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Authors: Connie Suttle
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the
French Ambassador would be there. No doubt, an incident that happened six years
earlier would be brought up, as it was a sore spot between him and the
President.
Priceless paintings from the Louvre had been burned after a
section of it was taken over by terrorists. Tourists—visitors to the Louvre on
that fateful day—died while nations watched artwork that had survived for
centuries turn to ashes in a matter of minutes.
One of the terrorists, who'd reportedly committed suicide with
the rest of the attackers, was American. That was enough fuel for the French
President and the French Ambassador to condemn the involvement of a U.S.
citizen.
It didn't matter that twenty-six of the thirty-nine tourists' deaths
were also American. French nationals, Swiss, German and British citizens died,
too. Thirty-nine deaths attributed to eight terrorists, who'd committed suicide
after killing the last of their hostages.
French forces stormed in shortly after.
Nothing has been the same, since.
I drew a shaky breath.
No need to bring up that debacle now—I'd likely hear enough
about it after I arrived at Camp David.
Corinne, if you need help when we arrive, ask for it ,
August texted me. I didn't have the phone I'd been given in my hand, so I
pulled it from the small purse I carried when I felt it vibrate.
If I get the help you're suggesting, I'll be out for the
rest of the day , I texted back. I'll deal with this the best I can .
I'll have Shaw on standby.
Right .
What's wrong? That came from Rafe.
You know, I'd like to say mind your own business, but that
will only intrigue you , I texted back.
Have you tried meditation?
With hopeless regularity .
I'm sure most of our conversation could have taken place
verbally, if we didn't have the sounds of the helicopter vibrating our bones as
well as our eardrums, and if our ears weren't covered in protective gear.
Therefore, texting worked as the next best thing. I just had no desire to
continue our conversation.
I was grateful when the chopper set down and we were allowed
off it.
* * *
An hour later, after a quick lunch, we were ushered into the
meeting room. In addition to the French Ambassador, the British Prime Minister
was there with his interpreter, the German Chancellor had come with his
interpreter, and the acting Russian Ambassador had also come.
All of them were frowning.
I wanted to hold up my hand and say "all my fault,"
after which I would be escorted from the building and allowed to write in quiet
confinement.
That didn't happen.
Several things concerned me about that meeting—it was an
extension of what had been discussed at a recent G-8 conference. Terrorist
threat levels were on the rise for some reason, and everyone wanted everybody
else's information.
All of them discussed potential targets—public transportation,
water supplies, government facilities and so on. The French Ambassador brought
up the attack in Paris six years earlier, but the others considered that an
anomaly.
Why would terrorists attack another museum?
During that meeting, which lasted four hours and would continue
into the next day, I watched several people. I noticed Rafe watching the same
people. I had four hours of rehashed conversations to mentally consider
what—and how much—to tell August.
* * *
We met over dinner—all of us. I didn't want to tell everybody
there what I knew. Rafe was holding back for the same reason. "I didn't
get much," Maye offered. "Pretty much what they were thinking is what
they were saying. They're all afraid they'll be targeted next."
"The French Ambassador is pissed; I could smell it all
over him," Nick said.
"He's mad because of that stupid museum debacle. Who
cares if a couple of paintings got burned?" Becker huffed.
"Thirty-nine people died there," Ken reminded
Becker. "Most of them Americans."
"One of the terrorists was American. The French
Ambassador tries to make it look as if he were in charge," Maye said.
"I doubt that's the case. His
French Ambassador would be there. No doubt, an incident that happened six years
earlier would be brought up, as it was a sore spot between him and the
President.
Priceless paintings from the Louvre had been burned after a
section of it was taken over by terrorists. Tourists—visitors to the Louvre on
that fateful day—died while nations watched artwork that had survived for
centuries turn to ashes in a matter of minutes.
One of the terrorists, who'd reportedly committed suicide with
the rest of the attackers, was American. That was enough fuel for the French
President and the French Ambassador to condemn the involvement of a U.S.
citizen.
It didn't matter that twenty-six of the thirty-nine tourists' deaths
were also American. French nationals, Swiss, German and British citizens died,
too. Thirty-nine deaths attributed to eight terrorists, who'd committed suicide
after killing the last of their hostages.
French forces stormed in shortly after.
Nothing has been the same, since.
I drew a shaky breath.
No need to bring up that debacle now—I'd likely hear enough
about it after I arrived at Camp David.
Corinne, if you need help when we arrive, ask for it ,
August texted me. I didn't have the phone I'd been given in my hand, so I
pulled it from the small purse I carried when I felt it vibrate.
If I get the help you're suggesting, I'll be out for the
rest of the day , I texted back. I'll deal with this the best I can .
I'll have Shaw on standby.
Right .
What's wrong? That came from Rafe.
You know, I'd like to say mind your own business, but that
will only intrigue you , I texted back.
Have you tried meditation?
With hopeless regularity .
I'm sure most of our conversation could have taken place
verbally, if we didn't have the sounds of the helicopter vibrating our bones as
well as our eardrums, and if our ears weren't covered in protective gear.
Therefore, texting worked as the next best thing. I just had no desire to
continue our conversation.
I was grateful when the chopper set down and we were allowed
off it.
* * *
An hour later, after a quick lunch, we were ushered into the
meeting room. In addition to the French Ambassador, the British Prime Minister
was there with his interpreter, the German Chancellor had come with his
interpreter, and the acting Russian Ambassador had also come.
All of them were frowning.
I wanted to hold up my hand and say "all my fault,"
after which I would be escorted from the building and allowed to write in quiet
confinement.
That didn't happen.
Several things concerned me about that meeting—it was an
extension of what had been discussed at a recent G-8 conference. Terrorist
threat levels were on the rise for some reason, and everyone wanted everybody
else's information.
All of them discussed potential targets—public transportation,
water supplies, government facilities and so on. The French Ambassador brought
up the attack in Paris six years earlier, but the others considered that an
anomaly.
Why would terrorists attack another museum?
During that meeting, which lasted four hours and would continue
into the next day, I watched several people. I noticed Rafe watching the same
people. I had four hours of rehashed conversations to mentally consider
what—and how much—to tell August.
* * *
We met over dinner—all of us. I didn't want to tell everybody
there what I knew. Rafe was holding back for the same reason. "I didn't
get much," Maye offered. "Pretty much what they were thinking is what
they were saying. They're all afraid they'll be targeted next."
"The French Ambassador is pissed; I could smell it all
over him," Nick said.
"He's mad because of that stupid museum debacle. Who
cares if a couple of paintings got burned?" Becker huffed.
"Thirty-nine people died there," Ken reminded
Becker. "Most of them Americans."
"One of the terrorists was American. The French
Ambassador tries to make it look as if he were in charge," Maye said.
"I doubt that's the case. His
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