[War] France: "Our Lady of Paris"

[Bryan Tribble]

"Our Lady of Paris"
President Adrien Durant
French Republic
4 February 2013
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Adrien Durant was alone in Pope John Paul II Square, the parvis that fronted
Notre Dame de Paris's western façade. A heavy woollen overcoat helped to
keep him warm against the chill of the winter wind that was tossing his
scarf to and fro. He moved to tuck the scarf into his coat and then looked
up to admire the cathedral. It was a very rare occasion to have the place to
one's self, and he was eager to take advantage of it.

The two western towers reached up into the gray sky, stark, strong and
matronly as the Church itself. A few bits of lingering snow managed to cling
to crevices in the façade as if to seek shelter from the sun. A pigeon took
flight from its perch atop an angel's head and headed for the statue of
Charlemagne. Just as he was about to take a step closer to the cathedral to
admire the statuary near the entrance, Adrien suddenly became aware of a
noise, the sound of singing. The choir inside the cathedral was just
concluding a piece which was muffled but sounded akin to "Ave Maria."

At the moment the soprano soloist concluded her final note, the bourdon bell
atop the cathedral's North Tower rang out. Sound seemed to be dulled for
Adrien - more of a far off suggestion than the crisp certainty that the ears
were accustomed to - but he could feel the air vibrate slightly from the
ringing, and the effect was soon magnified when the bourdon was joined by
the four bells in the South Tower.

When a flock of pigeons erupted from the parvis and took to the sky, he
turned to see what had caused the commotion. He assumed the birds had taken
flight at the sound of the bells, but a group of men had disturbed the
pigeons when they entered the square. They were milling around snapping
photos of the area. It was difficult to hear them due to the distance and
muffling of sound but from their accent and the looks of them he thought
they were probably from Algeria. He smiled slightly when he saw their dress.
They must have had four layers of clothes on! The poor souls from a desert
climate were withering under the chill of a Parisian winter.

Before he had a chance to observe the Algerians any longer, the doors to the
cathedral swung open and mass attendees began to pour out into the parvis.
His political instincts kicked in and Adrien started to offer a big smile
and walk toward the group of people but he stopped short when something hit
the ground near his foot. He looked down and gave a puzzled look as it
skittered across the stones toward the people.

When he finally realized what it was, he whirled back to the Algerians. Time
seemed to have suddenly slowed down. The men had shed their bulging
overcoats to reveal weapons. Adrien heard his breath suck in as he turned
back to the crowds. His eyes locked on the grenade clattering along the
stones toward the devoted and he raised his hands to shout but they seemed
oblivious to him. Long moments went by as he rushed toward the people but
the pace of time made the distance he closed small.

Somewhere behind him he heard slurred shouts of "Allah'u'Akbar," and for a
moment he silently prayed that the grenade would turn out to be a dud.
Gunfire exploded in the parvis before the grenade detonated and sent people
scattering. Some stood dumbfounded but most of them snatched up their
children, if they had them, wrapping them in their arms as they dove for the
ground.

The grenade, formerly on a trajectory directly for a large concentration of
children, was kicked by a woman's heel as she spun to the ground. It
clattered away from the majority of people and Adrien breathed a sigh of
relief. When he directed his eyes back to the woman he realized she had
fallen from a wound: a bullet had struck her neck and arterial blood was
spurting out and painting the stones red.

A woman with a voice to rival the choir's soprano shrieked a bloodcurdling
scream to his left as she ran for her child across the square. When the
grenade finally detonated the force of the blast knocked her back a few
steps, just in time to be caught several times in the abdomen with bullets
from the Algerians' weapons. Adrien watched helplessly as she collapsed onto
the stones, lying amongst those who had both fallen and were seeking shelter
near the ground.

A man passed near him with a bewildered look on his face, his cheeks pocked
with bits of stone shrapnel from the force of the grenade's blast. Adrien
turned away from the crowd to face the Algerians, intent on stopping them if
he was able but when he laid eyes on them it was as if time had reverted to
its original pace. The sound of loud gunfire filled his ears and everything
around him was chaos. The sudden rush of sound and movement immobilized him,
and he fell to the ground with the rest of the crowd.

"Allah'u'Akbar!" continued to fill his ears, along with the sound of more
gunfire. He felt helpless, unable to defend his people or the Republic
against the onslaught of a few misguided men. People were falling all around
him, most of them dead or wounded. Before he could rouse himself to action
something landed with a heavy thud next to him.

He turned his head and forced his eyes to focus, and he found a little girl
laying next to him. From the shape of her eyes and nose and the tone of her
skin he knew she was from Senegal, a country in which he had spent many
years. She was wearing a beautiful white dress that he recognized from one
of the boutiques on the Champs-Élysée, and he knew that her overly devout
mother had probably emptied the family coffers to buy it for her first
Communion. Now it was ruined, streaked with blood.

