Zero Day: A Novel (38 page)

Fajer had considered using a gun, but such a weapon would be loud and the Paris police were notoriously efficient. No, a knife would do. There was no reason to be suspicious of the ease with which they had drawn her to them. She was, after all, only a woman.

A light shower had fallen in Paris shortly after midnight. Couples had scurried from doorstep to doorstep on their way home. Now the streets on the Left Bank were nearly clear of life. The rain had left the cobblestones slick with patches of water that reflected the streetlights.

Ivana drew a deep breath, walked toward the shadows on the right side of the street, then moved slowly toward the address she had for Graphisme Courageux. She shifted her shoulder bag well back behind her left arm and firmly gripped the revolver in the pocket of her light jacket.

For a second she realized she was likely walking to her death, but she pushed the thought back. Some things you had to do, and this was one of them.

As she crossed a narrow street to the block where the address was, a taxi came up behind her. She turned and watched as it slowed, then stopped about twenty feet from where she was standing. The American couple she’d last seen in Moscow, the handsome young couple she’d thought dead, emerged from the vehicle. The taxi drove off, and the couple, spotting her, ran toward her, the man holding the shoulder where he’d been shot.

“Ivana,” the woman shouted. “Don’t do this.”

“Stay back,” Ivana warned. “I have a gun. I don’t want to hurt you, but you aren’t going to stop me.”

“It won’t bring your husband back,” Daryl said. Ivana looked frail for such determination. A large bandage covered one side of her head, and her face was pale.

“You have to be Russian to understand why I must do this.”

“The external drive. Do you have it with you?” Jeff asked, thinking of the hundreds of thousands, even millions, of lives that might be at stake.

“Of course. I may need to show it to them to get close. Now go away from here.”

“Give us the drive and then we can all talk about what to do next. Please,” Jeff pleaded.

“No. I need it. Walk away.”

“Let us call the police,” Daryl said

“Why?” Ivana said, seeming genuinely perplexed. “How do I prove these men killed Vlad and my father? Think about it. Everything was done by computer. It was a virtual killing, except for the blood of my family.”

“The assassin is dead,” Jeff said.

“How do you know?”

“We saw it,” Daryl said. “Those men in the hallway managed to kill him.”

“Good. Very good.” Ivana’s voice was hard, and bitter.

“Ivana, please…,” Daryl begged.

“Enough! Turn and leave, or I will shoot you too. I mean it!” Ivana drew the pistol from her pocket and pointed it at them. “Go!”

Jeff took Daryl’s sleeve and drew her back. “We’ll wait,” he said.

“Good. If I miss one, you can kill him.” Then Ivana turned and walked briskly away from them, returning the revolver to her pocket.

Jeff and Daryl watched as the slim woman paused at a door, tried the handle, then entered without hesitation.

“Keep an eye on that door,” Jeff shouted at Daryl before running toward it, then turning right down the alley.

Daryl moved toward the door herself, uncertain what she should do. A long minute passed. Then she heard a gunshot.

*   *   *

Dufour was startled from his sleep when the bell over the front door chimed. He jumped to his feet, nearly losing his balance. They had left the night-light on so as not to attract the attention of the police patrol, who were used to it. The front office was almost entirely in shadows.

Only then did he see the woman, standing just inside the door.

Labib also rose from his chair. “You startled us,” he said.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak French,” Ivana said.

“English, perhaps?” Labib said, switching languages, moving slowly toward her.

“Yes, English is fine. My name is Ivana. Are you the men I e-mailed earlier today?”

Dufour had gathered himself by now. “Yes, I am Xhugo. It is a pleasure to meet you in person,” he said in heavily accented English. “Allow me.” He moved toward her, closed the door, then locked it, all the while smiling.

Ivana shifted her place slightly so he could not reach her, pretending to look scared. Could these men really be the killers of her husband and father? It didn’t seem possible. The man nearest her appeared to be a teenager, while the other, though older and clearly an Arab, looked as if violence was far beyond him.

“We are sorry for the loss of your husband. But you are safe now, here with friends. We greatly respected his work. You have the external drive?” Labib asked, coming from around the desk into the waiting area where Ivana stood.

“Yes. I have it.”

“Show us,” another voice said from behind the Arab. Ivana looked and a taller Arab stepped from the shadows. Though the office was darkened, a light from outside caught his face fully for just an instant.

