THE AMERICAN EMBASSY in Paris was an attractive stone building located near the bend of the Seine just west of the Place de la Concorde, an enormous public square---actually an octagon----each of the eight corners featuring a statue representing a different French city. Where the guillotine served its bloody function during the French Revolution's public executions now stood the majestic Obelisk of Luxor, flanked by fountains on each side, glowing in the city's darkness this evening.637Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9C0WzrKFMa
It was the heart of Paris, this place, overlooking the gardens of the Champs-Elysees; steps from the high-end shopping district and the Musee de l'Orangerie and, of course, the Louvre; across the Seine from the Palais Bourbon and the Assemblee Nationale.
The embassy grounds were protected by gates and by United States Marines. Visitors' I.D. was checked twice before admittance. At the secured entry, visitors were required to check and turn off their cell phones. They passed through metal detectors and, given today's events, were subjected to a physical search and an armed marine escort to boot.
Now they stood, one Russian heir, Egor Tarabasov and one British movie actor, Sebastian Knapp, in the office of the attaché from the United States Department of Justice, Huey Nickerson, an assistant U.S. Attorney from Washington, D.C., serving a two-year stint in Paris.
"Terrorists?!" Egor thundered. "They can't be serious!"
Nickerson, an approaching man with a youthful face and sandy hair, had been here all of four months, and this monumental international incident was being thrust into his arms. It had sounded exciting at the time, this job----a fresh start after the divorce; a chance for his teenager, Hillary, to attend two years of high school in Paris; and interesting work free of the stress and strain of federal courtrooms. In a pig's eye, he thought to himself. This case was going to take up the rest of his time in Paris.
"I'm afraid they are serious," he said to Egor. "And, to add insult to injury, a national state of emergency has been declared due to the murder."
"What does this mean....again?" Sebastian demanded.
"Welcome Mr. Knapp to the real world, Huey." It was the voice of the U.S. ambassador to France, Logan Benton, over a speakerphone, as he traveled back from Indonesia.
Nickerson tensed up. "Everybody try to stay calm while I explain," he admonished. He looked at the two boyfriends, who were wearing expressions he'd seen many times as a federal prosecutor----not so much on the defendants but on their families: desperation, anxiety about events far beyond their control, and overwhelming worry, which bent their shoulders and distorted their mouths.
"The French can detain anyone---anyone-----as long as their a plausible reason to believe that a crime was committed," he explained. "If it's an act of terrorism under investigation, they can effectively hold a detainee for what's really ninety-six hours. That is four days, folks. Technically, three, but it's always extended by the prosecutor. It could be extended to five or even six days. But four is customary."
"Doesn't Lindsay have rights?" Egor asked. "I mean, the accused always have rights, don't they?"
Nickerson did a slow nod, trying to be deferential to the panicked boyfriends. "Not many, Mr. Tarabasov. They can deny her any outside communications. They can deny her a lawyer. For terrorism, they don't even have to videotape the interrogations. She'll see a lawyer at the end of the third day---after seventy-two hours----but only for thirty minutes, and the lawyer will not have seen any of the evidence. And some of us here thing----well, we don't know but we suspect---that they secretly record these attorney-client visits. That's why we always urge our citizens not to reveal anything."
Egor flew out of his chair, pacing the room in little circles. "You're telling me these bastards can interrogate Lindsay for four days straight and nobody'll keep them in order? Nobody can represent her? She can't talk to anybody?"
"Exactly," Ambassador Benton said flatly over the speakerphone.
Egor waved his arms. "And they consider them terrorists just because of who that man was? My God! How were they supposed to even know?"
Nickerson had no answer for that one. In fact, he knew virtually nothing of the facts about the case. But still, a terrified boyfriend could be forgiven for asking unreasonable questions. All that Nickerson knew for sure at this point was that the French were shafting him, playing things close to the vest for the present.
Sebastian checked his watch. "How long has it been since they were detained? Twelve hours? Thirteen?"
"About thirteen hours, yes." Nickerson cleared his throat. "All we know is that at approximately seven hundred hours this morning, the GIGN raided the harbor in Monte Carlo."
"And just who the hell are they?" Egor asked.
"The Groupe d'Intervention de la Gendarmerie Nationale. It's an elite counterterrorism group. A military unit. Like our Delta Force." Nickerson sighed. "They took virtually everyone in the harbor into custody, but most have been released. Mischa and her friends, and their other two friends, are obviously their focus."
"Haven't you seen them?" Egor asked. "Aren't they supposed to let you do that?"
Nickerson grimaced. "Well, normally someone from the embassy is permitted to visit an American citizen on a daily basis during the garde a vue----the detention period." He shrugged his shoulders. "But not today. This is no ordinary murder, sir. It's not even an ordinary act of terrorism."
Sebastian ran a hand over his face. "So, where are they now?"
"Frankly, Mr. Knapp," said the ambassador over the speakerphone, "we don't know."
"Don't know?!" Sebastian was on the verge of hysteria now.
Nickerson said. "The GIGN could've taken them to their headquarters in Satory, out west. But we think it's more likely that they're being held by the Central Directorate of Interior Intelligence, the DCRI. French intelligence. We think they're in DCRI headquarters in Levallois-Perret. A suburb of Paris.
"I--I---This whole thing-----it's crazy!" said Egor, who was all but bouncing off the walls. His face was ghost white. "All right, what's happening right now? What do you think they're doing? Are they eating? Are they sleeping? Are they...."
"The French are building their case," said Nickerson. "They're questioning the women, gathering evidence, incorporating new information into the interrogations. This case will get the highest priority, so the evidence is coming in fast. Evidence that usually takes months to process will only take hours."637Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcyK5ZawBBO
"They've got our girlfriends all to themselves for four days, interrogating them hour after hour and doing God knows what to them," said Sebastian. "And we know nothing? They haven't told you anything? Not one piece of information?"637Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUh4KFGAX2j
Nickerson paused, nervously scratching his head, debating. "I've exhausted my contacts. I've not been given any details. The lid is being shut extremely tight on this one."637Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVRpGPjMxGL
No, that wasn't true, not completely. He'd largely been kept in the dark, but he had a few sources of his own, some relationships he'd built up within the Surete and Paris police. He hadn't been told anything concrete, but he'd been given one scrap of information, probably best classified as opinion instead of fact.637Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡC6WKtKhkBT
He was told that the evidence against the four actresses was very, very strong.637Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdgBnlXdGWi
