On the hunt, p.1
On the Hunt, page 1
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2024 by IJ Development
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2024937058
ISBNs: 978-1-5387-2641-9 (hardcover), 978-1-5387-5869-4 (large type), 978-1-5387-2643-3 (Canadian trade), 978-1-5387-2644-0 (ebook)
E3-20240716-JV-NF-ORI
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Discover More
About the Author
Also by Iris Johansen
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CHAPTER
1
QUAI BRANLY MUSEUM COMPLEX
PARIS, FRANCE
Damn, it was still burning.
Kira Drake and her dog, Mack, moved through the fiery rubble of what was once one of the most beautiful museums in Paris. There was almost nothing left of the glass buildings and picturesque grounds. It had been more than thirty-six hours since a string of explosions had decimated the museum, and a dark haze still lingered, almost completely obscuring the Eiffel Tower, which loomed over the scene from just blocks away. The tower and the businesses within a radius of almost a mile were closed, and the surrounding neighborhoods were cordoned off to everyone except investigators and rescue workers.
Kira leaned over and rubbed the back of Mack’s neck. He was a four-year-old golden retriever, and they had worked together in disaster scenes all over the world. Mack sniffed the air, which was thick with an acrid odor they’d smelled practically from the moment they’d landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport an hour before. Kira glanced around the depressing scene. Hot spots had erupted in flame pockets all over the grounds, and more appeared as quickly as firefighters could extinguish them.
“What are you getting, boy?” she whispered to Mack.
Her dog was on high alert, sniffing in every direction as he led her through the narrow pathways that crews had swept free of the twisted metal and shards of glass.
This wasn’t a body hunt; 230 corpses had already been removed from the scene and identified, and she’d been assured there were no more to be found. She and Mack were there for a different reason.
“Kira!” a voice called out behind her.
She turned to see that it was Matt Graves, who had practically begged her to come to Paris and visit the site with Mack. Graves was a special investigator with the United Nations Office of Counter-Terrorism. She’d never seen him in anything but a business suit, but today he was wearing a long yellow firefighter’s jacket and tall boots. He stepped closer and spoke with his usual French accent. “Thank you for coming. Good flight?”
“Fine.” She looked around the still-smoldering scene. “This is sickening. Any theories about who’s responsible?”
“Lots of theories, but little concrete evidence yet. This museum features artwork by indigenous peoples of Europe, Africa, Asia, and the Americas. There have been protests calling for the return of some of the artifacts to their homelands, so it could be related to that. Half the law enforcement agencies in Europe are here trying to make sense of this. You’ll see some familiar faces.”
“I’ve already seen a few. French police, Interpol, Scotland Yard… Are there any other dogs working the case?”
“Henry Jaffer flew in from Holland yesterday.”
“With his white shepherd, Dancer?”
“Yes. They found the last two surviving victims in what was left of the parking structure. Vince McCall and his little terrier were among the first to arrive. They found several corpses that the rescue workers had missed.”
She nodded. “I’m not surprised. Harper is one of the best body dogs in the business.” She looked ahead. “Can you get us close to one of the main blast points?”
He pointed to the right. “The explosions started in the new modern art building. Jack Harlan was here for the dedication just last week. Detonations continued across the main building and finally to the administrative offices. Our best bet is to start at the offices. They’re the most intact.”
Kira looked at the heap of concrete and melted glass. “‘Intact’ is a relative term.”
“Absolutely. This way.”
He led her and Mack around a mound of blackened concrete to what was once a five-story administrative building. She had spent much of her flight from the U.S. familiarizing herself with the layout of the buildings and surrounding grounds, but there was little still standing that related to the online maps she’d studied. At least here, part of the superstructure remained.
Mack pulled on his harness and guided her around a hot spot she and Graves hadn’t seen.
“Good boy.” Kira turned back to Graves. “Were the explosions at the lower level?”
“Yes, all the way across. They were carefully placed to cause maximum damage. The bomber may have had some professional demolition experience.”
She unclipped the leash from Mack’s harness, and the golden retriever bolted through the smoldering piles of steel and roofing material, stopping to sniff every few feet before moving on.
Graves watched for a moment, his face wrinkled with concern. “There’s a lot of broken shards of glass out there, and they’re still trying to tamp down the hot spots. Will he be okay?”
“He’s wearing protective booties, and Mack knows his way around disaster areas. Remember the stadium collapse in Barcelona?”
