Hope Is The Thing With Feathers

A Tourist Exhibit

10:36 AM--Louvre Museum, Paris

The girl dressed in a floral button down and khakis is a killer.

She weaves through the thick crowd that has clustered around the Mona Lisa, snapping a few pictures with her disposable Kodak.

Stepping out of the room that holds the masterpiece, she takes a few short strides, her eyes scanning the high walls of the hallway like any other excited tourist.

But if anyone was really looking, they would notice that her fingers were tapping an irregular beat on the side of her leg.

No one was.

Taking a paper map of the Louvre out of her pocket, she flips it upside down and plasters a confused expression on her face.

Walking over to an information kiosk, she lays the map down on the counter and looks up into the eyes of a tour guide.

"Excuse me, sir, where is the portrait of Madame Recamier?" the girl asked with a thick New York accent.

She is not from New York.

"Go down this hall, make two lefts after the first doorway and enter through the arched entrance, mademoiselle." The man replied with a pleasant French accent.

"Thanks a million, sir."

The girl pivoted on her heel and swiftly headed in the direction of the portrait.

Once out of sight of the information desk, she cut through a group of excited schoolchildren and pushed open the door to the bathroom.

Walking over to out-of-order stall 7, she pushed open the door and entered the cramped stall, locking the door behind her.

Her eyes were darting around the stall, but stopped when she noticed a small box above the toilet.

The box was small and metal.

Almost like an air vent.
The girl slipped a phillips head screwdriver from the pocket of her khaki shorts.

Standing on the toilet seat, she unscrewed the four screws holding the box in place.

The plate that was held by the screws now swung loose and revealed a crude tunnel.

Not wasting any time, the girl climbed up into the vent.

It was a tight fit, but she had been in tighter spots before.

Crawling along the narrow passage, the girl pulled a miniscule penlight from behind her ear.

The seemingly tiny penlight gave off a surprisingly strong beam of light as the girl put it between her teeth.

The tunnel gave way beneath her as she dropped, catlike, to the ground.

The light slipped out of her mouth, hit the floor and went out.

Grabbing an LED from under her purple G-shock, she licked the end of a thin piece of copper wire and attached it to the LED socket.

The light glowed brightly in the dark room.

In one corner of the rough, basement-like space was a middle-aged man with a large nose, chained to a metal column that ran from floor to ceiling.

He was her mission.

On a wooden stool in the center of the room was a Heckler and Koch Mark 23 pistol.

She walked to it, picked it up.

Felt the cool metal in her hands.

Walked over to the man and pointed the gun at his temple.

"Omlouvam se," she whispered.

The gun fired.

Stepping over the man, the girl pulled out an iPhone and a small piece of paper.

The paper read:

Louvre
Stall 7
658-990-8789