The Paris Vendetta (16 page)

THIRTY-ONE

M
ALONE WAS LED AT GUNPOINT THROUGH THE DESERTED MUSEUM
. All of the patrons were gone, and apparently the interior had been locked down. There’d been a lot of shooting, which made him wonder about the lack of police or museum security.

“What’s the Secret Service doing here?” As if he had to ask. “Did you happen to see one of your own? Young guy. Good looking. A bit eager. Name’s Sam Collins.”

But it won him only more silence.

They passed through an exhibit hall with dark red walls, more altarpieces, and three display cases in shambles. Somebody in an official capacity was really going to be pissed.

He spotted another bleeding body lying on the floor.

Flat Face.

At the room’s other exit a stairway dropped down to his right and an open double doorway broke the wall to his left. A laminated placard announced that beyond was
LA DAME À LA LICORNE
.

Malone pointed. “In there?”

The man nodded, then lowered his gun and withdrew back into the red gallery. The agent’s diffident way amused him.

He stepped into a dark space that displayed six colorful tapestries, each carefully illuminated with indirect light. Ordinarily he’d be impressed, as he recalled that these were among the museum’s most prized possessions, 15th-century originals, but it was the solitary figure sitting on one of three benches in the center of the room that connected all the dots.

Stephanie Nelle.

His former boss.

“You managed to destroy another national treasure,” she said, rising and facing him.

“Wasn’t me this time.”

“Who slammed a chair into a glass case to get a sword and shield?”

“I see you were watching.”

“The French want you,” she made clear.

“Which means I owe you—” He caught himself. “No. I probably owe President Daniels. Right?”

“He personally intervened, once I reported that all hell had broken loose.”

“What about the museum guard who was shot?”

“On the way to the hospital. He should make it.”

“The guy outside. Secret Service?”

She nodded. “On loan.”

He’d known Stephanie a long time, having worked for her twelve years at the Justice Department in the Magellan Billet. They’d been through a lot together, especially over the past two years, ever since he’d supposedly retired.

“I’m sorry about your father,” she told him.

He hadn’t thought about the last two weeks in a few hours. “Thanks for what you did on your end.”

“It needed to be done.”

“Why are you here?

“Sam Collins. I understand you two have met.”

He sat on one of the benches and allowed the tapestries to draw his gaze. Each comprised a dark blue rounded isle, strewn with flowery plants, in vibrant colors that ranged from deep red to bright pink. A noble lady with a unicorn and a lion was depicted on all six, in varying scenes. He knew the allegory—representations of the five senses, mythical enchantment. Subtle messages from long ago, which he’d had more than his share of lately.

“Is Sam in trouble?” he asked.

“He was in trouble the moment he connected with Thorvaldsen.”

She told him about a meeting with Danny Daniels yesterday, in the Oval Office, where the president of the United States made clear that something important was happening in Copenhagen.

“Daniels knew about Sam. He’d been briefed by the Secret Service.”

“Seems like a trivial matter for the president to be concerned with.”

“Not once he was told that Thorvaldsen is involved.”

Good point.

“Cotton, this Paris Club is real. Our people have been watching it for over a year. Nothing alarming, until lately. But I need to know what Thorvaldsen is doing.”

“So is this about Sam? Or Henrik?”

“Both.”

“How did we jump from the Paris Club to Henrik?”

“Like I’m an idiot. You’re sitting there with the vacuum cleaner turned on, sucking in whatever info I’m willing to offer. That’s not why I’m here. I need to know what that crazy Dane is doing.”

He knew that Henrik and Stephanie enjoyed a relationship born of mutual distrust, though they’d been forced, on more than one occasion of late, to actually rely on each other. He decided that since he really didn’t have a dog in this fight, other than helping his best friend, for once he’d tell the truth. “He’s after Cai’s killer.”

Stephanie shook her head. “I knew it was probably something like that. He’s about to screw up a major intelligence operation, along with compromising a critical source.”

More dots instantly connected. His face tightened in speculation. “Graham Ashby works for our side?”

She nodded. “He’s been providing a lot of vital intel.”

A wave of unease broke over him. “Henrik’s going to kill him.”

“You have to stop him.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Cotton, there’s more happening here. The Paris Club is planning something spectacular. What? We don’t know. At least not yet. A woman named Eliza Larocque heads the group. She’s the brains. Ashby is part of the administrative arm. He does what she says, but he’s been keeping our side informed. That club comprises seven of the wealthiest people in the world. Of course, we’re not sure that the members all know what Larocque is planning.”

“Why not tell them?”

“Because the decision has been made to take them all down at once. They’re into corruption, bribery, extortion, and massive amounts of financial and securities fraud. They’ve disrupted currency exchanges and may be responsible for weakening the dollar internationally. We’re going to send a message by taking them out in one swoop.”

He knew the score. “They go down, while Ashby walks free.”

“It’s the price to be paid. We wouldn’t have known about any of this without him.”

