“The same way we know about Borgia and the chalet in Gstaad.”
“My phone?”
“Did you receive any strange emails recently? Something out of the ordinary or anything with an attachment.”
“A hospital bill. But it was from Harry Mason. He works for me.”
Danni shrugged unapologetically. He’d taken the bait. “I’ve been told you have some expertise in these matters.”
Simon nodded. It was pointless to ask any more questions. The Israeli intelligence apparatus had turned its spotlight on him. They possessed as formidable a surveillance capability as the United States National Security Agency or British General Communications Headquarters, GCHQ. What they wanted, they got.
“For what it’s worth, thank you,” he said. “Mr. Kruger was not in a merciful frame of mind.”
“Yes,” said London. “Thank you, thank you.”
Danni smiled, an amusing memory. “You were right back there.”
“About what?” said Simon.
“That he was about to lose his job.”
Traffic on Rue Jean de Riouffe moved slowly. It was after five. The premiere was slated to begin at six. Fifty-four minutes by the car’s digital clock.
“Do you have any more information about the attack?” asked Simon.
“We were hoping you might be able to help,” said Danni.
“It’s going to take place at the premiere. Kruger said as much.”
“I had a live feed from your phone. I heard.” Cannes to Jerusalem back to Cannes. The new way of the world.
“Last night on the plane, I had an idea,” said Simon. “I thought I had to be sick to imagine it, but it makes sense now that you told me about the vests. It’s the movie, The Raft of the Medusa…well, the actors in it. Four of them are survivors of the tragedy. North Africans. Muslims, I’m guessing. They all have to have badges to get into the premiere, meaning they’ve already passed security checks. No one is going to stop them from entering the theater.”
“Like the Bataclan,” said Danni, referencing the ISIL attack on the crowded Parisian theater in November 2015 that had left ninety dead and dozens wounded.
“Worse,” said Simon. “The Grand Auditorium in the Palais seats more than two thousand people.”
“Four vests in an enclosed space. Fifty kilos of Semtex. It would be the Bataclan twenty times over.”
“Just get Borgia,” said London. “You said you know where he is.”
“We do.”
“At the Du Cap,” said Simon. “They’re all meeting there.”
Danni’s averted glance told him he was correct. “I have no authority,” she said. “I can kill a bomber. The French won’t like it, but they won’t throw me in jail for the rest of my life. Luca Borgia is a different story. He’s a billionaire, one with powerful friends. Our efforts have to be on stopping the bombers. Borgia, we get later.” She looked sidelong at Simon. “Don’t worry. We don’t forget. Ever.”
“What about killing the cellphone service,” said London. “Cut that and a call can’t go through.”
“If we had two days and a judge’s court order, that’s a fine suggestion. Or do you want to sabotage every cell tower nearby? Good luck with that.”
“And a mobile jammer?” said Simon, referencing a handheld device capable of disrupting all cellular communications in a limited area.
“I don’t happen to have one on me,” said Danni. “Do either of you?”
They arrived at the first roadblock. A policeman waved them toward an auxiliary road heading away from the Palais. Simon counted five shock troops milling behind him and an armored personnel carrier parked down the block.
“Without credentials, we can’t get close,” said Danni.
“We can’t,” said Simon. “They can.” He pointed to the group of soldiers, clad in navy-blue utilities, vests, berets, submachine guns worn against their chest.
Danni narrowed her eyes, considering this. “I don’t see any female commandos.”
Simon gunned the motor, speeding down the street. He turned to her. “I’m looking at one.”
A few blocks farther along, Simon pulled the car into an illegal space. It was quieter here. A typical Saturday afternoon at closing time. Only a few people about, most already at home, making dinner, preparing for a night out on the town. All three climbed out of the car, Simon offering London a hand.
Danni brought up the Pegasus app on her phone. “Borgia’s still at the hotel. Room 302.”
“I want to go,” said London. “I can’t help here. I’ll do whatever I can to find him and let you know.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Danni. “You sure?”
London said she was.
Danni went on: “If he’s going to detonate the vest, he won’t be using his own phone.