Royal Target

by Traci Hunter Abramson

  “I can do this,” she muttered, even as she reminded herself that their relationship was purely professional now. Working up her nerve, she found his number in the phone’s directory and made the call. A frustrated sigh escaped when she reached his voice mail. “Garrett, I just wanted to thank you for the phone. I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

  She hung up and moved into the office. Her desk had been set up to look out the window facing the naval base, and a daybed had been situated on the opposite wall. Just inside the door was a worktable, now laden with the three boxes that had just been delivered.

  Janessa pulled the first box into reach and grabbed a pair of scissors from her desk. Ripping open the top, she discovered a new fax machine. Pleased, she moved the box to the side and opened the next one. This time she uncovered a STU-III, a telephone that would allow her to communicate securely with other members of the US intelligence community. The two machines together would allow her to send and receive secure faxes as well as communicate securely on the telephone.

  The last box was the largest of the three. Inside were several smaller boxes, which Janessa discovered held the surveillance equipment Levi had requested. She was still poking through boxes when her new cell phone rang. Abandoning her new toys, Janessa hurried to the other room to answer it.

  “Janessa?” Garrett’s voice came over the line. “I’m sorry I missed your call. I was in a meeting.”

  She heard the strain in Garrett’s voice and asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s right?” Garrett muttered. “I just met with my father and his chief of internal affairs. The only person who had access to all of the paintings in question was the museum director in Bellamo, Pierre Dumond.”

  “Are you sure?” Even though Janessa knew he was a suspect because of his access, she had also met the man. Everything in his demeanor shouted integrity.

  “His access code was used on the day one of the paintings was stolen, he was working on the exhibit in Calene when the first theft occurred, and he had access to both of the others.” His voice was weary as he continued. “The investigators think he might also be involved in the bombing at your embassy.”

  “Why would they think that?”

  “His ex-wife was an American. She left him when their daughter was young, and apparently she ended up with most of their assets,” he told her. “They think he has been holding a grudge against Americans ever since.”

  “I’m sorry, Garrett.” She closed her eyes, wishing Pierre Dumond were the only thing she was sorry about. “I never thought it could be him.”

  “Neither did I,” Garrett admitted. “He is being brought in for questioning, so my father and I will be detained for another day or two. Stefano will be escorting my mother to the chateau tomorrow morning. Mother said she’ll check in with you when she arrives.”

  “Thanks.” Janessa gripped the phone as she added, “Be careful.”

  “I will,” Garrett agreed before hanging up the phone.

  She closed the phone and moved to the window. Rather than pull the curtains back, she looked through the sheer white fabric. The Mediterranean looked so peaceful with only a single sailboat visible on the water. She could no longer see the road from her window, a precaution to keep the paparazzi from seeing her. As she watched the sailboat in the distance, she realized that from a boat a photographer with a telephoto lens could probably see right into her window.

  Anxiety overwhelmed her once again as she chafed against the inability to go where she wanted when she wanted. She took a deep breath and then another one, reminding herself that this situation was only temporary. She moved back into her office and set about hooking up her new phone and fax machine, grateful that her suite had a private phone line to accommodate her new equipment. She barely had everything in place when the phone rang.

  She lifted the receiver, surprised to hear a woman’s voice on the other end. “Going secure?”

  “One moment.” Janessa opened her desk drawer where she had hidden the key for the phone. She inserted the key and turned it before responding, “Going secure.”

  The line distorted for a moment and then cleared.

  “Is this Janessa Rogers?”

  “That’s right.”

  “This is Katie from finance. Director Palmer asked me to call you with some information,” she told her. “We finally managed to trace the money deposited into Alberto Manero’s accounts. The funds were all initiated from a bank account in Hong Kong. Our sources have confirmed that the account belongs to Byron Heuse, a well-known art dealer in Paris.”

  “You’re positive?” Janessa asked.

  “Oh, we’re sure,” Katie told her. “There’s something else though. When we looked at the other disbursements from that account, we were able to trace several other sets of payments.”

  “Do we know who received the other payments?”

  “Not exactly. Each time a payment went to Manero, similar payments went out to two other people. One person we still don’t have any information on, but the other is traceable to a numbered account in the Cayman Islands. There isn’t a name on the account, but one of our sources tells us that the owner is a member of Meridia’s ruling council.”

  “Are you sure?” Janessa grabbed a pad and pen, finally sitting down at her desk.

  “Our information supports what our source has told us. We have tracked deposits to Meridia, but we haven’t been able to figure out who on the ruling council the accounts belong to,” Katie said.

  “Send me whatever you have, and I’ll see if the Meridian authorities can help us on this end.”

  “I have the documentation in front of me. If you’re ready, I’ll fax it right now.”

  “I’m ready. And Katie, thank you for your help.”

  “I’ll let you know if we find anything else.”

  Janessa turned the fax on to allow it to receive and then set down the hand piece. If someone on the ruling council really was involved, then everyone in the smuggling ring likely had access to all of the proceedings in Meridia, as well as updates on the negotiations regarding the naval base.

  With a sigh, she picked up her cell phone once again. This time, instead of calling Garrett, she pushed the button for his father.

  “Your Majesty, this is Janessa. I hope I am not disturbing you, but I have some information I thought you should be aware of.”

  “Just a moment.” King Eduard spoke to someone in the background and a moment later came on the line. “Sorry about that. You said you had new information?”

  “Not all good, I’m afraid,” Janessa began. “My agency has confirmed that the payments to Manero came from Byron Heuse. He’s an art dealer in Paris. They have also identified similar payments to two other individuals. One they still don’t have any information on, but the other they have tracked back to Meridia. My source feels strongly that those payments were being made to a member of the ruling council.”

