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this site for Victoire’s protest demonstrations,” Joe said. “It’s pretty spooky.”
    Isabelle was already standing on a platform and talking to the small crowd. She had on her camouflage uniform and combat boots, and her red hair looked even brighter in the sunlight. Joe, Frank, and Jacques blended in with the group and then fanned out a little.
    Joe listened for a while. Isabelle switched back and forth from French to English, so although Joe wasn’t as good at translating as his brother, he still picked up most of what she said. It was pretty much the same speech that she had been giving when he caught the tomato in the face.
    While listening, Joe observed the crowd. He tried to pick out the ones who were really members of Victoire. Some were easy to peg. They wore tan T-shirts with VICTOIRE scribbled across them in large purple letters.
    As he watched the rest, he noticed a young woman who seemed to be watching him . When he caught her eye, she looked startled. Then she turned and disappeared quickly into the growing crowd.
    Joe wandered along, watching for her. Finally he saw her again. This time she seemed to be signaling to one of the other Victoire members. She nodded her head toward the building and then back at the man. He nodded back and then disappeared into the crowd.
    Joe ducked out of her sight and watched as the woman moved toward the building and crept around the corner. He looked around for Frank or Jacques. He wanted to let them know what was happening, just in case. But he couldn’t see either one.
    Joe decided he’d better not wait for them, as it might mean losing the opportunity. He cautiously followed the woman around the corner of the Conciergerie. As he walked, Joe remembered the disturbing warning that Frank had been given earlier. He kept his guard up and a healthy distance between himself and the woman he was following.
    Joe watched the woman go into the Conciergerie, and after a short wait, he walked through the entrance after her. He found himself in a large vaulted stone chamber that was dimly lit and gloomy. He felt his muscles tense. His senses were on high alert.
    He sidled close to the shadowy wall and followed the young woman down a spiral staircase. Downstairs, prison cells with costumed mannequins displayed life as it had once been in the prison and the torture chamber.
    The woman suddenly stopped and looked around. Joe ducked back into the shadows, waiting. The woman was standing in front of Marie Antoinette’s old cell.
    Inside the room were two life-size figures. A mannequin dressed like Marie Antoinette sat in a chair reading. A mannequin dressed as a uniformed guard stood watching. A few other chairs, a cot, and a small writing table filled out the small cell.
    Quietly Joe reached into his backpack and took out the long-range microphone/recorder that his dad had gotten at the conference. The Victoire woman paced back and forth until the man she had signaled to earlier arrived.
    Joe backed up about thirty yards to a spot where he could still see the two. Then he hoisted himself up to a beam overlooking the cell and the two Victoire conspirators. He turned on the recorder, aimed the mike, and placed the earpiece in his ear.
    The two began speaking quietly, but then got into a heated argument. Joe could translate some of the conversation, and two terms he understood very well: “Le Stade” and “spectateur.”
    The Victoire couple left after about twentyminutes. Joe packed up his gear and swung down from his spy perch.
    When he reached up to pull down his backpack, he heard a shuffling noise coming toward him. Before he could turn, he was hit with a crushing blow, and someone’s head butted into his side.
    â€œOooomph!” Joe groaned as he doubled over and crashed onto the stone floor. Fighting down the searing pain, he scrambled back up just in time to see someone grab his backpack and take off.

6 Gimme an M?
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    Joe