He grimaced. “I remember.”
“Trust me, he’ll be safer than we will. We just need to keep up.”
Kira and Graves followed Mack through the rubble. Graves finally raised an N95 mask over his nose and mouth. “When the wind changes, the smell is overpowering. Will he be able to pick up the scents?”
“I think he already has.” She pointed toward her dog, whose tail was furiously wagging as he darted past globs of melted glass. “He’s zeroing in on something now.” They broke into a run as Mack finally stopped short in front of a gaping hole and started barking.
Kira caught up and knelt beside him. “Got something, boy?”
Mack barked again and looked at her with his big brown eyes.
“Good, Mack.” Kira extended her arms in front of her.
Mack faced her and placed his right paw on her left hand, then rested his chin on her right arm. Kira put down her arms, then raised them again. Mack repeated his motions. Kira rubbed his neck and gave him a treat. “You’re the best boy ever, Mack.”
She stood and turned back toward Graves. “It was RDX.”
He looked down in surprise. “He just told you that?”
“Mack can detect over two hundred explosive compounds. That’s why you brought us here, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but… the Paris police thinks it was C-4. We’re still waiting on lab results.”
Kira shook her head. “Mack doesn’t need a lab. It was probably transported here shortly before the blast. Otherwise, the museum security’s own bomb-sniffing dogs would have picked it up before detonation. More than likely, it was transported here in a well-ventilated vehicle. Which means…”
Mack took off, running for a nearby street. Kira ran after him and called over her shoulder, “Get some of your men. Now!”
Kira followed Mack down Avenue Rapp, and she’d gone barely half a block before she turned and saw that Graves had enlisted two plainclothes agents and a pair of Paris patrolmen to join them. She had no idea where this would lead, but she was glad to have backup if the situation demanded it.
“Slow down, Mack. We’ll get there soon enough.”
She hoped. The bombs could have come from anywhere, but she assumed the bomber wouldn’t want to transport unstable explosive devices over a long and potentially bumpy journey.
Graves and the others caught up to her just as she and Mack turned left on Avenue de la Bourdonnais. “How certain are you of this?” Graves asked Kira.
She shrugged. “For now, extremely certain. But he could lose the scent at any time. We’ll have to see.”
The group followed Mack until they finally found themselves at an empty storefront on Rue Duroc, situated next to a dry cleaner. Kira and Graves peered into the plate-glass window and saw only a few dirty tarps on a concrete floor.
“There’s nothing here,” Graves said.
Mack barked and ran down a narrow alley next to the building. He stood in a driveway behind the empty store and barked at the rear entrance. The dog then spun around several times.
Kira pointed to the back door. “We need to go in there.”
Graves nodded to the patrolmen, and the taller of the two kicked the door repeatedly until it finally splintered open. They rushed through an empty storeroom and glanced around the front area they’d seen through the windows.
The place was empty.
Graves sighed. “Wild goose chase?”
Kira grabbed one of the patrolmen’s flashlights and trained the beam on the storeroom floor. “No. Look!”
They gathered around her and leaned over to see short lengths of wire, metal shavings, and pieces of insulation.
Kira backed away. “The bombs were assembled here.”
Graves nodded and motioned for everyone to exit out of the back door. “Yes. Everyone out. I’m calling Interpol.”
RUE DUROC
FOUR HOURS LATER
Night had fallen over the city, and the empty storefront was now the center of activity for dozens of forensics specialists and representatives from scores of law enforcement agencies. Across the street, Kira could see all the television news crews that had set up shop; their reporters were doing stand-ups in the glare of bright camera lights.
She had just taken Mack for a walk around the block when Graves approached her at the corner. “Interpol thinks they have a lead. A security camera caught someone going in and out of this place a few days ago, and their facial recognition system matched an American who was in the country for a few days.”
“That was fast.”
“Yes. They’re not fooling around. They’ve had a lot of pressure on them this time.”
“Who is it?”
“They haven’t released that information yet. It’s probably no one you’ve heard of.”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Mack did his job.” She scratched the dog’s back, and he looked up at her with sublime appreciation.
Graves smiled. “Yes, he did. You both did. Thank you. If you’d like to spend another couple of days here, the hotel is already paid for. There are worse places than Paris for a little R and R.”
Kira thought of the wreckage of the once beautiful museum area and slowly shook her head. Lord, she was weary of the acrid smell of smoke and the sight of death that clung to that place.