He again focused on one of the tapestries. A young woman, surrounded by a lion and a unicorn, choosing a sweet from a dish while a parakeet held another in its claw.

“Do you have any idea the mess this is?” he asked.

“I do now. Our people recently learned that Thorvaldsen has Ashby under surveillance. He’s even bugged the man’s estate. That is probably only possible since Ashby’s guard is down. He thinks he’s okay with us
and
Eliza Larocque. He hasn’t a clue Thorvaldsen is watching. But the president wants Thorvaldsen out of the picture.”

“Henrik killed two men last night. One of them was involved with Cai’s death.”

“I can’t blame him there. Nor am I going to interfere, except to the extent it jeopardizes Ashby.”

He wanted to know, “What is the Paris Club planning?”

“That’s the thing. Ashby hasn’t told us yet. Just that it’s coming, and soon. Within days. I assume it’s his way to ensure a continued value.”

“So who are the two dead men out there in the museum?”

“They work for Eliza Larocque. The other woman, the one in the blue smock, spooked them and they overreacted.”

“How mad are the French?”

“It’s not good.”

“This is not my fault.”

“The Secret Service has had this museum under watch for over a month.” She hesitated. “With no problem.”

“The girl in the blue smock started it.”

“I learned on the flight over that Eliza Larocque has been investigating the GreedWatch website. I assume that’s what those two were doing following your man, Foddrell.”

“Where’s Sam?”

“He’s been taken. I watched it happen on the security cameras.”

“Police?”

She shook her head. “The girl in the blue smock.”

“You think you should have helped him.”

“It’s not a problem.”

He knew Stephanie well. They’d worked together a long time. He’d been one of the original twelve lawyer-agents at the Magellan Billet, personally hired by her. So his next question was easy, “You know all about her, don’t you?”

“Not exactly. I had no idea what she was going to do, but I’m damn glad she did it.”

THIRTY-TWO

S
AM HAD BEEN LED FROM THE MUSEUM’S TOP FLOOR, DOWN THE
same stairway he’d initially climbed, to the ground. There he and the woman had descended another stairway into the closed
frigidarium
, where Jimmy Foddrell waited. Together they’d all passed through a stone archway, barred by an iron gate that the woman opened with a key.

He was a little unnerved by the gun. Never had one been pointed directly at him, so close, so direct, the threat of harm so immediate. Still, he sensed that he wasn’t in danger. Instead, he may well be on the right trail.

He decided to follow it. He wanted to be a field agent.
So
, he told himself,
be one. Improvise. That’s what Malone would do
.

Foddrell relocked the gate behind them.

Walls scabbed of brick and stone rose fifty feet around him. Light trickled in from windows high up, near a vaulted ceiling, the space chilly, with the look and feel of a dungeon. Some repair work was ongoing, as scaffolding had been erected against one of the rough-hewn walls.

“You can go or stay,” the woman said to him. “But I really need you to stay.”

“Who are you?”

“Meagan Morrison. GreedWatch is my website.”

“Not his?” he asked, pointing at Foddrell.

She shook her head. “All mine.”

“What’s he doing here?”

She seemed to be deciding what—and how much—to say. “I wanted you to see that I’m not crazy. That there are people after me. They’ve been watching me for weeks. Michael works with me on the site. I made up the Foddrell name and used him as a decoy.”

“So you led me and Malone here?” he asked the man she’d called Michael.

“It was pretty easy, actually.”

Yes, it was.

“I work here, at the museum,” she said. “When you emailed and said you wanted to meet, I was glad. Those two guys who were shot have been following Michael for two weeks. If I’d told you that, you wouldn’t have believed me. So I showed you. There are some other men who also come nearly every day and check on me, but they think I don’t notice.”

“I have people who can help.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “I don’t want
people
. In fact, it’s probably some of
your
people doing that other watching. FBI. Secret Service. Who knows? I want to deal with
you.”
She paused. “You and I”—the anger had dropped form her voice—“see eye-to-eye.”

He was transfixed by her earnestness, along with the attractive, wounded look on her face. But he had to say, “People were shot in there. One of the guards was hurt bad.”

“And I hate that, but I didn’t start this.”

“Actually, you did. Yelling at those two guys.”

She was petite, full-bosomed, slender-waisted, and feisty. Her fiery blue eyes sparkled with an almost fiendish delight—commanding and confident. He was actually the tense one, his palms moist, and he desperately didn’t want to show his anxiety. So he assumed a casual pose and weighed his options.

“Sam,” she said, her voice softer. “I need to talk with you. Privately. Those guys have been on Michael’s trail. Not mine. The others, the Americans who watch me, we just avoided them by getting out of there.”

“Are they the ones who shot those two?”

She shrugged. “Who else?”

“I want to know who sent those two we followed here. Who do they work for?”

She stared back with an expression of undisguised boldness. He felt himself being appraised. Part of him was repelled, another part hoped she was at least somewhat impressed.

“Come with me, and I’ll show you.”

