Dark Zone

66

Mussa tapped his foot on the brake impatiently as the traffic showed no sign of letting up. He had given himself nearly an hour’s extra time, and still he was going to end up being very close.

He would make it. He knew he would make it. He had to relax. He settled his hands on the steering wheel, tapping out an impatient beat. He thought of listening to the radio and reached in that direction — only to be startled by a sharp rap on the window. He pushed upright, angry — then saw that a policeman was standing there.

Slowly Mussa put his left hand on the button to lower the window. He had no weapon; they were liabilities now.

“Yes?” he asked.

“This is your truck?” said the officer.

“My company’s, yes.”

“Where are you going?”

“To Gare du Nord,” Mussa said. “The train station. I have a delivery to the Eurostar and I’m running late. I was just—”

The policeman frowned at him, then took a step back from the window. “Take that road there to the left,” he said, pointing. “We’re blocking off traffic because of the American President’s visit. Go now, before the road is completely closed.”

“Thank you,” managed Mussa, putting the van in gear and cranking the wheel to turn into the opposite lane.