C'est la Vie (Raja Williams Series) (16 page)

As the hours ticked past, visions of being locked away in some dank underground cell began to creep into Raja’s head. Maybe he wasn’t as well connected as he thought. More likely an enemy was better connected. Much later than Raja expected, an officer came and opened his cell.

“Turn around,” said the officer. Raja did so, and the gendarme cuffed his hands behind him.

“Is this necessary?” asked Raja.

“It is standard procedure,” said the officer. “This way.” The officer took him to get fingerprinted and photographed. Another more thorough search turned up nothing of interest.

“I don’t suppose asking for legal representation would do any good?”

“You have not been arrested,” said the officer. “You are merely being detained.”

Raja loved the many ways legal hairs could be split when it came down to it. And the euphemisms. “Why the fingerprinting, if I’m not being arrested?” He knew the answer before it came.

“Standard procedure,” said the officer.

Next stop was an interrogation room. The walls were drab green and the floor a dull grey linoleum. Raja was cuffed to a heavy metal table bolted to the floor in the center of the room. He looked around but there was nothing to see. The room was devoid of decoration. After waiting over an hour, Raja smiled. Maybe they planned to bore him into confessing. When the door finally opened several hours later, Raja perked up until he saw who walked in. It was Captain Milan, the very woman who had kicked him in the teeth the last time he was in the Gendarmerie attempting to get information. The ice queen would have fit right in as an interrogator in one of those old black and white World War II films.

“I see you have managed to find your way back to us, Monsieur Williams.”

Raja recalled the last time he had been to the dentist. This was going to be worse. He unclenched his jaw and said, “Yes, Capitaine.”

“Do you know why you are here?”

“I’m sure I could come up with something, but I’d rather you just
tell
me and put me out of my misery.”

“I have several reports in front of me. Gun running in Africa. Illegal flights in and out of Afghanistan. An unauthorized armed raid on a labor camp inside a country not favorable to the West. These certainly appear to be serious acts that could be added up to terrorism, depending on one’s point of view.” Captain Milan paused to let the communication have an effect.

Raja knew exactly what she was talking about, but they were far from acts of terrorism. Nonetheless, it did sound bad, even to him. Knowing he wasn’t going to charm his way out of this mess, he estimated his options. A desperate phone call to the right person might work, but he knew he likely wouldn’t get one. He needed a plan, something he was sorely lacking at the moment. He had to say something, and opened his mouth to speak.

“I am not finished, Monsieur.”

Raja closed his mouth and sighed. Bad just might get worse.

“As I said, these could sum up to terrorist acts from a particular view, which I am quite certain they were meant to do.” Again she paused.

Raja said nothing.

“Do you know what is NOT in these reports, Monsieur Williams?”

“No.”

“Any reports that are less than five years old. Finding that odd, I made a thorough examination of all the information available on these events. The complete data revealed that, in fact, your actions saved lives. Innocent lives. That is MY view.”

Raja was beginning to warm up to Captain Milan.

“Turn off the recorder,” she said looking at the camera in the corner. The red light went off. “Someone has tried to, how do you Americans say, railroad you. I will not be a party to it. And, I will find out who is behind this action.”

Raja would have bet good money against such a favorable outcome, and lost. Now was certainly no time to complain.

The captain called for the guard. “Uncuff this man. He is cleared to leave on my authority. You are to personally make sure he gets his belongings and gets out the door. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Capitaine,” said the guard, unlocking the handcuffs.

“I would prefer not seeing you in here again, Monsieur Williams, especially under similar circumstances. Remember, you will remain on the terrorist watch list. Fate can be a very fickle mistress.” With that, Captain Milan turned and exited the room.

Not one to tempt the gods, Raja kept his mouth shut and followed the officer until he was clear of the building. Only then did he call Vinny.

