Sleeper's Run

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

The National Gendarmerie Intervention Group—GIGN—is the paramilitary special operations unit of the French police. I guess I should feel flattered that it took a joint operation between them and members of the National Police's elite Research, Assistance, Intervention, Deterrence—RAID—component to capture me. Mostly, I feel like a chump. Actually, I'm pissed at myself. After everything I've gone through, the fucking police arrest me in a museum that I chose.

There's no way the local authorities would have found out about me unless Basem had ratted me out. I guess his sense of civic duty was stronger than the desire for a major story, a costly misjudgment of character on my part.

No one has really spoken to me since my arrest this morning. They thoroughly searched me and shackled my hands and feet. These boys were prepared; too prepared if you ask me. There's something more to this snatch operation, but I just can't put my finger on it.

I hear some steps coming closer to my cell. A group of guards walks in. They order me to my feet and I'm escorted to an interrogation room by a four-man detail. They chain me to the chair and exit the room, leaving two armed guards watching over me. At least this time around it isn't Blake and his cronies. All I need to worry about with these guys is red tape.

My eyes are constantly scanning everything, looking for any opening or the slightest advantage. My mind never ceases to weave possible escape options. It has become a highly tuned reflex by now, even when I know it's no longer necessary. I've done more than enough digging to build a case against the conspirators. It's time for me to fight them in court. I just wish I could have chosen my time of surrender.

A few minutes later, three men enter the room; two are wearing suits and one dons a police uniform.

"I understand you speak fluent French, yes?" the uniformed man says in his native tongue.

"I do."

"My name is Captain Victor Dubois of the National Gendarmerie Intervention Group. This is Gerard Lambert from Interpol." He points to a short, balding man with a wiry physique. "And this is Special Agent Richard Hastings from the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

Hastings I know; he's the head of the FBI task force who was looking for me and thanks to Trishna, at least there is someone here who knows the score.

Dubois continues, "You are currently under French custody. However, you'll be handed to Interpol as soon as your extradition papers come through. They will transport you to the United States where you'll be handed over to the FBI. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Is there anything you need?"

"No thank you."

Dubois nods. "He's all yours Agent Hastings," he says in accented English and walks away followed by Lambert.

"Well, well, if it isn't the infamous Eric Caine," Hastings says as if my name already carried a conviction.

"Sorry, I can't shake hands at the moment." Not that I'd want to.

"That's OK," he says with a smug expression as he sits down. Hastings looks like one of those agents who gets a prominent career without ever leaving his office. "You're a hard man to pin down."

"So I've been told."

"You know why we're here."

"I know why I'm here. I didn't know the FBI had such close relations with the French authorities."

"This is an FBI, Interpol and French Police effort."

"That's a six o'clock news sound bite. What's really going on?"

"You ran out of luck. The French government has agreed to extradite you ASAP. Hopefully by tomorrow you'll be back on American soil."

"What about the Venezuelans?"

"Oh they don't know anything, yet. This is a classified operation. Everything will be kept quiet until we have you safely back home for security reasons."

"Sure, and then what?"

"My job is to capture criminals, not process them. It's up to the courts to decide your fate."

"In that case I want to talk to my lawyer."

"You will, once we arrive in the US."

"If this isn't really your show, what are you doing here; sightseeing?"

"There's no need for sarcasm. Actually, you can say I'm the ringleader of this operation. I'm the one who provided the French police with your whereabouts."

That's right you conceited asshole, just keep on talking. Tell me all about how your superior intellect defeated me.

"I flew all the way over here as soon as we zeroed in on you," Hastings says.

"And then you just sat back and enjoyed the action like some crappy reality show."

"Not quite. I was more of an advisor."

"Like they say, those who can't do, teach."

"They also say pride comes before a fall."

"Then you should be mindful where you're about to tumble. This was completely unnecessary. You knew I was going to turn myself in."

"And how would I know that?"

I want to wipe that arrogant smirk from his mouth with a sledgehammer. "Because I told you so, Dick."

"Really? Going to reporters with wild conspiracy theories is not exactly turning yourself in, is it?"

"You know that's not true."

"No? Luckily, we intercepted your little package to Basem Marin yesterday."

"So Marin just played along in order to capture me? He never saw the files."

"Thank God! Otherwise, this would be all over the news. Basem Marin was approached by the French police to cooperate in your arrest, and I must say, he played his part brilliantly."

I was right about Basem; he didn't sell me out. "A guy like him wouldn't let a story like this slip through his fingers."

"He'll have his story, don't worry. I think he was promised an exclusive after your arrest becomes public."

If Hastings was really the one who alerted the authorities that means he got the information from someone back in the US. The question is who.

"What?" Hastings says. "Oh, you must be dying to know how we finally found you, aren't you?" He laughs. "I get it. I mean, with that MIT brain of yours, NSA experience, and counter-terrorism training, I would be losing my mind too. In the end, you were not any different from any other criminal. We got a tip."

"Go fuck yourself." That doesn't make any sense. No one knew I had left for Paris. "You really think I'm going to believe that? You're obviously more stupid than you look, Dick."

"Believe it or not, I don't really give a fuck, Eric. You're going down for the assassination of the Venezuelan president, as well as a long list of crimes you have committed in multiple countries. It's a shame they're closing the base in Guantanamo; you deserve to be among other terrorists."

Ha, ha. I'm starting to miss old Scarface and his band of morons. "What happened to the shitty 'Cuban intelligence' angle?"

"There's plenty of time now to sort through the facts. That is if you are a good boy and cooperate with the investigation."

"Is that what you told Trishna?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself?"