Saints Astray (Santa Olivia #2)

Saints Astray (Santa Olivia #2) Page 32

Loup eyed her, grinning.

“What?”

“It’s fun to see you crazy over food for a change.”

“Try it.”

She took a bite. Layers of flaky pastry melted in her mouth, giving way to a firm center of dark, rich chocolate. “Holy shit!”

“Told you.”

They explored the city, going first across the bridge to Notre Dame Cathedral on its little river island, located only blocks from their hotel.

“Wow.” Loup stood for a long time just gazing at the facade. “Sorry.”

“I don’t care.” Pilar squeezed her arm. “Gawk all you like, baby. It doesn’t bother me one bit.”

Inside, they wandered. Loup regarded the figure of the Our Lady of Paris, thinking about Our Lady of the Sorrows in the church at home, her cheeks stained with rusty, faded tears. She paid to light a votive candle in honor of Father Ramon, Sister Martha, Anna, and all the Santitos. In honor of her mother and brother, and even Miguel Garza.

“God has turned his face away,” Pilar murmured. “That’s what the old priest said before we were born, isn’t it? The one before Father Ramon. God has turned his face away.”

“Yeah. Just before he hung himself from the bell tower.”

“Do you think it’s true? About God, I mean?”

“I don’t know. Seems like we fucked up pretty bad when everyone got sick. But most of the world seems to have recovered okay. Just not us.”

“Loup…” Pilar searched her face. “I don’t believe it. I mean, I don’t know if I believe in God or whatever. But I believe there are good people in the world. Really good, like Father Ramon and Sister Martha. And I believe that you are a goddamned fucking miracle. If there is a God, no fucking way he’d turn his face away from you. And if there isn’t…” She shrugged. “You’re enough of a miracle for me, Santa Olivia.”

Her heart felt too big for her chest. “Pilar…”

“Oh, hush! We’re in one of the world’s most famous churches. I’m being contemplative. C’mon, we haven’t even seen the gargoyles yet.”

They climbed the winding towers and went to see the gargoyles.

“Whoa!” Pilar gasped at the view of the city.

Loup leaned over the parapet. “Awesome.”

Pilar hooked her fingers in the waistband of Loup’s jeans, dragging her backward. “You make me nervous, baby.”

“Sorry.”

She studied the nearest gargoyle. “They look sort of… nice, don’t they? I thought they’d be all ferocious, but they look kind of calm.” She nudged Loup. “They’re like you, only inside out. And they’re kind of like bodyguards, too, right? You think maybe people knew somehow way back when?”

“I dunno.” Loup smiled. “I like you being all mystical and thoughtful, but before you get too carried away, I’ve got two words for you.”

“Hmm?”

“Nacio and Raimundo.”

Pilar laughed. “Yeah, okay. But you are different. And those guys, maybe they will be too when they grow up a little more. I mean different in a different way, not the way they already are. You know?”

“I’m not sure.”

“That’s okay.” Pilar smiled at her. “I do.”

On their third day in Paris, Magnus called.

“Hi, Mr. Lindberg,” Loup said. “Uh-huh. Paris.” She listened. “Okay, the Beau Rivage. We’ll call you when we get in.”

“What’s up?” Pilar asked.

Loup gave a crisp military salute perfected by virtue of growing up in an occupied town. “We’re to report to headquarters immediately.”

“Geneva?”

“Yep. Magnus says he’s got another request for our services. Well, mine, this time. There’s a room reserved for us at the Beau Rivage hotel.”

“Okay.” Pilar flipped on her Dataphone. “There’s an eight forty a.m. train that will get us there by noon. Sound good?”

“Sure.”

“This is a business expense, right?” She pulled out her Global credit card. “We’re so going first class.”

The following morning, they traveled through the spectacular French Alps and arrived in Geneva. At the hotel, Loup called and reported to Magnus.

“Okay,” she said. “Three o’clock. See you then.” She ended the call. “He’s sending a car for us. They’ll pick us up outside the hotel. Magnus will brief us, then we’ll meet with the client afterward.”

“At least it gives us time for lunch.” Pilar inspected her hair in the mirror, smoothing a few errant strands. “Did he say anything about the job?”