Chapter Twenty-four: Remy Plays Detective

Lieutenant Montagne had watched helplessly as the gendarmes loaded Raja into their police van. One by one, the other police cars left the bridge and still Remy had not moved. Finally, after normal traffic was restored on the bridge as if nothing had ever happened, a loud car horn snapped Remy’s mind back into gear. There was little he could do about Raja’s predicament. Raja Williams was in the hands of the gendarmes now. Even if he wanted to, Remy was in no position to influence the outcome. He was lucky not to have gotten hauled in himself. The gendarmes were all business, especially when it came to terrorism. He probably should go back to the police station, file a report, in triplicate of course, and return to the pile of paperwork that perpetually filled the basket on his desk. That would be expected. That would be the safe thing for him to do.

Remy jingled the keys in his hand. He looked at the sleek orange Porsche sitting on the side of the bridge. On the other hand, he and Raja had done a great job of uncovering a smuggling operation. The opportunity to find out what was in that fourth container and where it was going stood right in front of him. As a policeman, wasn’t it his duty to follow such a lead? Remy smiled. And, of course, it would give him the chance to drive that wonderful little car.

Having settled the issue to his satisfaction, Remy positioned himself at a vantage point on the bridge where he could see all the activity on the dock below. He located the spot where they had found the four containers from the
Alhambra
. Remy was fairly certain he knew which ones they were. A large crane was methodically picking up containers and loading them onto railroad flat beds, at a rate of approximately four per hour. He had no way of knowing when the particular four he was interested in would be loaded. He also didn’t know which one was carrying contraband. He wished Raja
were
there.

As the hours rolled by, he realized the planning necessary to do long term surveillance. He had no food, and was afraid to go for any lest he miss something. His stomach was growling loudly. Also, with four containers to follow and only one of him, he had to hope he would be tracking the right one. Again he thought of Raja, assuming that he would know what to do. Remy thought about calling the station for additional help, but decided against it. With everything that had happened, he might be recalled immediately.

Despite having just met Raja, Remy felt a fierce loyalty to him for several reasons. First, he had learned so much about doing investigation from Raja in such a short time. It was more than he had learned in two months of police training or from his superiors in a year on the job. Second, Raja had given him the opportunity to get out into the field where he longed to be. When Remy joined the police force he never imagined he would be sitting behind a desk shuffling papers. The most important reason was the way Raja treated him as an equal and as a friend. Remy knew that whatever Raja had done, he could not be a terrorist. Maybe breaking this case would help the gendarmes to see that as well. Now it was up to him.

The worst part of doing a lengthy surveillance was needing to go to the bathroom. Remy found nothing useful in the car, and searched unsuccessfully along the edge of the bridge for a suitable container. Not a day went by that Remy didn’t see and reluctantly ignore someone who was littering, as he had been instructed to do by his superior. Where were the litterers when you needed them? Finally the moment arrived when he was going to pee, one way or another. There was a small service platform attached just below the outer edge of the bridge. There he would at least be out of sight of the drivers on the bridge. Remy climbed down onto the platform and peed off the side. The wind dispersed the liquid into the air below, and he held to the idea that it was all vaporized long before reaching the ground where some unlucky pedestrian might be walking.

Having relieved himself, Remy settled in for a long night of watching. Just after midnight the crane plucked the first of the
Alhambra
boxes from the dock. As the crane slowly swung the box over the flatbed railroad car, Remy could see the logo on the side. This was it. He had plenty of time to make a plan. From the bridge he could see the train tracks heading off to the south toward the railroad station stockyard where cars and containers were transferred to other trains heading to other cities, or the contents were unloaded onto trucks for local deliveries. He would wait until the train was moving and in route to the stockyard. He had mapped out a direct route that would get him to the train yard in time to determine what happened to his containers.

Remy waited until all four target containers were loaded before he hopped into the Porsche. When the train finished loading and had begun to move, he drove off the bridge and swung onto the road that ran south near the tracks. The growl of the car’s exhaust put a smile on Remy’s face. He raced along the dark road to make sure he reached the stockyard first, nearly hitting a delivery truck while peering over toward the rolling train.

