Letting out a deep sigh, Marty squeezed his eyes shut and tried to force his brain to stop whirring. He pictured open fields, blue skies, and anything else he could think of that might soothe him off to sleep. A crashing waterfall. Birdsong. The smell of money.
The sound of approaching footsteps was not on the list. Nor was the screech of his cell door sliding open. He sat up in the top bunk and watched as three men entered, two of them wearing guard’s uniforms. The third guy was a good six inches taller than the others and built like a pro-wrestler. His skin was black enough that Marty struggled to make out his shape in the low light, but it was obvious the man was huge.
“Ta gueule. Lie back down,” one of the guards ordered, his English a little rusty. “New prisoner transfer.”
The officers unlocked a set of cuffs and the giant man rubbed his wrists. The two guards left the cell and the bars slid closed behind them. The big guy looked up.
Marty shuffled to the edge of his bed. “You speak English?”
No reply.
“C’mon, buddy. I don’t speak a word of French, you’re gonna have to meet me in the middle. What’s your name?”
The stranger ignored the question and sat down on the lower bunk, making the bed frame creak.
“We’re gonna be here a while,” he continued. “You gotta talk to me eventually. I’m Marty Jackson, currently on year two of a five year stretch. What you in for?”
No reply.
“I was sent down for extortion. Alleged, of course. Whatever you did to get yourself here, I’m sure you’re as innocent as me.” He lay back down. “Anyways, I’ll look forward to talking some more in the morning.” Marty closed his eyes, letting his new roommate settle in for the night. The dripping noise had stopped and the cell block was silent.
Marty ignored his better judgment and sat up again. “Listen, buddy. It’s gonna be bad enough for you in here without going out of your way to piss people off. Take it from me, man. Try to show a little respect. There’s guys in gen pop that’ll take great pleasure in making an example out of you.”
Still no reply.
“Fine, you’re on your own.” He flopped back onto the bed and tried to get comfortable. He heard a rustling noise and opened his eyes again. The stranger was standing up, eyes level with the top bed.
“In the morning, show me these people,” he said. “I’d like an introduction.”
And then he was gone. The bed frame creaked and Marty screwed his eyes shut, his pulse thumping in his ears. Something about the stranger’s voice sent chills down his spine. He tried to think happy thoughts.
None came.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Reiniger dropped the stick shift into fourth gear and floored the gas pedal, feeling the turbocharger kick in and press him back into the driver’s seat. Now away from the crowded roads in the center of the city, he felt more comfortable putting his foot down and putting as much distance between him and the Commissariat Central as possible. The two liter diesel under the hood growled as the turbo eased off, and Reiniger settled into a comfortable cruising speed as the road opened up ahead. A call came through the car’s speakers and Reiniger activated the VW’s built-in telephone. The incoming number was blocked.
“You’re behind schedule.” The voice on the other end of the line came through loud and clear. “Update me on your progress.”
“I delivered Blake and his bodyguard into police custody, as requested.”
“You’re stalling. I have eyes on the situation. I know what happened. Can I trust you to rectify this?”
“Blake and a third individual, a young woman, escaped from the holding cell, presumably with help from the bodyguard. They rendezvoused with Sergeant Jordan.” He paused. “Their whereabouts are currently unknown.”
There was a brief moment of silence.
“Tell me your location.”
Reiniger shifted into sixth gear and eased off the gas a little. “The police interrupted. I’m en route to the office now.”
“Negative. Blake has property in the city. I need you to head there.”
“I’ll need an address.”
“Not over the phone. Check your inbox.”
“Get me an I.D. on the younger woman.”
“Done. I assume I don’t need to remind you of the timescales we’re working to.”
“I still have fourteen hours,” said Reiniger.
“Just make sure you get to them before the police do. Now he’s seen you, I don’t want him talking. Also be aware Blake’s company employs a private security agency in the city. He’ll have protection.”
Reiniger hung up and accessed his email via the touchscreen panel built into the VW’s console. The address had come through, a location several miles away near the Arc de Triomphe. Taking the next exit, the assassin found a secluded spot and parked. He used his cell phone to access a satellite map of the target area. Zooming in, he checked his internet browser any available information. He found several references to the ground floor restaurant, “La Gourmande”, and a brief history of the building itself. Unfortunately, there were no floor plans. Still, more than enough to work with.
Stepping out into the cold night air, Reiniger popped the trunk and pulled out a suitcase full of fresh clothes. He selected a charcoal Brioni suit and quickly changed, fastening the jacket over his gun and shoulder strap. Now more suitably dressed, he climbed back into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
With the quickest route mapped out by the car’s satellite navigation system, Reiniger set off along the Boulevard Périphérique back toward the heart of the city, grateful for the sparse traffic. He nudged the car a little above the speed limit and tried to focus. In less than thirty minutes, one way or another, this would all be over.
