Double Dealing(55)

Jordan was crestfallen, but she understood. After a hearty breakfast, enough that she would have plenty of fuel to recover from her exertions of the day, Felix and I got down to work. Jordan watched for a moment, then went back to Felix's bedroom to change clothes. I watched her go, then turned back to the computer. Pulling up the detailed blueprints that had come on the disc, I was surprised at the level of detail that my contact had provided us with.

Of course I knew the cover story of a repossession of the property in Durres was a crock of shit. Still, they wanted the book, that was for damn sure. If it wasn't that I had ulterior motives, I'd be tempted to try and keep the book for myself. "I hate trying to do a job in Paris," Felix muttered as we looked at the screen. "There are too many people who know who we are. The odds of being recognized are infinitely higher."

"They are higher, but Felix, we're transients even in Paris," I commented, trying to assuage his fears. I wanted him confident, knowing he wouldn't see it coming when the trap was sprung. "I'm more worried about the building itself. The architecture is unique."

That, at least, was true. In order to fit the building to the oddly shaped plot of land next to the River Seine, the Arab Institute was curved on one side, a side that was fronted with mostly glass. This created a lot of odd angles for trying to enter the building, and it got worse when we got inside. Taking cues from the Middle Eastern designs that it was paying homage to, the building used walls, beams, and other features to mimic the shading techniques used in traditional Arab buildings. It created not only lots of open space but also a lot of areas where a sensor could be hidden very easily, making casing for security sensors nearly impossible. We'd have to attack the security system higher up, not worrying about individual sensors but instead the hub of the system.

"The design I'm not worried about. I'm more worried about the actual security systems in place. Let's face it, it's a fucking target right now with the tensions, they've got to have enough security forces around there just in case shit pops off again. After the terror attacks, I'm surprised they haven't been bombed at least once," Felix said. "What sort of surveillance and armed guards do they have roaming around that place?"

"We'll have to get eyes on, and see if the Germans can help us," I countered, then grinned. "And you spent too much time in Los Angeles, trying phrases like 'shit pops off.' In the meantime, I have a more personal question. How serious are you about Jordan coming with us?"

"She won’t be at the Institute," Felix said, "but I guess she can come to Paris. If anything, she can stay on the barge while we do our thing. After we have the package, we can all drive away together."

“We should probably get rid of the book before we reconnect with her. Our contact, they want an immediate handover."

"All right, fine. We'll just set up a point to pick her up at."

"Want to get some sparring in?" I asked Felix as we finished. "You never know if we might need it."

Felix, who was obviously still troubled by his twisted ankle, thought about it. I was hoping his pride would keep him going, I didn't want him one hundred percent for the break in. We couldn't back out anyway, not with the cover that my contact had given. "Come on," I needled him. "You never could hang with me without contest rules anyway."

Felix's pride was sufficiently pricked. "Fine," he said.

We went into the back yard, actually very close to the space where we'd talked with the men yesterday, each of us carrying the mouthpiece that we kept in the barn for this purpose. It had been a long time since we'd worn them, and I spat in disgust at the taste. "Hold on, rinse out," I said. Going to an outside faucet, I doused the rubbery safety device and put it back in, sucking water through before repeating the process twice more. "Okay, ready."

Circling Felix, I was happy to have an advantage. While my brother is bigger and stronger, we’d trained together since we were practically babies. I knew his movements, his style, and his techniques. We could counter each other almost without thinking, and normally a sparring session between us would last for a very long time without either of us getting any sort of telling blow in on the other.

This time, however, I knew that Felix was hobbling and that it was his lead foot that was injured. Attacking swiftly, I made him continually have to pivot on that foot, pressuring it with movement until it tired out. Soon, he stumbled, and I was able to take advantage with a punch to the jaw that sent him sprawling. I backed away and gestured for him to get up. "Come on, lucky shot."