March 18th, 2008 -  Bethesda, Maryland - United States.

“I want to talk about your sense of identity.”

Ryan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was almost positive that they made the chairs used in psychiatrists’ offices harder by design as an interrogation technique. It was the sort of thing the CIA often did to detainees; techniques to keep them on edge and make them more willing to talk. Given that they were Navy doctors, he wouldn’t put it past them.

He had been coming to the Walter Reed Military Hospital in Bethesda ever since he got back from Saudi Arabia the year before. The sessions with the shrink were mandated by the Agency, so he had little choice but to go. Naturally, that meant that reports from them ended up on the desk of the Director of Operations, Christian Rawlings, back at Langley. Despite the failures being the Agency’s fault, it was still Ryan who had to prove that he was sane enough to work.

“What do you mean about my identity?” Ryan frowned.

The psychiatrist checked her notes, “You told me during our last session that you ‘allowed yourself to become Alessandra’. What exactly did you mean by that?”

“I don’t know, I guess I was just talking,” Ryan shrugged. “I suppose it was like make-believe, you know? If I pretended to be her, then it made staying in character easier. When those men were doing stuff, I didn’t break my cover.”

“That is not quite what I was referring to,” the psychiatrist replied carefully. “When you told me about this, you mentioned it in reference to your initial training to portray the character. That during this time, when you were preparing with… who was it again?”

“Signora Ricci.”

“Yes, Signora Ricci, that you felt like you were becoming Alessandra. When you were later in captivity, you said that you gave yourself over to the feminine version of yourself fully to help you cope with what you were experiencing.”

Ryan felt himself blush, “That wasn’t what I meant.”

The psychiatrist inclined her head, “What did you mean?”

“I didn’t mean that I was her,” Ryan balked. “I just pretended because it made things easier, that’s all.”

The psychiatrist placed her notepad down on her lap and sighed, “Ryan, I can’t help you if you’re not willing to talk about things that might be embarrassing for you. As you know, I already handed off my readiness report to your bosses. As far as I am concerned, you are about as prepared as you can be to return to work. You understand what happened, and we worked through healthy methods to cope with that trauma. This is not something I will be reporting to them; this is just between you and me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Ryan snapped, “I’m not her.”

“Perhaps not her, but another version of yourself, perhaps,” the psychiatrist soothed. “Some of the things that you have described show clear hallmarks of Gender Dysphoria, do you know what that is?”

Ryan frowned, “No.”

“Do you know what transgender means?”

Ryan blushed more deeply than he imagined possible, “I’m not… that’s not what I am.”

“You’re not transgender? Is that what you were going to say?” The psychiatrist raised an eyebrow. “What makes you so convinced?”

“Because I don’t want to be a girl,” Ryan balked. “I didn’t dress up in my mom’s stuff, I didn’t want to play with dolls when I was a kid. I was just normal; nothing strange or unusual. Just because I’m not the most macho guy ever, that doesn’t mean I want to be a chick all of a sudden.”

The doctor pursed her lips, “That isn’t the only way to be transgender; there are a multitude of expressions and pathways. You do not have to exclusively express your gender identity at a young age to be trans or play with certain toys. There are many who either do not have the language to express themselves or choose to mask to better fit in with society around them.”

The psychiatrist smiled kindly, “Some people can have a moment of discovery or an awakening experience where feelings that are long held but not truly understood begin to make more sense. I believe this latter category fits what you have told me.”

“I’m not Alessandra,” Ryan repeated, lacking more conviction than he felt. “She was a character; a cover identity, nothing more.”

“I think,” the psychiatrist began carefully. “When you explained that you retreated into the female persona to protect yourself, I believe what really happened was different.” The woman sighed and looked sad, “I believe what you experienced fractured the veneer of maleness that formed your surface personality. Within the core personality, a personality without a name or sense of self grasped onto Alessandra because it fitted her the best at that moment.”

Ryan sat in silence. He wanted to deny what the doctor was saying, but the reality was that her words made far too much sense to him. He wanted to consider what happened to him a conscious choice, a decision born out of necessity. He wanted to believe that letting himself retreat into Alessandra was something he had done to protect his male pride, not that he preferred it, not that it had felt more real than anything he had ever experienced.

“I think I’d like to go,” Ryan murmured quietly. “I’m sorry, Doc, I appreciate your time, but I just remembered I have something in my diary.” Getting up, he collected his jacket and made for the door without looking back.

“Ryan, you’ll be here next week, right?”

“Ryan?”