Loup shook her head. “No.”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

They ate at one of the hotel’s restaurants before being picked up by an unsmiling driver who took them to Global Security’s headquarters. Unlike much of the surrounding architecture, it was a newer building, sleek and modern. Inside, an unsmiling receptionist scanned their passports before issuing security passes.

“Clip them to your clothing,” she said crisply with barely a trace of an accent. “Be sure they are visible at all times.” She pressed an intercom and said something in a different language.

A moment later, Sabine came to fetch them. “Good. Come with me.”

“Nice to see you again so soon, too,” Pilar remarked.

Sabine raised one finger, looking serious. “No joking or bickering today. This is not the time for bad blood.”

She escorted them to a conference room where Magnus was waiting, along with Henry Kensington, who’d led the security team at Fashion Week.

“Here is the situation,” Magnus said without preamble. “We are providing security for an event hosted by Mr. Hugh Danielson. A birthday party for his daughter’s thirteenth birthday.”

Loup blinked. “This is all about some kid’s birthday party?”

“Please do not be frivolous. Mr. Danielson is the chairman of the British-Swiss Chamber of Commerce. It is an organization that has achieved certain prominence in financial circles in the last decade. Recently, it has been targeted by a group of radical economic populists. They call themselves One World. I call them terrorists.” His jaw tightened. “Their goal is to call attention to financial inequity in the world by highlighting the decadence of the very wealthy. They use violence to achieve their means. Two days ago, they issued a death threat against Mr. Danielson’s daughter.”

“Damn,” Pilar murmured.

“Yes.” Magnus nodded. “The party as scheduled is very lavish. They warn that if it is not canceled, it will end in tragedy.”

“He won’t cancel?” Loup asked.

“No.” He shook his head. “Mr. Danielson refuses to succumb to blackmail. He is a widower, a proud and stubborn man who dotes on his daughter. He will not cancel.”

“Is the threat credible?” she asked.

“Good question.” Magnus gave Loup a look of harried approval. “Yes. Yes, it is. One World has been responsible for a number of deaths. Eighteen months ago, they succeeded in blowing up a limousine carrying the former sultan of Dubai. But this is the first time they have targeted a child.” He steepled his fingers. “Loup, this choice is yours. Mr. Danielson received word of your existence through, ah, certain channels. He inquired about your services, thinking you could provide an extra layer of protection. Global Security has committed to this job, but I have not committed you. You’re young and inexperienced. If you wish to pass, I will call off the meeting and extend our regrets.”

“Yeah, but I’m good.” Loup looked at Pilar. “What do you think?”

Pilar sighed. “Oh, hell. It’s a kid, you know?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So you wish to be considered for the job?” Magnus asked, clarifying.

“Yeah,” Loup said thoughtfully. “I kind of get what the One World people are saying, you know? The world could be a lot more fair than it is, and that sucks. A lot of rich and powerful people suck. But killing them for it is wrong. Especially kids.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “If the client concurs, your sole duty will be to guard his daughter throughout the duration of this party. He’ll want a demonstration. Are you prepared to do a standard disarmament drill with Mr. Kensington here?”

Loup glanced at Henry. “Sure.”

“What about me?” Pilar asked. “I’m not letting Loup do this alone.”

“It, ah, might be better if you did.”

She folded her arms. “You hired us as a team.”

“All right, all right!” Magnus put up his hands. “Clive insists you’re a decent marksman. You can be auxiliary backup. Do you really have experience tending a bar?”

“Yeah, for two years.”

“Fine.”

The client arrived ten minutes later, ushered into the conference room by Sabine. Hugh Danielson was a fleshy, middle-aged British man with stubborn lines etched around his mouth. “ ’Lo, Magnus. Which one’s the GMO?” he asked, glancing around the table.

Loup stood up. “I am, sir.”

The lines deepened. “You don’t look like much.”

Magnus snapped his fingers. “Henry?”

Henry rose, drawing his pistol. Loup crossed the room in a blurred flash, deflecting his weapon hand downward. She feinted a punch at his face, pulling it at the last second. When he flinched, she threw him neatly over her hip, plucking the pistol out of his hand as he soared. “Sorry!” She winced as he hit the conference room floor hard. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he grunted.

Hugh Danielson stared.

Loup checked the pistol to confirm it was unloaded, then set it carefully on the table. “If that was for real, I would have just taken him out. I wouldn’t have pulled my punch. But I hope you get the idea, sir.”