Charles de Gaulle Airport, Paris, France
Snow is still falling from the skies as Delta Air Lines Flight 804 landed on the snowy runway of the Charles de Gaulle Airport. Named after the statesman of the same name the Charles de Gaulle stood as the second busiest airport in all Europe after Heathrow in London. Passengers in the Business Class begin to rise from their seats, opening the baggage compartment above their seats and take their hand-carry. Following the crowd I slowly made my way to the immigration entrance for my passport to be stamped for my travel visa. Despite the travel visa I know that this is just a cover.
"How long will you be here?" the immigration officer asked.
"One week, monsieur." I replied.
"Ah, welcome to France, Miss Isabella Stark." he said, stamping on my passport. Nodding my thanks I breezed past the security checks and made my way to the baggage collection center.
"You're early to arrive madame." said Ryan, through the earpiece I put on after passing the security checks. "Thank god that the French government agreed to grant you entry."
"The French president wants to help. And he did." I whispered.
"Andy and Agent Rodriquez's flight will be arriving soon." Ryan added. "Regarding the firearms case-"
"Look Ryan, I'm working on it." I said.
"I know, but I'm the bringer of bad news. Your only lead, Suleiman Abbasyid, is found dead on the oil platform he is currently working at."
"Oh no." I muttered. "I should fly back."
"No, stay on your current mission." Ryan said. "His company did lease the container, but it was leased without the knowledge of the company."
"Suleiman is dead." I say, lifting my luggage from the conveyor belt. "Our lead is gone."
"Worst. Your prime suspect has left the country."
"He could be anywhere." I say. "Could be in Paris, could be anywhere."
"Watch yourself out there Isa. I have a hunch that the three of you wouldn't be the only ones trying to find Sergei Volodin."
"Okay." Leaving the baggage claim area I headed to see the flight information display in the airport lobby. Taking out my phone I snapped a picture of the current schedule, while movement on the floor above me materialized my concerns. I flashed a cold gaze towards Bruce, standing a floor above me, until someone tapped me on the shoulder. It's a man, in his early thirties, his race : Russian.
"You must be Vladimir's niece." the man whispered in my ear. "He has further instructions for you."
"I'm listening."
"Perhaps we should go somewhere unnoticed." he said. "Without anyone around." I nodded and walked away. Taking a cab we traveled to the metropolitan area of Paris. The ride was slow but the driver noticed my anxious gazes.
"Are you alright madame?" he asked.
"I think so, somebody's been following me."
"Following you?" he raised a brow. "Would you like me to take you to the station?"
"I don't think he'll follow me that far. Thank you for your offer monsieur." the cab dropped us off at the Louvre. Not exactly a suitable place to converse in private but that's where we'll manage. Entering the museum we explored the place, pretending to study the arts like foreign travelers.
"Here's the address of the place." he slipped a piece of paper into my guidebook while we looked at the Mona Lisa. "When you knock, knock in the form of the Russian national anthem." when I turned from the Mona Lisa, the man was gone. Palais de Justice. I scanned the French words written on the paper. Exiting the Louvre I hailed a cab and got in.
"Palais de Justice, now." I told the driver in French. I texted the two agents to meet me at the Palais and the cab speeded down the road to reach the destination. Handing him a few bills I got off the cab and scurried towards the location. Standing in front of the building in the extreme cold I have to find Volodin's hiding place, and fast.
"Got a hit Isa?" Ryan asked.
"Might be, a Russian man told me Sergei is staying nearby the Palais de Justice."
"You have competition, the French detected the entry of several FSB agents through their immigration gates." I groaned in reply. "Time's ticking."
"I know." I replied. Then my phone buzzed, a message on the phone screen.
"Fifth floor facing the Palais de Justice." the message read. Entering the apartment I slipped into an elevator that is going to close its doors. The elevator's empty, a good sign for me. "Unit 305." came another message from the same number. Exiting the elevator on the fifth floor I maintained my cool as I searched for the unit. The anonymous text is correct, unit 305 is facing the Palais de Justice. I knocked on the door, in the pattern of the Russian anthem. I heard a few clicks behind the door and it opened, revealing it to be Sergei Volodin himself.
"Who are you?" he asked me. I showed him the text message and he nodded. "Come in."
"Sergei? Sergei Volodin?" I asked in Russian. He nodded, confirming his identity. "I'm here to bring you to America."
"I want to bring my wife there, we have tickets."
"Where is she?" I asked. "We can't make two-way trips."
"I'm here." a woman stepped into the living room.
"Okay, get your stuff ready. Once my partners are here we're good to go." but our chances diminished itself when someone knocked down the door hard. "Get inside, barricade yourselves." I told the couple.
"Where is Sergei Volodin?!" a Russian man demanded.
YOU ARE READING
Russian Roulette
Misterio / Suspenso"This is a crossroad Isabella." he said. "There will be no return if you were captured." "Can I even turn back?" I asked.
