MY INITIAL REACTION, of all things, was relief. Mischa had had some time to think about this on her travels from Monte Carlo to wherever she was currently, and she'd decided that the most likely explanation for what had happened on the harbor was drugs. A raid---the French equivalent of the DEA searching boats for illegal narcotics, which they would probably find in abundance on those vessels. Given that the occupants of their yacht were singled out, she figured that meant they had indeed found some drugs aboard. And she figured that could be a problem for Lindsay, Nicole Richie and her because of their records.338Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡf5bebQQCGK
But terrorism? That meant these guys were way, way out of line.
She spent the next thirty minutes fending them off as they lobbed names of terrorist groups at her, even names of specific terrorist leaders, reading her for a reaction, waiting for something in her eyes or her body language to tell them they'd hit their mark. She'd protested initially, to the point of screaming. She wasn't a terrorist; she was an actress and model on vacation; she was about the least threatening person on the face of this earth. They were speaking past each other, missing each other completely. Her accusers were probing for an exact spot on the map while she was telling them they'd landed on the wrong planet.
When that line of questioning ran aground, they started in on what would happen next. "What else have your masters planned?" they asked her, again throwing out details,, presumably the most visible terrorist targets in France. "L'Assemblee Nationale? Notre Dame? Roissy? L'Arc de Triomphe?"
It was almost comical----a relief. Before this weekend, her idea of adventure was to order a wool sweater online, slight unseen. Now she was being asked whether she was going to bomb the Eiffel Tower or assassinate the prime minister.
Yes, it was almost comical because this comedy sketch was lacking one vital ingredient: comedy. These men weren't just serious, they were scared. Something had happened, an event of some kind that had shaken them to the corer and made them determined not to let something else happen on their watch. They were trying for an even-handed approach, peppering her with questions in a staccato, to-and-fro style without expressing much emotion, keeping their voices level and trying to substitute intensity for what, it seemed to her, was their rawest emotion---fear.
That, more than the setting of their questions, disturbed her. Something very bad had happened.
"Guys, you've made a big mistake," Mischa said in English, not knowing the French equivalent. "Whatever it is that happened, I have no idea...."
"You lie!" said Eye Patch, whose name, she'd learned, was LaForge. "We will not accept that you have no idea." He was still on his feet, stooped at the waist and looking at her face-to-face.
"I don't," Mischa retorted.
"Do not take us for fools." The older guy named Picard, the good cop, she supposed, to his younger and tougher partner. But neither of these men were revealing very much to her at all.
"I'm not saying another word until you tell me what's going on," she told them.
LaForge slowly moved his yellow eyes off her. "Montrez-lui les photos," he said to his partner, the elder statesman Picard.
The photos, LaForge had said. Of what? A crime scene? What had happened? Benito, she thought, with a shot of dread. Had something happened to Benito? The murder of an internationally known movie actor, one obviously better known than her, could probably elicit the response she witnessed, at least fifty cops or soldiers, or whatever those bastards were, swarming the harbor.338Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgxUflm6Eoc
Her head started pounding. On a good day, following the intake of as much alcohol and tobacco as she'd had last night, she'd barely be able to move. But she'd been knocked around on the dock and on the plane and she was in desperate need of a painkiller. And she had a pretty good feeling that what was coming next wasn't going to make her feel any better.338Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡksOvo4hgpf
Not Benito, she prayed.338Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNpx8NhqWg7
The two men moved a long table so that it was positioned before her. The older guy, Picard, placed a large glossy photo on the table before her.338Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvJZXBa3JfI
"Oh, fuck!" It was a closeup shot of a man sitting in a car, wounds to his chest and neck. No matter how garish, and surreal the sight of his dead body was, she had no trouble identifying him.338Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCrpOTbtQZL
"Diego," she said.338Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0MG2Choi20
