Double Impact

PROLOGUE

PARIS…it never changed.

He watched from the third-story window of the shop he had seized in the middle of the day along boulevard Saint-Michel. Outside, pigeons fluttered and squawked. Nearby, a waiter moved between the tables of a crowded open-air café. Natives and tourists alike chatted over drinks, never suspecting or caring what nasty business was taking place only a few meters away. He studied each face before moving on. To this day he could not stop himself from looking for her.

He shook his head. It had been two long years. She was gone. And even if she were here, her fate would be like that of the traitors bound and gagged downstairs. He turned his attention back to the sidewalk below and the pedestrians strolling along completely oblivious to anything other than the beauty of the day…of the place.

But here, where he was, there was no beauty…no good. Only the evil that men could do.

He closed his eyes and blocked the images that haunted him day and night. When would this nightmare end?

“Pardon,” came from the door behind him. “Nous sommes prêts.”

He opened his eyes. His men were ready, but he needed another moment. “Dans un moment.” A vague smile tugged at his lips. He had trained them well. Without thought, they spoke the language of those around them. In Paris they were Parisians, speaking the language as well as the natives.

As the messenger returned downstairs to those waiting patiently, their leader braced himself for the inevitable. It was time. He could not wait any longer. There would be no last-minute salvation. His orders stood.

Mentally preparing himself for the next step, he left the room. His footfalls echoed in the expectant silence as he descended the three flights of stairs. Supplications for forgiveness would be pointless. So he didn’t bother. Whatever awaited him at the end of this existence would not be pleasant. His crimes were far too great. But, unfortunately, necessary.

“What do we do with them?” One of his men, Carlos, gestured to the four bound men lying on the floor in the middle of the boulangerie. The scent of freshly baked bread did little to mask the smell of fear, of death looming.

As he, their respected leader, the one who must show no weakness, moved down the final step, he glanced at the frightened faces of those anxiously awaiting his decree. He turned his attention back to Carlos. There was no room for hesitation or remorse. “Kill them.”