Operation Omega Seven

The blustery wind tore through him in front of Burberrys on Saint-Honore as Jeffrey Danvers impatiently checked his wristwatch.

Five minutes to go, he thought.

Five more minutes before he could cross the street to the restaurant and enjoy a coffee and croissant for a half hour waiting for the target to show. Franklin White would then leave and go to his right, taking Andrew Holbrook’s position down the street. Holbrook would then come and stand where Danvers is now, or close to it, for the next half hour until it was time for the next round of musical chairs.

The building opposite, the building that all of them were concentrating their attention, was rather nondescript on a street with shops that held the likes of the aforementioned Burberry, Ferragamo, and the upscale fashion store catering to men.

Yes, it would be called nondescript, thought Danvers, save for the ornamental black rod design on the first floor, culminating in the lion and unicorn symbol otherwise known as the United Kingdoms’ Royal Coat of Arms.

Directly below the coat of arms was a carved lions head, mouth agape, over two large black double doors, next to which was a lone guard post, a small three-sided structure that kept the guards both dry and out of the wind. This was the entrance to the British Embassy in Paris, France.

Out of the corner of his eye Danvers saw movement down the street. It was Franklin, the brains of the outfit, who lazily exited the Cercle de’l union Interallie restaurant and headed next door to the small electronics store where he would replace Holbrook, and then Holbrook would come and replace Danvers. As he did so, the door to the embassy opened and the target stepped out. She wore a fawn colored raincoat and carried an ordinary black leather briefcase with her. Nodding to the guards, she walked up the street in the same direction as Franklin was heading.

Danvers waited until she had passed Franklin before he started following her. Franklin slowed slightly as she passed him then continued pass the electronics store, also in her tread. Holbrook would now alert the other half of the team, John Eton and Lee Jones, who had been tasked with the same job on the back side of the embassy.

The target was Victoria Ingalls. So far she gave no indication she was being followed. Victoria continued on the Sainte-Honore, passing both the Rue Royale and Place Vendome streets before finally turning to the right on des Pyramindes. She crossed Rue de Rivoli and then turned again and began to parallel the street along the footpath in the Jardine Tuileries. Danvers wondered just where she was heading. She had already passed at least one Metro station. The next one would be the Carrousel du Louvre.

Where the hell was she going?

As if she could read his mind, Victoria Ingalls turned to the right and entered the main entrance of the Louvre Museum. Danvers quickened his pace. Franklin had continued straight back on the Pyramindes to shadow her from the right side. He entered a line next to Ingalls, a fast-moving one that found them buying a ticket at the same time.

Franklin fumbled with his wallet and checked the time to allow her to lead the way. It was eight minutes after four p.m. They had made it here from the Embassy in less than ten minutes.

Jeffrey Danvers entered the famed museum and immediately scanned for Ingalls. There she was, checking her briefcase and coat. Danvers walked over to an information rack and selected a plan of the museum in English. He opened and watched over it as Ingalls turned away and towards the stairs that led to the next floor. He removed his trenchcoat and, folding it under his arm, casually started following her, trying to keep her in sight and also allow White or Holbrook to catch up with him.

He stopped at the top of the stairs as Victoria turned towards the left. Danvers glanced down at the plan. The Decorative Arts.

Whatever that meant, thought Danvers.

“Excuse me, can you tell me the time?” It was Franklin White.

“Certainement,” Danvers looked down at his watch. “She’s wearing a powder blue blouse, stiff collar, black ankle-length skirt. Left the coat and case at check-in. Went to the left,” he quickly whispered.

“Merci,” Franklin said, glancing around, he lowered his head and whispered back, “I’ll take point, if she starts back this way, front tail her until I relieve you.”

Danvers nodded his head as Franklin started in the direction that Ingalls had taken.

Where are Holbrook and the rest? Did they know where they were? Is it down to Franklin and me at this point?

These thoughts raced through Danvers’s mind quickly, although one wouldn’t have noticed from the outside. To anyone observing him, he was a tourist ambling from one room to the next, taking in the exhibits.

Danvers and White continued on this way for a good half hour as Victoria led them from one room to the next. Sometimes White was the closest to her, sometimes Danvers. At one point Danvers found himself right next to her admiring a Greek vase. He kept his head down and then seemingly became suddenly interested in another object d’art across the room. She finally headed back towards the front, then passed the stairs and proceeded to the room containing the Mona Lisa. Here, Danvers ignored De Vinci’s best-known painting and set himself facing the door and looking at a portrait of a fat man in seventeenth-century dress.

Danvers glanced to his left and saw Ingalls check the time, impulsively, Danvers did the same. It was almost closing time. He had just lowered his arm as Ingalls walked by him. He fell into step, with Franklin almost at his side. He quickened his pace so that he passed the woman on the stairs and headed towards the gift shop. Here he would have a good look at the coat check area. Franklin White came into and out of his view as he exited the building.

Danvers watched as she retrieved the raincoat and case. She turned and suddenly stopped.

Had he been spotted?

Danvers glanced over the top of the postcards while he saw Victoria Ingalls glance left and right before hurrying outside. Danvers followed quickly, pulling his coat back on, playing in his mind the moment, wondering why Ingalls would suddenly stop like that. She had been looking down at the time. Then it dawned on him.

“Brown briefcase!” He called out to White, who paled immediately.

Damn, he had said that out loud.

Victoria Ingalls turned and looked at him, aghast. She began running.

Damn! Danvers took off.

The blustery wind had finally brought on a torrent of rain, which made running difficult. Ingalls tried to go towards the right towards the Metro, but Danvers was running to intercept her. She turned to the left and ran across into the Jardine des Tuileries. Danvers tried to bring up a mental picture of the area.

Where was the next Metro station? She would have to cross the river.

He slipped as he hit a muddy spot and went down. He rolled and was back on his feet in a second, fine except that he now looked like a tramp with all the mud smeared on his trench coat. Meanwhile, off to his left, he could see White, walking firmly and fast towards him. Danvers looked for the woman. There, she was nearly to the quay alongside the Seine. If she were able to get over across the Passerelle de Solferino bridge, they might lose her. She was running along the quay now, close to the edge, but Danvers was faster and able to catch up to her.

“Excuse me, but that doesn’t belong to you.” Danvers shouted in the rain as he grabbed the briefcase. Ingalls turned towards him and tried to wrest it out of his hands. They struggled for seconds until Danvers suddenly thrust the case towards Ingalls, then sharply back. Victoria Ingalls staggered back as she lost grasp of the case. She teetered for a brief moment, the realization of what was happening in her eyes, before falling back and downwards and being carried away by the flowing waters of an angry Seine River.

Danvers watched in disbelief as she floated away. He looked down at the brown briefcase that Ingalls had picked up at the coat check out instead of the black case she had checked in. That was the reason she suddenly stopped, the sudden realization that someone had made a mistake with the color.

Franklin White was suddenly by his side.

“Looks like she got swept up in something greater than she could control,” He said.