Yes,
she thought,
here is the killer.
“I have it right here.” From her pocket she drew the weapon.

*   *   *

Jeff ran down the alley, then turned left at the next opening. He found a series of back doors; all the public entrances and exits to the businesses faced the street. These were unmarked, from what he could see, in an alley with almost no artificial light. He moved urgently along the doors as quickly as he could, listening, looking in where possible. His sense had been that Ivana had entered not quite halfway down the block; he rushed past the first doors, then slowed as he estimated the location.

Then he heard the gunshot. Running to the next door, he heard a second, then a third, shot from behind it. He tried the handle but the door was locked. Pressing his shoulder against the door, he pushed as hard as he could. Stepping back, he heard a fourth, then a fifth shot. He rushed the door. As he struck it with his good shoulder, the lock gave and he tumbled into the back office.

*   *   *

“Gun!” Dufour shouted in Arabic when he saw the weapon clearing her hand. He pulled away from Ivana, though part of him said he should rush her before she could fire. The young woman pointed the gun at him and shot once, striking Dufour squarely in his chest.

It was as if he’d been hit with a heavy hammer. The air rushed from his lungs as Dufour fell back and toppled to the floor.

“Get her!” Fajer shouted in Arabic as he moved forward. Labib rushed Ivana, reaching her just as she swung the gun toward him and fired, the shot winging over his left shoulder. He grabbed her in a sort of tackle and the two of them struck the wall beside the door heavily. Ivana moved the gun against the man’s side and pulled the trigger. The explosion was loud and Labib screamed as he released her and began to fall, clutching at her clothing as he did.

Across the entryway Fajer was cursing his own stupidity as he launched himself at the Russian woman. He should have brought a gun. With a sinking heart he saw Labib fall, but by then he was only two short steps away, the
shafra
held aloft, ready to slash across the woman’s throat.

Labib was gripping Ivana’s jacket as if clinging to a lifeline. She pulled the trigger a fourth time, the bullet striking the Arab in the side of his head. He fell to the floor, a loud gurgling sound coming from deep in his throat.

Ivana could see the third man, the one with the killer’s face, almost on top of her. She managed to raise the revolver and fire the final two shots. One went into the floor, the other missed him widely to the left. She saw the flash of the blade and knew she was dead.

*   *   *

Jeff rushed through the back office, down the short hallway, and entered the front office as Ivana fired the sixth and final shot from her gun. He sensed one man lying to his left, a second moaning, lying almost at the woman’s feet, and saw the motion of the third man as he stabbed at Ivana.

“Stop!” he shouted as he rushed at the man. Instinctively, Fajer turned toward the sound, causing his knife to strike Ivana on the shoulder. She screamed.

*   *   *

Daryl heard the shots in rapid succession. Hesitating at the entrance, not sure what to do, she had no idea if Jeff had found the back way in. Then she heard the struggle at the door and Jeff’s voice shout, “Stop!”

Without thinking, she ran the few short steps to the door and threw herself against it. The door flew open and she sprawled into the entryway, just beside the startled Fajer and screaming Ivana. When she saw Jeff leaping across the short distance from the desk at the fair-skinned Arab, Daryl threw herself at him as well.

*   *   *

Where had the devils come from?
Fajer wanted to know.

One moment it was the three of them against the little woman, the next Dufour was dead, his brother dying. His own attack had been thwarted, but he could not return to the woman until he had killed the man. But as he whipped his blade in front of him, the front door exploded open. In rushed a blond apparition that threw itself at him, too. He didn’t know which threat to respond to, and in that moment of indecision, Jeff flew into him, bowling the man over, crashing hard with him into the wall.

Ivana grabbed her shoulder. The pain seared her flesh. She let herself fall to the floor, where she curled into a tight ball as she felt the bodies struggling above her.

Jeff smelled the fear as he struck the man. The pair of them grappled for the knife. All the while the man was swearing in Arabic. Determined as he was, Jeff was stronger; if he could avoid getting disemboweled, he’d have the better of the Arab in seconds. He twisted the man’s wrist again, so hard he expected to hear the snap of bone. The Arab grunted in pain. Jeff heard the knife clatter to the floor and a moment later felt hands seize his throat and begin to squeeze like a vise.

