Double Vision by F. T. Bradley Page A

I wouldn’t have guessed it was a cab. “You need a taxi?”
    â€œYes,” Agent Stark said.
    The cabdriver spread his arms and smiled big. “Welcome to Paris,” he said in a heavy French accent. “Where you go, I take you.”
    Heaven help us. But he was already unloading our bags from the cart.
    â€œYoung lady, you do not work, you sit.” He guided Agent Stark to the cramped backseat of the cab before she could object. Then he loaded the heavy bags into the small trunk like they were nothing, and pushed my suitcase down hard to make it all fit.
    â€œGet in, get in.” He waved me toward the passenger door. I spotted a tattoo of a red and yellow flame on his wrist.
    â€œI am Guillaume,” our cabdriver said once I got seated. He popped the cab in reverse and pulled back without looking.
    Agent Stark cringed and checked my seat belt, then her own.
    Horns blared all around us. Guillaume rolled down his window and yelled something in French I couldn’t understand, but I was pretty sure involved cursing. “Paris traffic, right?” He drove away slowly, making the other cars pass us. “What is your hotel?”
    â€œThe Princesse,” Agent Stark yelled. “Do you know where that is?”
    â€œI know Paris like it is my garden,” Guillaume said with a big grin. I assumed he meant he knew it like it was his backyard.
    He was driving painfully slow, occasionally asking a nonresponsive Agent Stark questions about where she was from and whether she was on vacation. Meanwhile, I tried my best to see some of Paris. Let’s face it: the odds of me ever making it back to Europe were close to zilch. I had to take it in while I could.
    The buildings were tall—three, four floors high—and often close together. I was used to California, where everything was spread out and horizontal. The trees were in winter mode, no leaves.
    If only my family had come to enjoy it with me. Dad would’ve loved all the history. Mom would’ve loved the cafés, the cute shops with awnings. And Grandpa would—well, he’d probably just mope around most of the time, but I knew he’d get a kick out of being in Paris.
    I looked out the back window and saw a compact red sedan behind us that zoomed past traffic on the shoulder. It was too far back for me to see in the car, but whoever they were, they were driving like lunatics. I nudged Agent Stark. “Is this guy following us?”
    She turned, but just then, the sedan merged with traffic. “I don’t see anything.” Agent Stark sat back in her seat. “Paris traffic is probably not like what you’re used to.”
    She had a point. Lompoc was a quiet place, with mostly farmers and slow-moving school buses on their way to chicken farms for field trips. Maybe. But then I saw it again: the red sedan, moving around another car to get closer. I was about to tell Agent Stark, when it disappeared from my sight.
    Meanwhile, I tried to pay attention to the city. Everything seemed old and grand, like you were supposed to wear a tuxedo just to see the sights. Even the trees along the street were perfectly round and evenly spaced. I was pretty sure that was the Eiffel Tower off in the distance—
    But there was the sedan again! I watched it zoom past traffic using the sidewalk, making pedestrians jump aside so they wouldn’t get hit. “This red car is definitely following us!”
    Agent Stark glanced behind us with a hugely irritated look on her face, but then she saw the red sedan, too. I could tell there were two dark figures in the front, but not much else. “You’re right,” she mumbled to me. Then to Guillaume, “Can you go any faster?”
    Guillaume grinned. “Faster? Of course I can.” He slammed the gas pedal and simultaneously yanked the steering wheel. We were on the sidewalk, too.
    Then with a sharp left, he took an alleyway, making us bounce on the