On the Hunt

FOUR HOURS LATER

Night had fallen over the city, and the empty storefront was now the center of activity for dozens of forensics specialists and representatives from scores of law enforcement agencies. Across the street, Kira could see all the television news crews that had set up shop; their reporters were doing stand-ups in the glare of bright camera lights.

She had just taken Mack for a walk around the block when Graves approached her at the corner. “Interpol thinks they have a lead. A security camera caught someone going in and out of this place a few days ago, and their facial recognition system matched an American who was in the country for a few days.”

“That was fast.”

“Yes. They’re not fooling around. They’ve had a lot of pressure on them this time.”

“Who is it?”

“They haven’t released that information yet. It’s probably no one you’ve heard of.”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Mack did his job.” She scratched the dog’s back, and he looked up at her with sublime appreciation.

Graves smiled. “Yes, he did. You both did. Thank you. If you’d like to spend another couple of days here, the hotel is already paid for. There are worse places than Paris for a little R and R.”

Kira thought of the wreckage of the once beautiful museum area and slowly shook her head. Lord, she was weary of the acrid smell of smoke and the sight of death that clung to that place.

“Thanks, Graves. Maybe another time. There’s someplace else we need to be right now.” She tried not to show how eager she was to leave as she turned away. “Good luck with your investigation.”

“Did you see this morning’s headlines, Harlan?” Belson came into the study and threw the newspapers on Jack Harlan’s desk. “They’ve identified the Paris bomber. It was our old friend Joseph Taylor. You called it.”

Harlan brushed the newspapers aside. “Old news, my friend. My contacts at Interpol tipped me off last night. If you hadn’t taken the day off, you would have known that.” He grimaced. “I’ve been doing my best not to feel responsible.”

“Why? Because you donated that new museum building? No one could possibly think that makes this your fault.”

“You and I both know that’s exactly why Taylor targeted this museum. Interpol knows it, the Paris police know it, and the reporters for these newspapers know it. He knew he couldn’t get past the security here at my home. Taylor’s been looking for a way to strike back at me. Up to now, he failed every time he tried, but he finally found a way to do it. Even if it meant killing two hundred and thirty innocent people.”

Belson paced across the study to stand before the bank of television monitors. They were in a magnificent chalet on the outskirts of Paris, which became Harlan’s home base when he oversaw the Western European operations of Harlan Enterprises, a multinational tech company that had burst onto the scene and come to dominate several consumer product categories in the space of just a few years. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a magnificent view of the Paris skyline; the Eiffel Tower was slowly becoming visible again as the post-blast haze finally dissipated. Belson pointed to the bank of six screens, all still displaying international news broadcasts covering the bombing. “You’ve seen, of course, how they found out it was Taylor.”

“I could hardly miss it.” Harlan stared at the TVs. Three of the six broadcasts were showing footage of a golden retriever being guided by an attractive young woman near the blast site. “It’s Kira Drake. She’s the one you’ve been pestering me to put on my payroll.”

“‘Pestering’ is too strong a word,” Belson said. “I’d never be that crass. ‘Strongly suggesting’ is more like it. If you’re looking for someone, she’s the one you want in your corner.”

“Is she really that good?”

“She got the bastard. The entire city of Paris was crawling with police and military, and she’s the one who managed to zero in on Joseph Taylor.”

“But he still got away.”

“That isn’t her fault. He’d left the country before she even arrived. He’s back in the U.S. somewhere. It’s only the latest in a long line of successes for her.”

“Like what?”

“Did you even read the magazine I gave you last week?” Belson picked up a journal from the coffee table and tossed it on top of the newspapers. “Why do you pay me an exorbitant salary if you’re not going to pay attention to me?”

Harlan glanced at the cover of the magazine. “Maybe because most of your ideas aren’t as weird as the one you threw at me this time. Besides, I was busy with that conference in India. But I remember that when you mentioned her, I did tell you to try to engage her services. You had nothing to do with bringing her here?”

“No, she was flown in by a UN investigative team. I’d reached out to her less than a week before, but I didn’t detect a lot of interest.”

“Why not?”

“She’s always in demand. But it seemed like a good idea to me, and it still does. Every time Taylor comes up on our radar, he manages to slip away. It wouldn’t hurt to have Kira Drake on call to track him the next time we get a report on his location.”

“There are other trackers and other dogs.”

“Not like her. That’s why I wanted you to read that article. She’s extraordinary. She’s a veterinarian, but her emphasis is on research. She’s helped develop drugs to double and perhaps even triple the normal life spans of dogs.”