The little girl stared at Adrien with large, frightened eyes. She appeared
to be the only person on the square who noticed him at all. She had a head
wound that was leaking blood across her forehead, and it was beginning to
pool on the stones between them, thick and dark. Beyond her Adrien could see
a pair of dark legs running toward them, probably her mother, but they soon
jerked to a stop and the woman collapsed onto the ground. He saw her eyes as
she fell: they were lifeless.

A frightened squeak brought his attention back to the little girl. Another
thunderous explosion rocked the parvis, temporarily deafening him. The
little girl was saying something to him now and even though all he could
hear was a ringing sound he knew what she was asking from the movement of
her lips: "Aidez-moi." Help me. But he couldn't.

=-=-=

Adrien bolted upright in his bed in the Élysée Palace. An alarm clock on the
side of the bed and his wife's angry protests at the sudden movement alerted
him to the very early hour. He was drenched in sweat and still recovering
from cold chills. He fumbled for the bedside light and finally flicked it
on, as if the light could clear his mind of the little girl and her mother's
lifeless eyes. The intelligence he'd received the afternoon before had
brought back to mind the initial report he'd received on the incident, which
had been shockingly vivid in its retelling of the incident.

The President of the French Republic practically fell out of his bed and
hastily made his way toward the bathroom, focusing entirely on the door
ahead of him lest he see the vision of the little girl and her mother
lurking in some corner of his bedroom. He ignored his wife calling after
him, shut the door behind himself and lurched for the sink.

=-=-=

He had originally contemplated calling an emergency meeting of the entire
Cabinet but he was quite certain that it would only add fuel to the fire.
The Minister for National Education had very little to do with catching
terrorists, and he'd only go back to debrief his deputies who would surely
debrief everyone they knew and before you could stop it the Agence
France-Presse's latest headline was the topic of the meeting.

This morning's meeting was small, held in the President's own office and
consisted of Jean-François Verdier, the Minster of the Interior; Jeanne
Broquedis, the Minister of Justice; Etienne Bourbois, Director of the
Direction Centrale du Renseignement Intérieur (DCRI); and Laurent Chevalier,
Director of the Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure (DGSE). They
each had a copy of the joint report filed by the intelligence agencies
sitting in front of them and a few cups of coffee were scattered around.

The coffee Adrien's assistant had brought him earlier in the morning had
long ago gone cold. He skipped breakfast for lack of hunger. He could tell
from the looks on the faces of the officials in the room that he must have
looked a little rough. A lack of sleep quickly developed bags under his
eyes, a fault he'd lived with most of his life.

"This is not encouraging information, although it is no fault of your own,"
President Durant said, motioning toward the file sitting on his desk.
"Anyone mind telling me what the hell the Islamic Force of the Frankish
Lands is, and more importantly where we can find it?"

The report had taken everything in a drastically different direction.
Originally the assumption had been that the terrorists were foreign-born
nationals but they were now identified as being French-born. The good news
was that it would at least (hopefully) temporarily take off some of the
pressure for immigration reform in the hopes of finding a European consensus
on the matter. More good news was that the Algerians had agreed to cooperate
with French authorities if it became necessary, but that point seemed
largely moot since the terrorists in question were more home-grown.

The rest of the information was grim. The best lead they had was on some
organisation known as the Islamic Force of the Frankish Lands, which they'd
never heard of. At all. Police agencies and ordinary people were beginning
to agitate for some real action. They needed someone to pin their anger on.
Add into the mix an opportunistic bunch from the Church and it seemed as if
the entire situation was wildly and rapidly spinning out of control.

Etienne Bourbois from DCRI, the domestic intelligence agency, cleared his
throat. "I'm afraid we're not entirely sure who they are, what their aims
might be and whether or not they have the capability to launch another
attack. They haven't actually claimed responsibility; we've only heard their
name through informants."

"As far as I'm concerned, the fact that they haven't claimed responsibility
makes them all the more insidious and dangerous," Minister Verdier said. "If
they claimed responsibility we'd at least have a solid lead on the matter,
and that's a lot more than the whispers in a dark back alley that we're
working with now. If they did carry out this attack, they're a lot smarter
than these small time operations clambering for the limelight and a forum to
air their grievances."

"Is it possible that they're related to the four Algerians detained two
years ago?" Durant asked, glancing in Minister Broquedis's direction. The
men continued to be held in the custody of her Ministry pending their final
trial in a few months.

"I think almost anything is a possibility at this point; however, it's
extremely unlikely. We've done everything short of torturing them for
information, and it appears they were operating outside of any organisation.
This is something altogether different that we're dealing with right now,"
Minister Broquedis replied, revealing the pragmatism that landed her at the
top of the Justice Ministry.

