The Caliphate by André Gallo (booksvooks .txt) 📗

     On her way home, Kella thought about Steve. She was intrigued but wary. She guessed that he was several years older than her twenty-seven years. He had mentioned having lived in Korea, Hawaii, Morocco, and West Africa, which appealed to her. He had more than held his own with the diplomats at the reception. At first, she had been a bit put off by his directness. She smiled; he was so American, so different from the French students at ENA, many of whom came from families that would gladly have a monarch rather than a republic. She felt that they had made a connection. He would leave Paris soon. But he was fun and pleasant to be with. She herself felt more confident when she was with him.

     Her last thought about Steve that night—and she knew he would get a good laugh if he knew—compared him to a World War II figure whom she had recently studied, General George Patton, forceful, often did the opposite of what was expected, and who didn’t mind the limelight.

     Steve’s thoughts about Kella were conflicted. He had almost been engaged a year before but he hadn’t dated since the sudden death of his fiancée. Vera also had been tall and intelligent. He had loved her spontaneity, something he didn’t detect much of in Kella. He often wondered whether Vera might still be alive―he knew she would be―if he hadn’t been so selfishly focused on high-altitude skiing during their few days in Canada. She had gone off with another group that day and he had not seen her again. An avalanche had killed them all.

     The evening with Kella had started to unshackle his emotions. His hand went up to his neck and he felt the necklace Vera had found at the hotel gift shop the day before she died. He had worn it ever since.

     As he neared the Coogan house, his mind went back to the robbery. Where was Coogan and what were the thieves looking for?

     Two policemen approached Steve as soon as he got out of the taxi. They recognized him after shining their lights on his face and, politely but firmly, asked him to hold his arms up. They frisked him before they allowed him to go in the house.

     The phone rang as he walked upstairs. He took the call in the kitchen. It was Ted Coogan.

     “Steve, I’m calling from Berlin. I had an accident. Well, not exactly an accident. I’m calling from the Benjamin Franklin Hospital. Someone attacked me with a knife. But he found out that I’m not entirely defenseless,” Coogan chuckled. “Anyway, I have to ask you a favor. Take my car, it’s in the garage, and pick me up at the airport tomorrow morning. I’ll be on Lufthansa flight 4212, landing at 10 a.m.”

     “Wait a minute. Do you know about the break-in at your house?”

     “Yes. I got a call from the French police. Benjamin must have given them my number. But I’m not surprised. It’s all related to my trip to Berlin, I’m sure. I’ll tell you more tomorrow. Thanks for doing this. I appreciate it. By the way, I’m five-eleven with white hair, and glasses. Oh, and I’ll be the guy with the cane.”

     He was barely off the phone when Benjamin came running up the stairs.

     “I didn’t hear you come in. The phone woke me up.”

     He wore sweats and a t-shirt. He frowned and spoke in a loud voice.

     “A couple of hours ago a policeman came to the door. He said not to worry. Ha!”

     He looked up and threw his arms open as if imploring God to be his witness.

     “Ne vous en faites pas, Monsieur,” Benjamin said in a deep voice mimicking the policeman. “We have an unconfirmed report that a terrorist group is planning something soon. Something soon! Are you kidding? What the hell does that mean? He thought we should know because of the break-in. As if that explained everything!”

     “Well, did you ask him what it meant?”

     “Yes, of course. I asked him several times and he finally said that the terrorists might use a suicide bomber!”

     His voice had become shrill.

    “What else?”

     “That it was almost certainly a false report, that it had nothing to do with us and that we should not worry because there had never been a suicide bomber in Paris. But he was just following orders. In the meantime, they would reinforce the police in the front.”

     Steve was weary from the long day but his mind was racing. The knowledge that the break-in and the attack on Coogan in Berlin were related was interesting, but it didn’t suggest a line of action.

     Now, a suicide bomber threat the police don’t believe because there has never been a suicide bomber in Paris?

     Then there was Tariq al Khalil’s appearance at the museum. He remembered that al Khalil had also gone to school in Cairo and that he came from an Egyptian family, although born in Belgium. So al Khalil’s presence at the museum should not have surprised him. He recalled that al Khalil was supposed to be an expert on Islam. Maybe he should talk to him. But he immediately dismissed that thought. Coogan should be able to connect the dots. And then there was Kella. The next day promised to be just as full.

***

The next morning, after relishing Benjamin’s Eggs Benedict, he drove to the airport. It took Steve a few minutes to get comfortable in Coogan’s blue MINI Cooper S. The top of his head was only an inch from the small vehicle’s roof. He reached Charles de Gaulle, parked, and made his way through what once had been Europe’s most modern airport but