“Mister Knight?”

 

 

June 3rd, 2014 - Paris, France.

Sabine opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling above her. It was another new ceiling in an entire week of new ceilings. It was the first day that she could remember having awoken naturally. Given the stress that she was under, that was a fair achievement. The truth was, she felt far more rested than she had in a long time.  A warm presence beside her reminded her that Amélie was still there. During the night, she had wormed her way over and was now snuggled up beside her.

Smiling, Sabine put her arm around the sleeping child and stared at her. She was such a brave girl, surviving everything the last week had thrown at her. She had a resilience and a strength that made Sabine herself want to be more than she felt capable of being.

 In her own way, Amelie was helping to keep her strong as well. In many other variations of the same world, Sabine was reasonably sure that she would have come apart at the seams trying to get through this mess. Somehow, that little girl had given her the strength and the will to fight, to hold firm, and to see them through this hellscape.

Could she ever be enough for this angel? Sabine was not sure she was capable of being the kind of person that Béatrice Laurent deserved. She had lost so very much in her young life; there was no way that she could ever be enough to make a difference. Even if she had the chance to keep her, to make a life with her, she was a mess. A fractured spirit running from the demons of the past.

What if she did not need to run?

Sabine slid carefully out of bed, taking care not to disturb Amelie’s sleep. It was still early, and she knew the girl needed her rest. Tiptoeing out of the room, she closed the door carefully behind herself before padding along the corridor towards the bathroom.

Once inside, she latched the door and turned to face her reflection in the mirror over the sink. The woman looking back at her seemed different somehow. She was not sure if it was the conversation the previous night, or just a growing familiarity with her new reflection, but rather than frustration, she felt something different.

Try as she might, Sabine struggled to find Ryan Knight in the mirror. She knew that he existed, that much was a clear fact, but the evidence was not particularly supportive of that conclusion. Her skin was clear and makeup-free, and as yet, unblemished by any stubble or roughness that belonged on an adult male face. Her features were smooth and soft, her lips parted slightly in her concentration. The reflection looking back at her appeared female. Whether it was her hair or some other feature, she found it difficult to deny that reality. As much as she wanted to hate it, she did not.

Burying Alessandra had been wrong; she was starting to understand that now.  The previous night’s conversation had leveled a new and imposing question: What if she had tried to lock away the wrong personality all those years ago? What if it had been trying to be Ryan Knight that had locked her in years of limbo? Somehow, as strange as the idea seemed, it made a painful sort of sense.

“Hello Alessandra,” Sabine murmured to her reflection. “Are you in there?”

Her reflection did not change, but somewhere deep inside, she felt the smallest blip of happiness as she spoke the name out loud. Reaching up, she removed the band that was holding her hair up and let it fall down around her shoulders. Finger-combing her hair, Alessandra tucked a lock behind her ear and smiled at her reflection.

A wave of guilt rushed through her, snatching the smile from her face, but Alessandra squashed it back down. She should not feel shame in her own appearance; there was nobody telling her what to do. She looked the way she looked, and there was nothing wrong with that.

She needed to treat her life like a case at work; without a dispassionate analysis of all of the components, there was no way she could manage to form a clear picture of what was taking place. While she was no analyst, it was impossible to work in the field without being able to assess intelligence as it came in. Her life was a case, a case she had to solve if she wanted to escape the past. She would need to see all of herself, not hide parts behind shame or guilt.

She had always run away from Alessandra. She was not sure if it had been a misguided sense of masculine shame or the humiliation and horror of what had happened to her in Saudi Arabia, but if nothing else, she vowed to end that. She would allow the chips to fall where they landed, and she would form a clear picture before making any decisions. It was the sensible thing to do, and it would give her fresh information to work with. 

Amélie deserved her clear head, and in the fight, it was the only way that they would stand a chance in this terrible world. Putting aside her drama meant a safe future for both of them. There was no way that she could give less than a hundred percent for the girl.

Turning away from the mirror, Alessandra stripped out of her clothes and turned on the shower. After waiting for the water to warm, she stepped inside. As the water hit her body, she felt a sharp jolt of sadness as it flowed across her chest. This was a new feeling, not one that she had recognised before in any meaningful way. Somehow, for the first time, she knew what it meant; she was sad.

Running her hand over her torso, she felt the flatness and froze, a lump in her throat. She was saddened by an absence that shocked her more than it scared her, an absence that she had not understood until she allowed Alessandra to return. Her flat chest felt wrong, and she knew that now. Standing here under the water, with no assistance or shape from her bra, she felt like less than a woman, and for the first time, that actually bothered her.

