![]() ![]() "Monsieur Fisk," the officer said as he sized me up. With my hands held out before me I stepped onto the road. With a sigh I slid over to the driver's side and gently opened the door. In the rearview I noticed several other officers taking cover behind their open car doors, their weapons already drawn. Two younger officers stood outside the window to my right, hands on their sidearms. "I require your passenger to step out of the vehicle," he said. The officer nodded, glanced at me, and switched to English, speaking to the driver as though I weren't there. ![]() One of the officers poked his head in, asked the driver in French where we were going. The driver casually rolled down his window. I instinctively inventoried myself though I knew I wasn't carrying any contraband-nothing at all that would link me to the missing boy in Bordeaux. As we pulled to the shoulder, two of the cruisers skidded to a halt diagonally just in front of us, two boxed us in on the side, and the remaining vehicles screamed to a stop at our tail. In the rearview I glimpsed a half-dozen white Peugeots topped with flashing light bars bearing down on us. I opened my eyes and watched the red needle on the speedometer drop steadily as the driver turned the wheel to the right. I was resting in the rear of a taxi heading north out of the city on our way to Charles de Gaulle when I first heard the sirens. ![]()
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