“Thanks, Graves. Maybe another time. There’s someplace else we need to be right now.” She tried not to show how eager she was to leave as she turned away. “Good luck with your investigation.”
“Did you see this morning’s headlines, Harlan?” Belson came into the study and threw the newspapers on Jack Harlan’s desk. “They’ve identified the Paris bomber. It was our old friend Joseph Taylor. You called it.”
Harlan brushed the newspapers aside. “Old news, my friend. My contacts at Interpol tipped me off last night. If you hadn’t taken the day off, you would have known that.” He grimaced. “I’ve been doing my best not to feel responsible.”
“Why? Because you donated that new museum building? No one could possibly think that makes this your fault.”
“You and I both know that’s exactly why Taylor targeted this museum. Interpol knows it, the Paris police know it, and the reporters for these newspapers know it. He knew he couldn’t get past the security here at my home. Taylor’s been looking for a way to strike back at me. Up to now, he failed every time he tried, but he finally found a way to do it. Even if it meant killing two hundred and thirty innocent people.”
Belson paced across the study to stand before the bank of television monitors. They were in a magnificent chalet on the outskirts of Paris, which became Harlan’s home base when he oversaw the Western European operations of Harlan Enterprises, a multinational tech company that had burst onto the scene and come to dominate several consumer product categories in the space of just a few years. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a magnificent view of the Paris skyline; the Eiffel Tower was slowly becoming visible again as the post-blast haze finally dissipated. Belson pointed to the bank of six screens, all still displaying international news broadcasts covering the bombing. “You’ve seen, of course, how they found out it was Taylor.”
“I could hardly miss it.” Harlan stared at the TVs. Three of the six broadcasts were showing footage of a golden retriever being guided by an attractive young woman near the blast site. “It’s Kira Drake. She’s the one you’ve been pestering me to put on my payroll.”
“‘Pestering’ is too strong a word,” Belson said. “I’d never be that crass. ‘Strongly suggesting’ is more like it. If you’re looking for someone, she’s the one you want in your corner.”
“Is she really that good?”
“She got the bastard. The entire city of Paris was crawling with police and military, and she’s the one who managed to zero in on Joseph Taylor.”
“But he still got away.”
“That isn’t her fault. He’d left the country before she even arrived. He’s back in the U.S. somewhere. It’s only the latest in a long line of successes for her.”
“Like what?”
“Did you even read the magazine I gave you last week?” Belson picked up a journal from the coffee table and tossed it on top of the newspapers. “Why do you pay me an exorbitant salary if you’re not going to pay attention to me?”
Harlan glanced at the cover of the magazine. “Maybe because most of your ideas aren’t as weird as the one you threw at me this time. Besides, I was busy with that conference in India. But I remember that when you mentioned her, I did tell you to try to engage her services. You had nothing to do with bringing her here?”
“No, she was flown in by a UN investigative team. I’d reached out to her less than a week before, but I didn’t detect a lot of interest.”
“Why not?”
“She’s always in demand. But it seemed like a good idea to me, and it still does. Every time Taylor comes up on our radar, he manages to slip away. It wouldn’t hurt to have Kira Drake on call to track him the next time we get a report on his location.”
“There are other trackers and other dogs.”
“Not like her. That’s why I wanted you to read that article. She’s extraordinary. She’s a veterinarian, but her emphasis is on research. She’s helped develop drugs to double and perhaps even triple the normal life spans of dogs.”
This piqued Harlan’s interest. “My friend’s wife is doing much the same thing.”
Belson nodded. “Sarah Logan. She actually mentored Kira Drake at her Summer Island facility. They’ve worked together for years.”
“Interesting.”
“But Drake is probably better known for her work as a tracker. Most dogs are trained for one specialty, be it bomb sniffing, cadaver seeking, or straight-out tracking based on a scent. She’s trained her dog, Mack, for all these things, and he’s accompanied her all over the world for a variety of missions. She’s even used him for a few archaeological projects. The dog can identify areas where foreign objects have been placed in the earth hundreds or even thousands of years ago. Like I said, extraordinary.”
Harlan looked down at the photo of Kira Drake on the magazine cover. Long gold-brown hair pulled back from a face that was dominated by huge dark brown eyes and a smile that held a hint of mischief. “Lovely,” he said absently. “And character in every line of her features. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to take a chance interviewing her.”
