MADISON RACED DOWN the rue du Faubourg Saint Honore yelling into his Blue Tooth, “I lost her! Johnson! Did you hear me? I said I lost her.”
“I heard you Jim. I’ve got Kaslowski sweeping the front and Alverez is checking the back.”
“Did anyone see her exit the building?”
“No! There’s no sign of her anywhere on the street.”
“Shit, yelled Madison. She played me.”
“I think so. Maybe that damn thing in your neck doesn’t work as good as the guys back at Bush U thought it did.”
Bush U, that was Johnson’s nickname for CIA Headquarters now that it had been renamed The George Bush Center for Intelligence. Ironic but amusing, Madison thought.
“I’ll check the hotel and see if she double backed on us. You keep an eye on the store and let me know if she comes out. And don’t get to close or she’ll read you.
Madison took off running north along the rue du Faubourg Saint Honore and hung a right onto rue Anjou.
He was worried, if she’d made it back to the hotel, she could be anywhere. The hotel was around the corner from the presidential palace which was definitely off limits to him and his crew, and the Champs Elysees where she might switch cars and lose herself in the heavily traveled street, and then there was the Saint-Phillippe du Roule Metro Station. But he tried not to think about that as he ran full speed towards the hotel where Ruyah had rented out the entire fourth floor.
Madison slowed his pace as he entered the hotel lobby so as not to arouse suspicions. The hotel, once the large expansive private home of the Marquis de Lafayette, was quaint and lavishly furnished for a hotel. Madison knew from experience that the desk clerk would never tell him if Ruyah had returned to the room. Hell, he wouldn’t even admit that Ruyah was staying there. So, he danced around the expensive real leather chairs and round designer tables and headed straight for the elevator.
He pressed the up button and the elevator door opened. Inside was an expensively dressed dowager carrying a little white dog. A terrier, it clicked in his mind. Too late. The sodium thiopental laced dart hit him on the right side of his neck. He crumpled to the floor of the elevator like a limp noodle. Slobber drooled from his mouth. And the sweet little old lady with the white terrier dog leaned over Madison, smiled and said into a wrist mike, “Pick up in isle four.”
It was the last thing Madison heard before he passed out.
Eliza D. Ankum
STALKED! By Voices
Dancing With The Fat Woman