TWENTY-EIGHT
The air conditioning in the penthouse was set a little too cold and Mary was starting to feel the chill. While Leopold and Sophie busied themselves with the case files in the study, Mary had excused herself and gone looking for the master bedroom. Sure enough, whoever owned the place kept a Kindle on the nightstand. The e-reader was stuffed full of romance and erotica titles.
So much for classic literature, thought Mary, sitting down on the bed. The air in the bedroom was a little warmer, and the plush mattress was comfortable enough that Mary had to force herself not to lie down on it for fear of falling asleep. Instead, she took out her cell phone and stared at the screen. Another three missed calls.
She sighed, hit the redial button and heard the call connect.
“Mary, is that you?” her sister’s voice came through the speaker.
“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry I’ve not had chance to call you.”
“Or pick up.”
“I’ve been busy. Listen, Kate, mom told me you needed to talk. What do you want?”
There was a pause. “I know it’s been a while.”
“Five years. Not that anyone’s counting.”
“This isn’t about you and me, Mary. This is more important than all that. I need to make sure you’re going to be okay.”
“Make sure I’m okay? Since when did you live up to that particular part of being a big sister?”
“What happened wasn’t…” another pause. “Look, let’s not get into this, okay? At least, not over the phone.”
“Mom said you needed to get in touch urgently. If you aren’t trying to mend bridges, what the hell do you want?”
“I’m worried about your safety.”
“I’m a cop. I’m never going to be a hundred percent safe.”
“That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about the company you’ve been keeping recently. I’m talking about Blake. He’s going to get you hurt, or worse.”
“Who I choose to spend time with is none of your business,” said Mary. “And I can take care of myself. I’m a big girl.”
“This isn’t just about my personal feelings toward the guy. Not that it’s any secret I think he’s an entitled, arrogant, se
lfish son of a bitch. But this isn’t about that. He’s going to wind up getting you killed.”
“It’s part of the job. Putting myself in harm’s way is the price I have to pay for what I do. I don’t take any unnecessary risks, not that I have to explain myself to you. When was the last time you put yourself in the line of fire?”
“You have no idea what I do,” said Kate.
“You work for the World Health Organization. How dangerous could it be?”
“I see my fair share of action. But I’m not calling to argue with you, I’m trying to tell you something. Something important.”
“Then spit it out.” Mary got up from the bed and paced the room. “I need to get back to work.”
Kate sighed. “As you know, Blake’s company has its fingers in a lot of pies.”
“Yeah, but nothing that worries me.”
“Well, aside from the hedge funds, the military contracts, the energy divisions, he’s also got an entire corporation set up for biological research. Medicines, vaccines, that sort of thing. It’s called Chemworks.”
“Doesn’t sound particularly dangerous to me,” said Mary.
“They stopped sharing their research with the public over three years ago. Since then, they’ve been focusing on something else.”
“Like what?”
“Around the same time they closed their doors to the public, they started experimenting with particularly nasty strains of deadly viruses – modified H7N9, NCoV, Ebola, to name a few.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You think Blake would let that happen?”
“That’s the problem. The whole point of the research was to help people, but, like any scientific study, there are always unexpected side effects. We suspect they’ve stumbled across something that could be even worse than the diseases they were studying in the first place.”
Mary clenched her teeth. “And you’re coming to me with nothing more than the word of some informant? What is it you want me to do, exactly?”
“My informant has worked there since the beginning. He’s seen how things have changed, but it’s all been so gradual… before anyone knew what was happening, the management were shutting them off from the outside world – increasing security, making unexplained layoffs. I’m telling you, something bad is going on. And Blake is a part of it. Walk away. Just get on a plane and come back home.”
“I don’t need you or anyone else telling me what is and what isn’t safe. I can make that call myself.”
“No, you can’t,” said Kate. “Your objectivity is all screwed up. Think like a cop – either Blake knows about this and he’s going along with it, or he doesn’t know and there are people in his organization who are working against him. I don’t even know which is worse. Either way, if this research gets into the wrong hands, it could be very dangerous. And not just for you, for all of us. Do you really want to be in the picture when this all comes out? People have been killed for far less.”
“Like I said, I’m a big girl.”
“Look, I just –”
Mary hung up and threw the cell phone across the room. It hit the armchair in the corner and bounced off onto the carpet. She took a moment to compose herself and decided to join the others, picking up her phone on the way out.
“How’s it going?” she asked, walking into the study. “Any leads?”
“Nothing yet,” said Leopold. “It looks like the victims were unconnected. I can’t see any motive here.”
“Are any of them connected with you or your company?” asked Mary. “Maybe that’s the link.”
“Not that I can tell from this information, though I can have someone back at the office check for sure. We use dozens of law firms and building contractors and many of our employees have spouses that stay at home. We’ve got offices in Japan, too. I can check, but I can’t see how any of them could have done something to get them killed.”
“What about the lawyer?”