 

 

“It’s about time you joined us,” Claire smirked as Sabine entered the kitchen thirty minutes later.

Sabine had taken the opportunity to wash and condition her hair now that enough time had passed. The travel and chaos of the last two days had left it at less than its best, and she felt decidedly better for it. Now freshly dried, styled, and wearing clean clothes, she felt cautiously positive about the day ahead. If she was going to apply her new philosophy of allowing things to happen, then she might as well start from the skin outward.

“I borrowed your shampoo, I hope that’s ok,” Sabine asked, sitting down at the kitchen table beside Amélie.

“Sure,” Claire shrugged, “Want breakfast?”

“Breakfast!” Amélie grinned happily.

“I think she voted for us,” Sabine chuckled. “Has the little monster been up for long?”

“About ten minutes. She’s been as good as gold, haven’t you little one?” Claire asked, making a silly face. “Tu as été bon, oui?”

“Oui, très bon!”

Claire placed a mug of steaming fresh coffee in front of Sabine along with a plate of bread and fruit. To Sabine’s stomach, having existed on hotel and restaurant food for forty-eight hours, it looked like it was heaven-sent.

“I might have logged into the back end of the Embassy system this morning,” Claire offered, sipping her own coffee. “Got you an address.”

“Anyone know you went in there?”

“No, entirely untraceable,” Claire shook her head. “I spoofed an existing account from admin, so even if they do detect the inquiry, it won’t flag to the Company or me.”

“That’s what we pay you for,” Sabine sipped her coffee. “Admittedly, to do that to other people. What did you get?”

“Apartment 12, 339 Rue de l’Annonciation, cross of Rue Raynouard. That’s over in the 16th District. That’s not exactly a cheap place to live.”

“Not on a government paycheque,” Sabine pursed her lips. “Where’s he finding the money for something like that?”

“You ask me? Nothing good.”

“Probably not.”

Claire joined them at the table, her own coffee in hand, “So what’s your plan?”

“I get in there and check the place out,” Sabine explained. “I need to find anything that will link him to Abbas Ahmad or his people. If he hasn’t got anything there, then maybe wherever else he might be operating. If this address is officially linked to him, then he won’t take a crap where he sleeps. He’s not stupid; he will have somewhere else for anything shady.”

“That area is covered in security and traffic cameras. I can probably get a pretty good overwatch. Unfortunately, anything that close to the embassy district means that I won’t be able to fly any drones, though.”

“It feels good to be doing something proactive,” Sabine smiled, feeling a burst of hope. “This actually feels like I can do this.”

“You can,” Claire agreed. “You’re good, you always were. If we work together, then we can beat this mess and get back to whatever normal looks like.”

Sabine frowned, “I don’t think I’ve had time to work out what happens after, if there is one. There’s been so much chaos, upheaval; I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“With her, though, right?” Claire nods in the direction of Amélie.

Sabine looked over at the child as she watched a cartoon on the TV set in the corner of the kitchen, occasionally gnawing on a piece of bread. “If I can.”

Claire reached over and squeezed her hand, “Letting yourself hope hurts, doesn’t it?”

Sabine nodded, unable to form words. It was impossible not to admit to herself that she wanted that outcome now. In her heart of hearts, she wanted to keep the girl forever and build a life together. Whether she could was another matter entirely, and one that could break her heart in two.

“Let’s finish this, then we can work on the after, huh?” Claire offered. “One fight at a time.”

“I’m going to go get dressed,” Sabine announced, draining her coffee. “Thanks for breakfast.”

Standing, Sabine deposited her dishes in the sink before leaving the kitchen as quickly as possible, before she broke down in front of the others. Her emotions were utterly unstable at the moment, and she had no idea why. She needed to maintain her focus and work the problem, not risk it all by having a crisis in the middle of an international incident.

Closing the bedroom door, Sabine stripped out of her night clothes and started to dress for the day. Paris was hot during the summer, frequently as hot as northern Italy, so her choices were limited by the weather. What made it worse, was she was not sure what to wear.

It was not a simple matter of vanity; Sabine knew that she had a job to do, and how she dressed would impact that significantly. Alessandra had dressed to entice and to be seen; that had been part of her assignment and entirely by design. As a man, Ryan knew how to dress when working in the field. He knew how to disappear into a crowd and to avoid flashy or overly stylistic clothing. In intelligence work, grey meant operational success. The stylish spy was a total fiction created for television.

