Page 168 of Secrets Beneath the Waves
I can’t help but respond to his concerns by justifying what I do. “Last weekend I went to the Marché Bastille with a friend. And this weekend I’ll probably meet with coworkers over coffee.”
“Désolé,” he says, shaking his head as he apologizes. “You don’t need to listen to this old man. It’s none of my business. I’m just feeling a bit sentimental today, I suppose. Missing another time. Missing my Elise. I don’t want you to be lonely like I am at times.”
I squeeze his arm.
He doesn’t know the truth about William. Doesn’t know that I really work for the government in intelligence, running assets and going through intel. But he’s right about one thing. There are days when I realize that the double life I’ve chosen will always be a lonely one. Most days I’m okay with that, but finding someone else to fill the emptiness isn’t easy. Maybe it’s not even an option. At the very least, I’ll first have to get over the grief of losing William.
“You lost someone too, didn’t you?” he asks, catching me by surprise.
“Why do you say that?” I ask as we start up the stairs to the front door of our apartment building, worried he can somehow read my mind.
The Haussmann I live in is typical of many Parisians homes. Six stories tall with a stone façade exterior and wrought iron balconies—everything that gives it that recognizable classic Parisian charm.
“I know, I shouldn’t press,” he says as we step into the elevator. “You hide it well, but every once in a while I catch a hint of sadness in your eyes. A sadness that mirrors my own.”
I shake my head, refusing to expose the emotion. “I think most people have lost someone.”
We step out of the elevator a moment later and stop in front of his apartment.
“Will you be okay?” I ask.
“Of course.” He holds up the flowers. “My son always tells me I should have found love again instead of wasting all these years, but I know for me there will only—always—be my Elise.”
“That might be true, but if you need company, you can always call me. You have my number.”
“Absolument.”
I reach up and kiss him on the cheek, then head to my apartment. I’m two floors up, and as usual, I take the stairs.
I set the tulip he gave me on the kitchen counter and then look around the space. My apartment is nothing more than a one-bedroom and bath that came furnished in a neighborhood where many expats live. I’ve added a few items, mainly from local flea markets, like several watercolors, a couple of plants and some colorful throw pillows for the couch.
Mr. Basile was right about one thing. My life doesn’t leave room for much of a social life. William and I discussed how we saw our future together. We imagined we’d stay working for the government another few years, then eventually go into private security. Or maybe we’d simply leave the spy world behind. But I’ve never been able to see myself not working or traveling. It’s simply who I am. Who William and I were together. And while loneliness might be a part of the life I’ve chosen, and I have no regrets.
What I do regret is not knowing what happened to William. Not knowing if I’ll ever find closure. Not knowing if I’ll ever feel totally safe again. I open the curtain and look down on the street. A man in a suit is walking in front of the building. He looks up, and for a brief moment, I’m convinced he’s looking straight at me. I pull back, knowing I’m overreacting. There’s been noevidence that anyone is searching for me. There’s nothing for me to worry about.
My second phone—a burner I use only for assets—buzzes, and I glance at the text message coming through in French.
It’s Mariam. Please. I must see you.
CHAPTER
THREE
A second later,another text message comes through. This time Mariam asks that I meet her in an hour at a nearby cathedral. While I know the place well, none of this follows procedure.
In the intelligence world, communication between an asset and their handler is always structured. Always secure. The threat level in Paris is low compared to many places in the world, but we still follow a standard protocol. Typically, if one of my assets needs to meet with me outside a scheduled time, they will send an encrypted message to a specific number. In the case of an emergency, the message might simply saycompromised. We have locations set up in case emergency protocol is triggered. As the handler, I’m the one who confirms the request, always using a secure and encrypted phone.
Beyond the obvious lack of following protocol, several things have me concerned about the unexpected communication. The first red flag is Mariam having my private number. Second, the request is unexpected, because she isn’t one of my assets. She’s the fiancé of one of my assets, Oumar Khelif.
The third red flag is simply the fact that the text is coming from an unknown number. As far as I’m concerned, anyonecould be on the other side of the text message, making it a possible setup. I quickly decide to call Oumar. It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve seen him, which isn’t unusual. He always contacts me when he has information. Rarely do we meet in person.
My call goes straight to voicemail.
I look at the clock. I have a good forty minutes before I have to leave if I’m going to meet her, so I make two more calls. The first one is to my boss, Hawke. He gives me brief instructions and tells me to call our new security officer. Graham Bryant has only been in Paris a couple of weeks, working in security as William’s replacement. I haven’t worked with him yet, but from what I’ve seen, he’s proficient at his job.
“What do you know about Mariam?” Graham asks after I give him a short rundown of the situation.
“Beyond the basics, not much. From the beginning, Oumar asked to keep her out of the equation. He doesn’t want to put her at risk.”
