Tunnels 05 - Spiral Read Free Page B

security precautions, there were long queues to get into the special performance of
La Bohème
at the Palais Garnier in the 9th arrondissement of Paris. The additional precautions had been laid on because the French President and his wife were attending that night.
    As the gendarme used handheld scanners to check each member of the audience before they entered the foyer, a woman stood patiently in line.
    “
Bonsoir
, madame,” a gendarme said as her turn came, and she handed him her clutch bag to inspect.
    “
Bonsoir
,” she replied, while his partner ran the scanner over the full length of her body, back and front.
    “
Anglaise
,” the gendarme observed casually as he made sure her ticket was valid. “I ’ope you enjoy the performance.”
    “Thank you,” Jenny replied, then the gendarme waved her through. As she went in search of her seat, she walked like someone who was wading through thick fog and couldn’t see the ground in front of her. She eventually found her place and sat there quietly, waiting for the curtain to go up.
    The woman, Jenny Grainger, had raised no red flags as she passed through the scanner and the security checks at St. Pancras International before boarding the Eurostar to Paris. And neither did she do anything to arouse suspicion during the rest of the journey, although her face was drawn and perhaps a little jaundiced, and most of the time she seemed to stare straight ahead with unblinking eyes. But if anyone had paid her any attention, they would most likely have assumed that she was suffering from fatigue.
    But now in the Palais Garnier, as everyone rose to their feet while the French President and his attractive wife were shown to their seats, Jenny began to fidget with her bag. The lights dimmed and the curtain was raised.
    In the seat next to her, Jenny’s neighbor became annoyed as Jenny continued to fidget, whispering frantically to herself. As the man watched her more closely, he saw that she appeared to be in some difficulty. She had her hand on her abdomen and was pressing it hard. As he was a doctor, it was natural for him to inquire if she needed help. But when he spoke to her, she didn’t reply, her whispered ramblings only becoming louder.
    Jenny suddenly jumped to her feet. Disturbing everyone in the row, she made her way hastily to the central aisle. However, instead of turning right in the direction of the exit, she dropped her clutch bag and began to run toward the stage. Toward the French President.
    She never reached him, but the explosion killed over twenty members of the audience.
    A number of witnesses stated that one second she’d been there, and the next there’d been a flash of blinding light and a massive bang. But while some thought she’d tripped on the carpet, others swore that a member of the President’s staff had intercepted her. This couldn’t be substantiated because the man had been killed outright. Whatever had stopped her, Jenny never reached her target, and the President and the First Lady were rushed out of the theater by their protection officers.
    Although the records showed that Jenny had no known terrorist affiliations or political interests other than having once been a member of the Young Conservatives, it was assumed she’d somehow smuggled a device into the theater. But this conflicted with all the security camera footage and forensic evidence, which pointed to something extremely bizarre.
    It appeared that the explosion had come from within her, and the detailed analytical work supported this because much of her body mass was missing from the blast scene.
    The theory quickly emerged that Jenny’s internal organs had been removed to make room for a two-part explosive, which, when mixed, became a potent weapon.
    This very ordinary housewife from London, who would most likely have died anyway within a few days from the horrific mutilation of her body, had been a walking bomb.

    On his way home after work, the man emerged from the Tube