Sabine did not have a broad selection of clothing, and what Francesca had provided was more casual and feminine than she might prefer. From her meagre supplies, she managed to find a pair of plain dark grey slacks and a black blouse in a softer, stretchier material. With a pair of low-heeled ankle boots, it seemed like a reasonably suitable outfit.

Putting her hair up into a ponytail, Sabine regarded her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. The woman looking back at her looked surprisingly normal, even if her nerves were more than visible. It still astounded her that she looked this way, even without all of the makeup and clothes that had dominated her experiences as Alessandra. It made everything feel so much more normal, and it was terrifying new ground for her. 

It was one thing to portray Alessandra, or even a version of Sabine that helped her to evade detection. It was another matter entirely to be back here in Paris and preparing to do her actual job, rather than an undercover assignment. Here and now, this was not a cover; this was who she really was, meeting in a violent conflict with who she appeared to be. This was who she had to be if she had any chance of a future at all. 

Leaning forward, she dug through her meagre cosmetic collection and started applying light daytime makeup. She had done so in the past to keep up appearances and play a role, but this time, she did so because she wanted to. A part of her wanted to look normal; women wore cosmetics. Another part wanted to look prettier, to give her cheeks some color, and to disguise the slight bags under her eyes from the inconsistent sleep of the past week. Mostly, she did it because she wanted to, and it felt surprisingly good.

She was nearly done when a knock at the door disturbed her as she was finishing her mascara. “Come in?”

Claire eased the door open and popped her head inside, “I was just coming to check… damn, look at you.”

“Is this ok, do you think?” Sabine asked uncertainly, turning so Claire could see her clothes. “I’m not really sure about what I should wear while doing the job, you know? It’s one thing to run away from people trying to kill you, another to go unnoticed and work in low visibility. I never really got that side of the class at the Farm.”

Claire stepped into the room and leaned back against the wall as she crossed her arms casually. “You didn’t do a bad job at all, to be honest. You look like you work in some office somewhere, but nothing too flashy, nothing dramatic. It’s woman going to work, not trying to pick up guys, not that that stops them,” she rolled her eyes. “The clothes will let you move and conceal a weapon, and the shoes are sensible. Women’s fashions aren’t exactly designed for clandestine work, but we make do somehow.”

“It’s a whole different world to me,” Sabine murmured, finishing her mascara, “But I need to do this, and I’m going to get it right.”

“Here,” Claire offered, placing an earpiece on the dresser next to Sabine’s makeup bag. “This will let us communicate when you’re there.”

“You steal these?” Sabine asked suspiciously, eying the device.

“Steal? Me?” Claire looked aghast, her hand to her breast like a southern damsel. “I would never do such a thing. I just hadn’t returned them yet, so I figured I’d put them to good use first.”

“Perfect,” Sabine grinned, standing upright and inspecting her handiwork. “What do you think? Good enough?”

Claire shook her head, “You look great. I know you don’t like hearing it, but you’re far too pretty to be a guy.”

Sabine stared at her reflection for a moment before turning to look over at her friend. She gave her a small smile, “Thank you, maybe?”

Claire’s eyebrows went up, “That’s a different tune from last night.”

Sabine blushed and shrugged, “Don’t go reading too much into it. I guess you got me at a vulnerable moment. I suppose that I decided to just take each day as they come. I have enough to focus on at the moment that I cannot afford to be taking up valuable headspace worrying about what I look like. If that happens to be female, it’s not really so bad, is it?”

“Smart,” Claire agreed. “Focus on one thing at a time and work the problem. This can wait till you’re done, but when you are, we’ll be having a real big chat, ok?”

Sabine rolled her eyes, “Yeah, sure, mom.”

 

 

Crossing Paris by herself was considerably easier for Sabine, even if she did miss Amélie’s company more than she realised. The girl was staying with Claire at her apartment while she investigated Edwards. If she made it out of this in one piece, she would have to make it up to Claire for having her wear the hats of babysitter and operational surveillance at the same time. 

Traveling across Paris once again made Sabine feel normal again, at least until she caught sight of her reflection in the window of the metro car. Seeing her current visage looking back at her was still taking some getting used to. In Italy, it had felt different; a role that she had been playing. Here and now, back home and doing her job, it made it all feel suddenly so very real. 