*   *   *

Daryl was grabbing at the Arab, trying to find some way to help Jeff, when she saw him put his hands around Jeff’s throat. At her feet lay the knife he’d had. She reached down and picked up the strange-looking weapon.

Beside her, Jeff grunted. Daryl grimaced, then plunged the knife into the Arab’s stomach.

*   *   *

Fajer had never before experienced such pain. Releasing the man, he clutched at his side, pulling away from everyone. The blond woman held in her hand his knife, the one that he realized had taken his life.

Blood flowed from him in a torrent. He prayed in Arabic as he attempted to stanch it. Within moments he became lightheaded, then sleepy.

The jihad,
he thought.
It is unleashed whether I live or not. This is Allah’s will.

He swayed on his feet, then toppled over, falling across the dead body of his brother Labib.

67

PARIS, FRANCE

HILTON HOTEL

CHARLES DE GAULLE AIRPORT

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 7

2:43 P.M.

Jeff watched the Arab die without emotion, then checked on the other Arab lying on the floor. He was dead as well. The third man was also lifeless.

“Jeff!” Daryl said. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’m fine. You?”

“Me too. I think he stabbed Ivana, though.” She squatted down beside the Russian woman, who was still curled in a ball. “Let me help,” Daryl whispered.

“We have to get out of here,” Jeff interrupted her. “The police will arrive any second.” He checked the floor, slippery with blood. Spotting the external drive, he grabbed it and thrust it into his pants pocket. “Let’s go. Now!”

Already they could hear the siren of a Paris police car. He helped lift Ivana, who moaned and winced at the touch of his arm around her. “I can walk,” she murmured in halting English.

The three of them hurried out the back and into the alley. “Wait a minute,” Jeff said. “Daryl, put pressure on the wound. I’ll be right back.” He rushed off. When he returned, he was carrying their two travel bags, which they’d left on the street. Moving as quickly as they could, they fled the death and chaos.

*   *   *

Five blocks away, they stopped at a fountain and washed as well as they were able to. Daryl removed Ivana’s bloody jacket and threw it away. Jeff reached for his undershirt, tore most of it off, and tied it against her wound to stem the bleeding. Then Daryl took her jacket off and slipped it over the Russian.

“Let’s flag a taxi while we can,” Daryl said. “We look presentable enough. It will take the police a few minutes to figure out what happened.”

Jeff moved to a wider street, where he spotted a taxi stand and waved.

“Act like we’ve been nightclubbing,” he said. “We don’t want to be especially memorable, at least not for the wrong reason.”

A moment later the car approached and the three entered, all laughing. Despite her pain, Ivana put a smile on her face.

“Where to?” the driver asked in French.

Daryl thought for a moment. “The Hilton.” She looked at Jeff and shrugged. They must have a Hilton somewhere.

“There are five,” the driver said. “Which one?”

Daryl thought for a moment again. “The one by the airport.”

The driver audibly sighed. “Which airport? There are two with Hiltons.”

“Charles de Gaulle.” That, Daryl decided, should be far enough away.

*   *   *

Daryl checked them into a suite, then helped Jeff bring Ivana to their room. Removing the shower curtain, Jeff spread it across one of the two beds and helped Daryl lay the Russian there.

As Daryl began removing Ivana’s clothing, Jeff went back downstairs, asked the desk clerk where he might find an all-night pharmacy, and walked the two blocks to it. There an Arab clerk rang up his collection of bandages, Tylenol, and tape.

“Here,” Jeff said as he entered their room. The wound was still oozing blood from around the wet towel Ivana had pressed to her shoulder. “I’ll be in the business suite if you need me,” he said, to give the women privacy as Daryl closed and taped the wound.

The business suite was open twenty-four hours a day. A sleepy young woman smiled and asked him to enter his room number and name on the sign-in sheet as she gestured toward any of the free computers. Jeff had the room to himself. At one of the computers he connected the precious hard drive and scanned it for content. Separating the source code and executable files, he zipped them, then uploaded the files by FTP to a secure drop site. He sent an e-mail to Daryl’s office alerting them to its presence, even though she’d be calling in a few minutes. The simple process seemed anticlimactic to him after so much running and so many deaths. He felt let down and stupefied, didn’t move from his seat for a few minutes.