M
ALONE LISTENED AS
S
TEPHANIE EXPLAINED ABOUT
G
REED
W
ATCH
.

“It’s run by the woman who started this melee. Meagan Morrison. She’s an American, educated here, at the Sorbonne, in economics. She set you up sending the other young man—Foddrell. That’s a pseudonym Morrison uses to operate the website.”

He shook his head. “Played by an idiot who eats kidneys for lunch. Story of my life.”

She chuckled. “I’m glad you fell for it. Made it easy for us to connect. Daniels told me that Sam has been in contact with GreedWatch for over a year now. He was told to stop, but he didn’t listen. The Secret Service, through its Paris field office, has been monitoring the site, and Morrison herself, for the past few months. She’s a sly one. The guy who led you here is set up as the official webmaster. For the past two weeks, he’s been under separate surveillance, which the Service traced back to Eliza Larocque.”

“None of which tells me why you’re here and know all this.”

“We think that website is privy to some inside info, and apparently so does Larocque.”

“You didn’t come here just to tell me about a website. What’s really going on?”

“Peter Lyon.”

He knew about the South African. One of the world’s most wanted men. Into illicit arms, political assassination, terrorism, whatever the client wanted. Billed himself as a broker of chaos. When Malone retired two years ago, at least a dozen bombings and hundreds of deaths were linked to Lyon.

“He’s still in business?” he asked.

“More so than ever. Ashby has been meeting with him. Larocque is planning something that involves Lyon. Men like him don’t surface often. This may be the best chance we ever have to nail him.”

“And Ashby holding out information on that possible opportunity isn’t a problem?”

“I know. I wasn’t running this operation. I would have never allowed him to call those shots.”

“It’s obvious he’s playing both ends against the middle. They sure as hell can’t let him continue to hold back.”

“He won’t. Not anymore. This is now a Billet operation. As of twelve hours ago, I’m in charge. So I want the SOB squeezed.”

“Before or after Henrik kills him?”

“Preferably before. Ashby met with Lyon in Westminister just a few hours ago. We had parabolic mikes on the conversation.”

“I see somebody was thinking. What about Lyon?”

“They let him be. No tail, and I agreed with that. If he gets spooked, he’ll go to ground. Right now he’s comfortable coming to Ashby.”

He smiled at Lyon’s cockiness. “Glad to know everyone screws up.”

“Some keys were passed from Ashby to Lyon and a two-day time frame mentioned, but not much else. I have a tape of the conversation.” She paused. “Now, where is the merry Dane? I need to talk to him.”

“He went to see Eliza Larocque.”

He knew that revelation would grab her attention.

“Please tell me Thorvaldsen’s not going to spook her, too?”

He noticed a flash of anger in her eyes. Stephanie liked to run her operations her way.

“He’s going to get his revenge,” he made clear.

“Not as long as I’m here. Ashby is all we have, at the moment, to learn what Lyon is doing.”

“Not necessarily. By now, Henrik’s wiggled his way into the Paris Club. He could actually prove helpful.”

They sat in silence while Stephanie pondered the situation.

“Meagan Morrison” she said, “took Sam off at gunpoint. I watched on the museum’s closed-circuit TV. I decided to allow that to happen for a reason.”

“That boy’s no field operative.”

“He’s trained Secret Service. I expect him to act the part.”

“What’s his story?”

She shook her head. “You’re as bad as Thorvaldsen. He’s a big boy. He can handle himself.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Another sad and sorry tale. Found abandoned as an infant and was raised in an orphanage.”

“No adoption?”

She shrugged. “I have no idea why not.”

“Where?”

“New Zealand, of all places. He came to America when he was eighteen on a student visa and eventually became a citizen. Attended Columbia University, graduated top third in his class. Worked hard for a few years as an accountant, then earned his way into the Secret Service. All in all, a good kid.”

“Except he doesn’t listen to his superiors.”

“Hell, you and me both fit into that category.”

He grinned. “I assume Meagan Morrison is harmless.”

“More or less. It’s Thorvaldsen who’s the problem. Sam Collins left Washington a couple of weeks ago, just after being questioned again about his website. The Secret Service tracked him straight to Copenhagen. They decided to leave him alone, but when they learned Thorvaldsen had Ashby under close watch, they went to the president. That’s when Daniels dragged me in. He thought something big was happening, and he was right. He decided, considering my close personal relationship with Thorvaldsen, I was the best person to handle it.”

He smiled at her sarcasm. “Does Eliza Larocque know Meagan Morrison is harmless?”

The tension that rose from her silence charged the room.

Finally, she said, “I don’t know.”

“She didn’t send those men for the fun of it. We’d better find out. That could be a problem for Morrison and Sam, considering what just happened here.”

“I’ll deal with Sam. I need you to concentrate on Graham Ashby.”

“How in the world did I get myself in the middle of this mess?”

“You tell me.”

But they both knew the answer, so he simply asked, “What do you want me to do?”