Sabine disembarked the metro at Passy Station on the right bank of the Seine, near the Pont de Bir-Hakeim. After that, she had made her way south over surface streets through the sixteenth arrondissement, an area dominated by the beautiful limestone architecture of old Paris. The area was upmarket and wealthy, notably more so than the south of the city. For Edwards to afford to live here, he was more than certainly supplementing his income. That Langley had not spotted this fact was extremely surprising.

The walk to Edwards’ apartment took less than ten minutes, being less than a kilometer from the metro station. The apartment was located along a narrow street just off the main thoroughfare, overlooking the courtyard of a small church.

Sabine slipped the earpiece into her ear and switched the device on as she walked, “Radio check.”

“Five by five, Watcher has eyes.”

It felt good to be part of a team again, even if it was for something far off the books and dangerous. It gave Sabine a confidence that she had not felt in a long time, especially considering recent events. Knowing that Claire was looking out for her made her feel powerful.

 “How are we looking, watcher?”

“All clear, all quiet, target building is fifty meters to your twelve O’clock.”

It was around midday, which meant that foot traffic was fairly light in what was a predominantly residential area. Approaching the door, Sabine ran her finger down the list of doorbells and rang several at random. Her hope was that at least one might be home to answer, despite the time of day.

“Oui?” a voice crackled over the intercom.

“Bonjour, livraison pour vous.”

A moment later, the buzzer sounded, and the door unlatched. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book to defeat the entrance systems for multiple residency buildings. When you found a buzzer entry, you rang the apartments at random. When one of them picked up, you told them you had a delivery or a package. The chance of someone expecting something in this digital age was high, and human curiosity was even higher.

“I’m inside,”

“Floor plan for the building shows apartment twelve is on the third floor, front of the building,” Claire explained. “Thank god this city digitised all its planning years ago.”

“I’m going to check the mail first,” Sabine murmured, scanning the boxes for the correct one. Spotting the box for the correct apartment, she was pleased to find it full. Edwards had been away for around ten days, like her; that meant that it was unlikely that he had a partner or roommate living with him. She did not want to find a nasty surprise once she found her way into his place.

Picking the lock was quick work, and in no time she had the simple device defeated. Withdrawing the bundle of letters, she closed the mailbox and set off for the stairs. Taking the letters served a dual purpose for Sabine: Firstly, letters contained information, which was valuable in any investigation. They could help to reveal bills for storage units, rented spaces, or properties, and even bank statements. Secondly, holding a stack of letters in somewhere, like an apartment building, made people believe that you had a legitimate reason to be in a place. After all, why else would a stranger be walking the hallways of a building carrying their mail?

One of the downsides of Paris was that a lot of the older buildings lacked elevators. While that was not something that would fly back home in the States, here, it was considered entirely normal. While three floors were no problem to ascend, it did mean that the building had one way in and one way out; never ideal.

Climbing up to the third floor, Sabine found the apartment exactly where Claire had indicated, towards the front of the building and on the southern side. The front door of Edward’s apartment was original to the building, which would likely make entry a little easier. Most of the buildings of this type in more affluent areas of Paris were strictly controlled in terms of interior renovations. That meant that the door was likely fitted with the standard Mortise deadlock, an older and more sturdy design, but one that was relatively easy to bypass with a little experience.

“I’m here, making my entry now,” Sabine muttered. “Still clear?”

“Nothing but the locals,” Claire answered over the earpiece. “Delivery van visited the pharmacy, but nothing else so far. The coast is clear.”

Placing the bundle of letters on the floor, Sabine took out her lockpicks and set to work on the door. Initial investigation revealed it to be a fairly sturdy modern five-lever device, and the mechanism was slightly sticky.

“You must be out of practice; it’s taking you forever.”

“It’s got several false gates. You’re always welcome to come down here and do it yourself,” Sabine muttered, finally hitting the last remaining latch and twisting the tensioner. “I’m in, going quiet.”

“Copy.”

`Stowing her tools and the letters in her handbag, Sabine drew her pistol and slipped through the front door of the apartment. Not checking for an alarm was a risky move, but one she made based on her best estimation. Edwards was Agency, so he would be prepared, but he was also crooked. Spies and rogue spies had one thing in common: neither wanted curious police officers or landlords entering their apartments when they were away to deactivate an alarm system. It was far more likely that he had a different sort of system in place to protect his home.

Being careful to move quietly and slowly, Sabine advanced into the corridor, her pistol held low, ready as she scanned the space around her. The entrance hall was relatively wide and had a tall ceiling, which was common in this type of building. Along the right side, a sideboard and a coat stand were standing. Otherwise, the space was empty.