Leopold shuffled through the stack of paper. “She worked for one of the big Paris firms.”
“One of the firms your company used in the past?”
“Probably, yes. Though I can hardly keep track of everything that’s going on.”
Mary bit her lip. “But you make sure you’ve got people looking out for anything that might get you into trouble, right?”
“Sure, I have people I trust looking out for the good of the company. And looking out for me personally. Why?”
“Just wondering whether there might be some connection you’re overlooking, that’s all. Send the files through to your contact.” She handed over her cell phone and turned to leave.
“Where are you going?”
Mary paused in the doorway. “I’m in desperate need of a hot shower.”
TWENTY-NINE
Anton rousseau sat in the cramped security office and scratched his three-day stubble. The tiny video monitor only produced a black and white image and the security cameras feeding it were old. The picture was blurry as hell. He played back the video again, tracking Blake and the others from their holding cell through to the roof and into the parking garage next door. The bodyguard was gone, but there was a fourth man now. Not part of the group. Rousseau watched the gunfight again. He watched Blake and the two women jump out a window. There weren’t any cameras outside. He rewound the video and watched it again from the beginning.
Why do they always try to run? Rousseau rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. The telephone rang and he picked up.
“Capitaine?”
“Oui, speaking. What is it?”
“This is Antoine over in surveillance. We picked up some footage of three people matching the descriptions you sent. A hotel near the Commissariat sent a file over. You’ll be glad to know it’s in better condition than our own tapes.”
“Anything useful on the video?”
“We’ve got them flagging down a cab a couple of blocks away. I’m in touch with the taxi company now, we should get a destination from them soon.”
“Bon, let me know when you do.” Rousseau hung up.
He turned back to the black and white screen and tapped the glass with a finger. To Rousseau, the world looked better in monochrome. There was less opportunity for confusion. The fourth man came on the screen again, holding the gun. Whoever he was, he fought well, putting two of Rousseau’s men in the hospital and the other… The Capitaine frowned and balled up a fist. Whatever Blake was mixed up in, he wasn’t going to last long without finding help from somewhere.
Rousseau figured the American would regroup and then attempt to flee. That’s what most of them tried to do. Fortunately, it was a strategy that rarely worked. Instead, the fugitive always brought about their own destruction by venturing out into the open, falling for the allure of the ‘make or break’ escape. A better strategy would be to lay low and keep out of sight for six months. But nobody ever did.
Turning away from the monitors, Rousseau fired up the wheezing computer that took up most of the desk and accessed the web browser. He punched in a web address and accessed the Blake Investments company homepage, looking for regional offices in Paris. He found the La Defense branch after a few minutes. Rousseau printed out the details and picked up the phone, dialing an internal number.
“Oui?” a disinterested voice came on the line.
“This is Capitaine Rousseau. I need you to run a property search for any residential properties connected with Blake Investments or its subsidiaries. Focus on properties in Paris.”
“Pas de problème, shouldn’t take too long. When do you need it.”
“Now. Call my mobile phone when it’s done. I’ll be on the road.”
The captain hung up and got to his feet, slinging his jacket over his shoulder, and headed for the door. His car was parked nearby and Rousseau wanted to be in it when the call came through. He did his best thinking while driving, especially at night when the roads were empty and he could roll down the windows without being blasted with exhaust fume
s.
Rousseau climbed into his unmarked car, a dark blue Renault, and coaxed it out of the parking lot and onto the road. He headed north and cleared his mind while he waited for the information. He didn’t have to wait long.
“The taxi had several fares tonight, but only one that picked up anywhere near the Commissariat Central. The final drop point was on the Champs-Elysées,” said the officer, his voice patched through to the car’s wireless speakers.
“Any luck searching for properties nearby?”
“Oui, there’s an apartment block there. All of the properties have been leased, so are probably occupied. Perhaps he went somewhere else.”
“They might be leased, but that doesn’t mean there’s anyone living there right now. Call the concierge and find out.”
“Oui, Capitaine.”
The line went dead and Rousseau turned the Renault around, heading in the direction of the Arc de Triomphe. With the window down, a cool wind whipped at his hair and face, drowning out the noise of the engine. Ignoring the traffic signals ahead, Rousseau kept his foot planted to the floor and disappeared into the night.
THIRTY
“Thank God for that.” Harris sounded relieved. “You had me worried there.”
“I assume Gerard was your idea?” said Leopold, holding the telephone receiver to his ear. The study’s landline was still operational, offering a more secure connection than a cell phone.
“Of course. Whatever’s going on, we can’t afford to take any chances. Speaking of which, I still have no idea what you’re mixed up in.”
“Let me worry about that.”
“Same as always, huh?”
Leopold smiled. “Same as always. Listen, keep your ear to the ground. I need to know if anything comes up that’s a little out of the ordinary. Can you round up the usual players?”
“Sure thing. What’s your next move?”