The stockyard was a huge expanse with several cranes like the ones on the docks. There was a mishmash of tracks and roads, allowing for railroad cars to be uncoupled and rerouted to other tracks, and for trucks to reach the containers for loading. There was no sign of security. Remy slowed the Porsche to a crawl and rolled silently into the stockyard. He had noted the engine number stenciled on the train coming from the docks—number 564. Most of the stockyard area was dark, with spotlights only lighting up places where men were unloading container contents into trucks. Remy pulled into a shadow and parked to wait. Within minutes he heard the approach of a train. As it passed through a lit area he saw the number 564 on the engine. The train stopped. A half dozen cars were uncoupled from the middle section and routed onto a side spur. The rest of the cars were reconnected, and the train resumed moving. Remy ran across the stockyard to check the containers that remained. They included the four from the
Alhambra
. All but one of the containers were taken off their railroad cars by crane and placed onto a loading dock. The last one remained untouched. Thinking that must be the one with the contraband, Remy made his way closer, staying in the shadows. The car and container sat in the dark. Remy pulled out a small pen light and walked around the car. This was one of the
Alhambra
containers. It had to be the one he was looking for.

Remy made his way back to the Porsche and pulled closer where he had a clear line of sight to the single container. Workmen unloaded the other containers under the bright floodlights of the loading dock, making four piles of what looked like rolled up Oriental carpets. Four delivery trucks pulled up one after the other and the same men loaded each one until the dock was empty. After the trucks departed, the crew turned off the lights and left the stockyard. Remy watched as two other containers were unloaded at a site several hundred feet away. When the crates had been loaded onto trucks, the workers turned out the lights and left. The stockyard was now quiet and dark.

Remy waited another half hour but nothing happened. Puzzled, Remy got out of the car and made his way to the remaining container car just to double check. The
Alhambra
logo, a pair of camels on either side of a stylized minaret, was clear in the beam of his penlight. The fourth container was still there untouched.

Remy heard the crunch of boots on the train yard gravel from behind him. The sound was not far away. He switched off his pen light and pressed up against the side of the railroad car, just as three men walked by.

“I don’t see why you need to unload this now,” asked one of the men. “And why the heavy weapons?”

“You are being paid to work the crane, not ask a lot of questions,” said another man. Remy could see moonlight reflect off what looked like an automatic weapon. “As I said, my employer wishes to keep a low profile. He has competitors who would like to get their hands on his merchandise. These are rare antiques. Can you work the crane or do I have to find someone else?”

The voices faded as the men moved past the car. Remy heard the sound of the crane motor start up and was about to make a run for better cover when bright light exploded all around the car. He dropped down and rolled underneath.

“Turn that off,” said the man with the gun. The light went out. Remy crawled behind one of the large train car wheels and waited while the crane lifted the container and deposited it onto the dark loading dock. A truck pulled up with its headlights off.

Remy sneaked closer and saw the gunman hand the crane operator a thick envelope, presumably a large amount of cash for fifteen minutes work. Three other men efficiently loaded crates from the container into the back of the truck. When they finished, one of them slammed the rear of the truck shut and they climbed into the truck’s cab. The man with the weapon walked up to the driver. “I’ll follow you to the warehouse,” he said, and the truck pulled out.

Remy scrambled back to the Porsche. By the time he got out of the stockyard, the gunman was already ahead of him in a small black Peugeot. Remy followed the cat’s eye taillights of the little car at a safe distance. Soon the car was cruising across Paris on the Champs-
E
lys
é
es. Remy saw the truck just ahead of the Peugeot. Two right turns off the main road put them into a warehouse district outside the city. The plain brick buildings stood in stark contrast to the beautiful monuments seen along the main road that highlighted Paris.