Sabine looked around cautiously, scanning for anything out of place. It was then that she spotted a grey trilby sitting at a jaunty angle atop the coat stand. The hat looked stylish, elegant, and quite at home on the stand. It was, however, entirely out of place if anyone knew the occupant. Gregory Edwards had never worn hats in all of the years that Sabine had known the man, and he certainly had no eye for fashion. Stepping forward carefully on the hardwood floor, she reached out and removed the hat as quietly as she could. Underneath it, she found what she was looking for: a small bundle of electronics wired to a black box with a wireless antenna. Carefully locating the power switch on the side of the box, she turned the device off and let out a sigh of relief.

While a spy or a criminal would not want anyone entering their apartment for something as pedestrian as a burglar alarm, they would want to know that someone was in their private space when they were not around. In the olden days, this could be a hair taped to a doorjam or fishing wire attached to something breakable; a visual indicator that the space had been entered. In the modern era, this could be far simpler. The device on the coat stand was a sound sensor attached to a wireless transmitter. It was likely rigged to send a ping out to Edwards' cellphone if the sound of someone entering his apartment was detected while active. It would not stop an intruder, but it did not need to. All he needed to know was that it had happened.

Proceeding cautiously, Sabine cleared the apartment and searched for any further devices or sensors that might give her away. The space was large and airy, with elegant modern furniture. It had two bedrooms, a large bathroom, a living room, a dining area, and an attached kitchen. For central Paris, it was practical palatial.

Finding three more sensors, Sabine felt relatively sure that she had defeated Edwards’ security system. She did not care if the man found out after the fact that she had been present, but wanted to be on the safe side in case the man had any more of his friends in Paris who could get to her before she was done with her investigations.

“I’m clear, found four sound devices and one vibration, location is secured.”

“Still clear on the exterior, watcher has no eyes interior,” Claire replied over the earpiece. “He seems a little paranoid, don’t you think?”

“If I were up to no good, I would be too,” Sabine pointed out as she opened the refrigerator and kitchen cabinets. “This guy’s diet is awful.”

“How so?”

“Beer, vodka, processed meats, and cheese. I don’t think he’s doing much entertaining.”

“Yuck,” Claire offered. “I’ve been running an online sweep of our little friend while you’ve been getting your hands dirty. Watches a lot of porn, orders takeout regularly. He visits a number of gambling websites, but he never bets to excess based on what I can find. I didn’t manage to get access to any of his banking yet.”

“That would be fairly helpful,” Sabine agreed. “I suspect anything relevant will be offshore, which might complicate matters.”

“I’d need to know where to look, which lands on your desk,” Claire noted dryly. “So do me a favor and find anything financial and I can do some digging.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open.”

Moving through to the living room, Sabine checked through the space. There was little of interest to their investigation, but she did note that Edwards' taste in cinema leaned heavily to action and large-breasted heroines. Her earlier assessment that the man lived alone was more than verified by the general appearance of the apartment. While it was neat and well furnished, it had clearly never seen a woman’s touch; men's magazines covered the coffee table, and golf memorabilia littered the sideboard.

“Other than bad taste, there’s not much here,” Sabine tutted. “This guy is a serious bachelor.”

Claire chuckled in the earpiece, “The guy always seemed like a douchebag at the office. I’m not sure many women would want to date him.”

Sabine moved through to the master bedroom. The space was less tidy than the main areas, and there were clear signs that Edwards had packed in a hurry before their trip to Nice. Items of clothing were dumped on the unmade bed, and a dresser drawer was left partly open. 

“I wasn’t ever really on chatty terms with the guy, but I never heard of anything myself,” Sabine admitted. Pausing, she frowned, “Actually, I never really talked to any of the guys about that kind of stuff.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Claire offered, her smirk evident even over the earpiece.

“I’m ignoring you, I’m working.”

Pulling open the bedside drawer, Sabine rolled her eyes as she spotted two boxes of condoms. It seemed that any women who did visit Edwards only did so for the night. Somehow, that felt fitting, knowing what she knew of the man. She was about to close the drawer when she spotted an estate agent’s letterhead on a piece of paper beneath a pile of condom wrappers at the bottom of the drawer. Gingerly fishing the letter out with two careful fingers, she unfolded the paper and read through the document.

“I might have something here,” she murmured as she read the letter. “It’s from an estate agent… It’s about an… oh, yeah, this is a good hit.”

“What do you have?”

“Property acquisition in the Port of Gennevilliers, warehouse purchased last year.”

“Address?”

“44 Route du Móte deux et trois.”

