could be related to that. Half the law enforcement agencies in Europe are here trying to make sense of this. You’ll see some familiar faces.”

“I’ve already seen a few. French police, Interpol, Scotland Yard… Are there any other dogs working the case?”

“Henry Jaffer flew in from Holland yesterday.”

“With his white shepherd, Dancer?”

“Yes. They found the last two surviving victims in what was left of the parking structure. Vince McCall and his little terrier were among the first to arrive. They found several corpses that the rescue workers had missed.”

She nodded. “I’m not surprised. Harper is one of the best body dogs in the business.” She looked ahead. “Can you get us close to one of the main blast points?”

He pointed to the right. “The explosions started in the new modern art building. Jack Harlan was here for the dedication just last week. Detonations continued across the main building and finally to the administrative offices. Our best bet is to start at the offices. They’re the most intact.”

Kira looked at the heap of concrete and melted glass. “‘Intact’ is a relative term.”

“Absolutely. This way.”

He led her and Mack around a mound of blackened concrete to what was once a five-story administrative building. She had spent much of her flight from the U.S. familiarizing herself with the layout of the buildings and surrounding grounds, but there was little still standing that related to the online maps she’d studied. At least here, part of the superstructure remained.

Mack pulled on his harness and guided her around a hot spot she and Graves hadn’t seen.

“Good boy.” Kira turned back to Graves. “Were the explosions at the lower level?”

“Yes, all the way across. They were carefully placed to cause maximum damage. The bomber may have had some professional demolition experience.”

She unclipped the leash from Mack’s harness, and the golden retriever bolted through the smoldering piles of steel and roofing material, stopping to sniff every few feet before moving on.

Graves watched for a moment, his face wrinkled with concern. “There’s a lot of broken shards of glass out there, and they’re still trying to tamp down the hot spots. Will he be okay?”

“He’s wearing protective booties, and Mack knows his way around disaster areas. Remember the stadium collapse in Barcelona?”

He grimaced. “I remember.”