front seats to the back section of the Range Rover. When his Sig Sauer P226 exploded into action behind her, Reigns knew that Morgan had acquired the target.
“It’s a black Alfa Romeo sedan!” he yelled. “Can you see it?”
“Got it!” Reigns replied. In the driver’s side wing mirror she could make out a guy hanging from the Alfa, awkwardly clutching what looked like a Chinese-made QBZ-97 assault rifle. They were closing fast. The guy was changing mags and about to re-engage. Morgan was blasting away as best he could but the Sig was no match for sustained fire from an assault rifle.
“We need cover,” he said. “Get us out of here!”
Reigns tore the wheel to the left, heading down the side road toward the Polytechnic. The Alfa followed. A second later she realized it had been a mistake.
“Jesus!” she cried. “Gate! The road’s blocked.” Thinking fast, Reigns sized up her options. Morgan was still firing but it wouldn’t be long before they were blocked, totally outgunned, and others arrived to support the Alfa. It was directly behind them, closing fast and twenty feet from their rear bumper while the Range Rover was bearing down upon the heavy metal gates blocking access to the Polytechnic. With a quick final glance at the mirrors, Reigns made her decision.
“Brace yourself. Now!”
Morgan grabbed on to anything he could find.
She stamped on the brakes and the Range Rover responded, coming to a sudden but controlled dead stop in the center of the road. The driver of the Alfa Romeo had no time to counter the move and the sedan slammed into the rear of them. Morgan was thrown hard against the back of Reigns’ seat and groaned as the wind was forced from his lungs. She wasted no time. At the moment of collision, she threw the big car into a tight U-turn, tires squealing, and opened up the exposed flank of the unsuspecting stalled Alfa to a broadside. Morgan, tumbling around in the back, was thrown against the passenger-side rear door but dived back behind Reigns, opening up with everything he had on the driver of the Alfa.
Reigns stole a look over her shoulder. The Alfa Romeo wasn’t moving.
“Did you get him?” she asked.
“Yep,” said Morgan. “Let’s get clear, ditch this fucking car and find a taxi.”
CHAPTER 20
Restaurant Le Diane
Hôtel Fouquet’s Barrière
46 Avenue George V
Paris, France
“OK then, I guess we’ve discussed this particular course of action through to its natural conclusion.” The man’s accent was pure Boston, Ivy League, most likely Harvard. “Can I take it that you’re both happy to leave the next phase of the negotiations to me?”
The superb luncheon was finally coming to a close. As the conversation began to wrap up, the last of the dessert plates and wine glasses disappeared and invisible staff began to serve coffee.
“I think so,” the second man replied. His accent was Swiss. “If we allow her to progress her current arrangements with the Chinese then it would certainly save us a great deal of trouble. And if you can encourage her to meet your people in Los Angeles that would be timely, to say the least. What do you think, my dear?”
“I think that to date we’ve allowed things to progress at an appropriate pace,” the woman answered. Her accent was very British, Oxbridge educated. “We know that she has a strong grasp of the business, she can handle difficult partners, cross-border transactions and movements, and is clearly not averse to maintaining strict control measures on her people and operations. We know she’s good. We’re confident in the numbers and we’ve substantiated most, if not all, of the background. So, yes, I agree. I think it’s time we moved things along, and if you have a team in LA then they should meet her there. It’s time to tie things up, and the sooner the better.”
“What about your friend, the general?” the American asked. “Is he showing any interest in this? It would be helpful to
“It’s a black Alfa Romeo sedan!” he yelled. “Can you see it?”
“Got it!” Reigns replied. In the driver’s side wing mirror she could make out a guy hanging from the Alfa, awkwardly clutching what looked like a Chinese-made QBZ-97 assault rifle. They were closing fast. The guy was changing mags and about to re-engage. Morgan was blasting away as best he could but the Sig was no match for sustained fire from an assault rifle.
“We need cover,” he said. “Get us out of here!”
Reigns tore the wheel to the left, heading down the side road toward the Polytechnic. The Alfa followed. A second later she realized it had been a mistake.
“Jesus!” she cried. “Gate! The road’s blocked.” Thinking fast, Reigns sized up her options. Morgan was still firing but it wouldn’t be long before they were blocked, totally outgunned, and others arrived to support the Alfa. It was directly behind them, closing fast and twenty feet from their rear bumper while the Range Rover was bearing down upon the heavy metal gates blocking access to the Polytechnic. With a quick final glance at the mirrors, Reigns made her decision.
“Brace yourself. Now!”
Morgan grabbed on to anything he could find.
She stamped on the brakes and the Range Rover responded, coming to a sudden but controlled dead stop in the center of the road. The driver of the Alfa Romeo had no time to counter the move and the sedan slammed into the rear of them. Morgan was thrown hard against the back of Reigns’ seat and groaned as the wind was forced from his lungs. She wasted no time. At the moment of collision, she threw the big car into a tight U-turn, tires squealing, and opened up the exposed flank of the unsuspecting stalled Alfa to a broadside. Morgan, tumbling around in the back, was thrown against the passenger-side rear door but dived back behind Reigns, opening up with everything he had on the driver of the Alfa.
Reigns stole a look over her shoulder. The Alfa Romeo wasn’t moving.
“Did you get him?” she asked.
“Yep,” said Morgan. “Let’s get clear, ditch this fucking car and find a taxi.”
CHAPTER 20
Restaurant Le Diane
Hôtel Fouquet’s Barrière
46 Avenue George V
Paris, France
“OK then, I guess we’ve discussed this particular course of action through to its natural conclusion.” The man’s accent was pure Boston, Ivy League, most likely Harvard. “Can I take it that you’re both happy to leave the next phase of the negotiations to me?”
The superb luncheon was finally coming to a close. As the conversation began to wrap up, the last of the dessert plates and wine glasses disappeared and invisible staff began to serve coffee.
“I think so,” the second man replied. His accent was Swiss. “If we allow her to progress her current arrangements with the Chinese then it would certainly save us a great deal of trouble. And if you can encourage her to meet your people in Los Angeles that would be timely, to say the least. What do you think, my dear?”
“I think that to date we’ve allowed things to progress at an appropriate pace,” the woman answered. Her accent was very British, Oxbridge educated. “We know that she has a strong grasp of the business, she can handle difficult partners, cross-border transactions and movements, and is clearly not averse to maintaining strict control measures on her people and operations. We know she’s good. We’re confident in the numbers and we’ve substantiated most, if not all, of the background. So, yes, I agree. I think it’s time we moved things along, and if you have a team in LA then they should meet her there. It’s time to tie things up, and the sooner the better.”
“What about your friend, the general?” the American asked. “Is he showing any interest in this? It would be helpful to
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