“Standby… Got it,” Claire announced. “Yeah, that’s north of here in Gennevilliers. Riverside warehouse, formerly belonging to a building supply company. Square footage suggests it’s not a small facility.”

“Anything on the ownership?”

“Exportations Parisiennes SARL purchased the property last year… Paris Exports, that’s real generic for a shell corp,” Claire offered. “I’ll run that company for banking and financials and see if I can start tracing money.”

“Copy, keep me informed,” Sabine answered. The property could be extremely relevant. She had expected that the man might have a second apartment or a property somewhere for more illicit activity, if her hunch turned out to be correct. She had not expected to find an industrial property that could reasonably handle serious commerce. The Port of Gennevilliers was the largest French river port and the second biggest of its type in Europe. A great deal of boat and barge traffic passed through on its way north to the port at Le Havre on the Channel coast.

Moving to the man’s closet, Sabine knelt down and started examining Edwards’ shoes. “Watcher, what materials did that building supply company handle when it was open?”

“Primarily lumber, why?”

Sabine smiled as she held up a pair of boots and examined the sole, “I think we can confirm that location, he’s got sawdust in the tread of his shoes.”

“Good catch, I’ll… stand by.”

Sabine paused and waited for Claire to reply. The silence stretched for what felt like minutes, but in reality was less than ten seconds. “Threat detected, car just arrived in a hurry with four men, and they’re coming in the front door. Fighting-age Arabic men wearing heavy jackets. I think our guy was more paranoid than you expected.”

Sabine cursed under her breath and grabbed her bag, “I’m leaving now.”

“Looking for alternative exits.”

Sabine grabbed the letters and stuffed them into her bag before slinging it cross-body, “How long do I have?”

“Sixty seconds at best.”

Sabine made it to the front door and exited out into the corridor at a run. By the time she got there, she could hear footfalls slapping against the tiled staircase. “I don’t particularly want to wait to find out if they’re here for me, so down is out. I’m going up, get me something fast.”

“Single staircase, no other… wait, there’s roof access. You should be able to get to the adjacent buildings.”

“This was not how I wanted to get my steps in,” Sabine huffed, taking the stairs two at a time as she climbed to the sixth floor. “Anyone else turn up, or is it just our four?”

“Only the four. Looking at satellite imaging now, you should be able to go west. The next two buildings are flat roofs, and the third has a rooftop garden. You should be able to locate a way down there.”

Sabine finally reached the top floor and found the roof access door. To her dismay, it was securely locked with a chain and padlock. Behind her, she could hear the sounds of running feet and raised voices getting closer. Realising that she was out of options, Sabine drew her pistol and covered her face. Pulling the trigger, the sound of the gun going off in the confined space was deafening. Thankfully, the padlock shattered, and the chain fell free. Shoving the door open, Sabine climbed out onto the roof before slamming it closed behind her.

Like so many of the buildings in the area, the roof was lined with lead. Other than the small flat portion around the access door, the roof surface sloped away towards the front and rear of the building. Carefully watching her footing, Sabine turned west and started making her way across the rooftop toward the next building.

 “I’m out,” Sabine called, vaulting over an AC unit. “Any change?”

“I got you on camera again. Continue west, watch for the drop. Wait, look out!”

Without waiting, Sabine ducked down and tucked herself in behind the air conditioner. As she did so, she was just in time to avoid a burst of gunfire that ricocheted off the unit and the wall ahead of her, the sound echoing off the surrounding buildings with a violent slap. 

“I think we answered the question of whether or not they’re here for me,” she grunted, leaning around the unit and firing back towards the rooftop door.

“The odds weren’t exactly low,” Claire offered. “You seem to attract that kind of attention.”

Sabine ducked as more rounds peppered the brickwork above her. As the gunfire paused, she leaned out from behind her cover and took aim. One of the men stepped out and aimed his machine pistol at her hiding space. Before he could pull the trigger, Sabine squeezed hers, hitting him squarely in the chest with three bullets. Without waiting for the men to recover, she climbed up onto the vent and leapt up and over the adjoining wall, rolling onto the roof just in time to avoid the swarm of bullets that followed hot on her heels.

“Three left, one down,” Claire intoned impassively. “Shots fired have been reported to the Gendarmerie; best move it, girl.”

Sabine pulled herself up and set off running along the rooftop. Behind her, more bullets slapped off the brickwork as the men pursuing her fired wildly. She needed to make distance and find a way off these rooftops if she had any hope of escaping the scene. The French police were no slouches, and being Paris, they would likely have an air unit on scene fairly quickly. Once that happened, her chances of escaping fell dramatically.