"And what is our plan of action for obtaining more information on the
organisation?" Durant inquired. He noted that Verdier and Bourbois exchanged
a glance before Verdier spoke, indicating they had discussed the matter
prior to this meeting.

"It's very likely that there are a number of individuals with more than a
passing knowledge of the organisation and the attackers living within
France. I have already spoken with the Préfet de Police, and we have drawn
up a plan to enter the bidonville to identify and apprehend these
individuals and then remand them to DCRI's custody."

Minister Broquedis had noted the look on the President's face at the mention
of a Parisian bidonville and shifted nervously in her seat.

"Jean-François, I hope that is the sort of nomenclature you use only in
private. This is not Bangui, it is Paris. The City of Lights has suburbs,
Minister, not slums. Is that clear?" Durant asked rhetorically. "Now, are
you looking for another racial profiling incident like the police had on
their hands in five years ago? I think this issue is sensitive enough
without the police getting heavy handed about it."

Etienne Bourbois leaned forward in his seat. "With all due respect, sir, the
people we are up against do not work within the constraints of public image.
Unless you are looking to dissolve the Parliament soon, there are no
upcoming elections. A political casualty here or there is worth it to catch
the people responsible for this. We are all dealing with building pressure
from the public over perceived inaction. The ordinary citizen doesn't
realize or doesn't care about the time it takes to delicately handle a
situation like this. They merely want it resolved."

Durant waved his hand with impatience. "I'm not referring to political
manoeuvring; this is managing relations between two very different
communities within the Republic. Things are practically at a boiling point
and if we send the police force into the suburbs with guns blazing it's the
equivalent of releasing a bull in a china shop. We'll have Imams denouncing
us from the pulpits of every mosque in the Republic and beyond by the end of
such a day. Don't we have a more delicate alternative? I'm not willing to
sacrifice future gains in goodwill with our immigrant community for the sake
of nabbing a few people that may or may not know anything simply because
they live in the suburbs."

Minister Verdier looked ready to argue the point but Bourbois spoke before
he had the opportunity to do so. "We have a few suspects already, and their
arrest warrants can be issued at any time. I'd be perfectly willing to work
with the Préfet de Police's investigative units to identify other suspects
but getting information out of them won't be easy. I'd like to have your
consent to use limited physical means to extract the information we need."

The Justice Minister nearly choked on a mouthful of coffee and rushed to set
the cup down and recover to get her opinion lodged. "Have you been reading
notes from the Bush Administration? 'Limited physical means' is a fancy way
of saying torture! If I didn't see you sitting here in front of me,
Director, I'd be convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt that the phrase had
come directly from an Alberto Gonzales memorandum. President Durant, I must
appeal to your better senses. The use of limited physical means is likely to
be interpreted in a very negative light by our own justice system, not to
mention the European Union."

Durant briefly glanced at Verdier. Recent reports had suggested public
opinion had swung wildly against the European Court of Human Rights (ECHR),
the body likely to bring any prosecution against the country, but the
reports had so far remained privy only to the Presidency and the Interior
Ministry. The President was hoping it was a temporary setback to European
integration precipitated by recent events and keeping it quiet was the best
way to allow it to blow over.

"I'm afraid desperate times call for desperate measures, Minister Broquedis,
and it will be your responsibility to begin working on a defence for the
Government in the event that things go against us," Durant sighed. "All
right, Mr. Bourbois, I'll have the authorization sent to your office within
the hour. I trust you'll be working closely with Minister Verdier on the
matter of investigations and arrests. Sensitively and delicately as befits
the situation is how I'd like you to handle it, Jean-François, and if you
cannot determine how to properly interpret that then I will find someone to
serve in the Cabinet who can."

Minister Verdier nodded his consent. Durant stood up from his desk and
extended his hand across it to each of the government officials as a way of
thanking them for attending the meeting. As they shuffled toward the door,
each eager to begin tackle their own responsibilities, Durant called out to
his friend, the largely silent DGSE Director.

"Laurent, I must pay a visit to the Cardinal-Archbishop. Will you please
ride along with me?"

"Of course, Adrien," Laurent Chevalier said. "I trust it won't take too
long, will it? I have a number of small governments to topple this
afternoon."

Durant smiled wryly. "Forging my signature again, are we?"

=-=-=-=
Actions:

1.) Authorize DCRI to work with the Ministry of the Interior and its
Prefecture of Police (responsible for policing duties in the Paris-area) to
investigate suspects and where necessary arrest them and interrogate them
using (if necessary) limited physical means on the Islamic Force of the
Frankish Lands and the terrorist attack on Notre Dame. Insure that the
investigations and detentions are carried out in all areas of Paris to avoid
any allegations of racial profiling.

2.) Instruct the Justice Ministry to begin crafting a defence for the
interrogation efforts to hold in reserve for any possible legal action taken
against the Government.