Clearing the next roof quickly, Sabine dropped down onto the flat rooftop beyond and landed in a flowerbed. “Door should be on your right up ahead,” Claire offered. “Be aware, you’re out of my sightline.”

Sabine located the aforementioned door, but discovered to her dismay that it was a fire escape-style door with no exterior controls. Even if she could shoot the mechanism, there was no clear way to open it from the outside. Kicking the door in frustration, she cursed, “Damn it. Find me another option, this one’s no good.”

“Copy, keep going, next one has more access, you might be able to make entry there.”

As Sabine stepped out from behind the wall, a burst of gunfire sent her diving for cover behind a raised flowerbed. The men had finally managed to catch up to her, and they had her cornered in the rooftop garden. Two had dropped down while the third was still standing on the previous rooftop, doing his best to keep her pinned in place while his two accomplices worked their way towards her.

Sabine returned fire but ducked quickly back behind the planter as return fire from the man on the roof honed in on her position. Reloading her pistol, she glanced towards the front of the building. She had seen a tiered terrace as she dropped down, and a terrible idea was beginning to form in her mind.

“What’s over the front of this building? I saw a drop level, right?”

“Yeah, one floor down, there’s a wide balcony,” Claire explained. “Then a lower terrace below that.”

“What’s on them?”

“Garden furniture, plants, and a trellis on the top one.”

“Oh boy, this is going to suck.”

You’re not thinking of doing what I think you are, are you?”

“Got a better idea?”

“Not at the moment.” Claire conceded. “Be careful.”

Sabine adjusted her grip on the pistol and made sure she was secure and ready to move. Dropping prone, she rolled out of cover low and appeared in an unexpected position. The tenth of a second advantage was all that she needed. Aiming her shot, she fired twice and dropped the man standing silhouetted on the roof.

Coming up to her feet, she fired several shots at the advancing men as she sprinted for the front of the building. Taking a step up onto a small bench along the railing, she jumped up and over the edge. Sabine fell through the air before landing hard on a wooden table on the balcony down below. The furniture splintered on impact, and the landing temporarily knocked the wind out of her lungs.

The impact had hurt far more than Sabine had expected. Her hip was on fire, and she was almost positive that she had cracked a rib or two. Despite the pain, the adrenaline of the gunfight gave Sabine enough energy to pull herself upright and begin extracting herself from the remains of the table.

“God damn, are you ok?”

“Could be better,” Sabine grunted, wincing in pain as she pulled herself up on a garden chair. “I didn’t exactly stick the landing.”

“I saw. Drop to the next one should be easier; the balcony door is open. Move fast, the coast is clear.”

Sabine holstered her pistol and climbed more carefully over the railing before dropping down to the terrace below. This time, with a bit more care and aim, she managed to land on her feet with no additional injuries. As Claire had identified, the balcony door was open, allowing her to dart inside the apartment and out of sight. Luckily, whoever had left the balcony door open was not home and had clearly never anticipated intruders using the fifth-floor terrace as a method of entry. Slipping quickly through the apartment, she made it out into the hallway and into the staircase beyond.

“I’m out, heading down to street level now,” Sabine called out, jogging down the stairs despite the pain.

“The two remaining tangos are still on the roof; they have no idea where you went and what to do,” Claire offered. “Local Law Enforcement is arriving now, exit street level and head straight across the road, go North past the church.”

“Copy.”

Sabine reached the ground floor and stopped briefly to check her reflection in a pane of glass beside the entrance. She looked disheveled, but not entirely beyond redemption, despite her experiences on the roof. Dusting down her clothes, she straightened her blouse before taking off her handbag and slipping it more casually over one shoulder. Reaching up, she removed the hair tie and finger-combed her blonde hair down around her shoulders. It was not much, but it changed her facial shape at a casual glance.

Taking a deep breath, Sabine stepped out of the door and set off along the sidewalk at a casual pace. It took all her concentration to trust Claire and fight the urge to scan for threats. Instead, she kept her sightline in the middle distance and crossed the road and set off past the church as instructed. Behind her, blue lights and sirens were filling the street as police cars screamed to a halt outside Edwards’ building.

All around her, pedestrians were gawping at the evolving spectacle and pulling out their cellphones to photograph the scene. Not a single one of them paid the blonde woman a moment of notice as she slipped past them and walked away, carefully disguising the slightest of limps.

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