  “Who?”

  “We don’t know yet.” Janessa picked up the fax off of the machine and scanned through the information. “From the documentation I’ve received, it looks like all three recipients have been receiving payments sporadically for the past three years. Can you think of anyone who might have started coming into some money around that time?”

  “The members of the ruling council are well paid for their service to Meridia, but generally they are independently wealthy long before they attain such positions,” King Eduard told her.

  “Does the ruling council have to be informed before a final agreement for the naval base is signed?”

  “Yes,” he told her. “They have already given their initial approval to negotiate with the United States, but the location would have to be voted on.”

  “You said that Lord Tratte was opposed to the US Navy’s presence here.”

  “Yes, he has been the most vocal member in opposition,” the king told her. “I will have a list composed of all the members who have expressed reservations about allowing you
r Navy into our waters. Perhaps our intelligence staff can identify the recipient of some of that money.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Janessa sat back down at her desk. She studied the fax copy of Byron Heuse’s photograph. Perhaps Mrs. Manero could determine if he was one of the three individuals her husband had been meeting with, as well as narrow down who on the ruling council was involved.

  Chapter 32

  “I don’t know.” Mrs. Manero sat in her sister’s kitchen and looked over the photos spread out on the table in front of her. Her grief had been replaced by anger as she considered her husband’s activities. Now she was determined to help the authorities find out who had turned her life upside down.

  Prince Garrett sat across from her along with the chief detective on the case. The detective’s voice was calm and soothing when he spoke. “Take your time.”

  Garrett watched the older woman slide one photo off to the side and then shift her gaze to another. Of the dozen photos on the table, one was of Pierre Dumond; one was of the art dealer, Byron Heuse; and six were of members of the ruling council who had voted against the US presence in Meridia. The four other photos were random police file photos.

  Mrs. Manero skipped over Byron Heuse’s and Pierre Dumond’s photos without a second glance, instead focusing on over three of the photos of older members of parliament and one of the random photos. Finally she pointed to one of them. “I never saw the face of the other man, but I think this was one of the men meeting with my husband.”

  “Are you sure?” Garrett asked, leaning forward to confirm his suspicions. The photo she had chosen was of Lord Tratte.

  “Yes, that’s him.” She nodded, staring down at the photo. “I remembered thinking that he looked familiar, but I don’t think I’ve ever met him.”

  “You have been very helpful, Signora Manero.” The detective stood and collected the photographs. “Please let me know if you remember anything else.”

  Garrett gave her a nod and added his thanks as he and the detective left the house. “Now what?”

  “I’ll have Lord Tratte picked up and brought in for questioning,” the detective told him. “If you could have his bank records subpoenaed that would help speed up the investigation. With a request directly from the royal family, I should be able to get them within a few hours.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Garrett shook the detective’s hand. “Please keep me informed of your progress.”

  “Absolutely.”

  As soon as Garrett was back in his car, he instructed the driver to return to the palace. He had buried himself with work for the past several days to keep from thinking about Janessa. He thought about her anyway. After closing the window to give himself privacy from the driver, Garrett called his father to give him the news. Then he called Janessa to give her an update as well, though he knew it was just an excuse to hear her voice.

  “I’m glad you called,” she told him. “I’m starting to go stir-crazy.”

  “Hopefully you won’t have to hide out too much longer,” Garrett told her. “Mrs. Manero identified Lord Tratte as one of the men who met with her husband. She said that she never saw the face of the other man, so it is quite possible it was either Pierre Dumond or Byron Heuse.”

  “Which still leaves the woman,” Janessa told him.

  “Dumond is already in custody and is denying any involvement. Maybe Lord Tratte will be more cooperative.”

  “We can hope.”

  * * *

  “I think I have what you’re looking for.” Patrice set a bag of groceries down on the kitchen counter and turned to face Janessa. “Lilia’s mother has the names of the servers who would have been sent to help at the luncheon you asked about. It was a husband and wife team, Elina and Roberto Lumere.”

  “Have they ever helped you before?”

  Patrice nodded as she started unloading the groceries. “Roberto is the one I especially don’t like to have help, but it seems he is always the one they send.”

  “He’s the one that takes forever when he serves?”

  Again she nodded. “Brenna mentioned that he has gotten lost a few times when he has been in our service. Last summer she found him in the library. He claimed to have taken a wrong turn when he was looking for the bathroom.”

  “That does sound odd,” Janessa agreed, stacking the canned goods in a cabinet. “Have you ever seen him bring anything into the chateau or take anything out?”

  “Actually, that was the other thing that always bothered me. Everyone else from the caterers comes already dressed and prepared to work. Roberto always arrives in street clothes and then changes once he gets here.” Patrice shook her head. “It’s irritating to have to find him someplace to change and store his bag.”

  “How big is his bag?”

  “It’s one of those bags for hanging clothes.” She held out her hands to gauge the size. “When it isn’t folded up, it’s rather large.”

  Janessa considered this new information.

  “By the way, the art expert arrived this morning,” Patrice told her. “He is studying all of the paintings here at the chateau.”

  “Who asked him to do that?”

  “Signore Dumond. Apparently he made the arrangements before he was arrested.” Patrice put the last of the food into the refrigerator. “Martino will be coming to retrieve the paintings in here to be examined as well.”

  “Thank you, Patrice.” Janessa turned and looked at the seascape on her own wall. Could the forgeries have spread to the chateau?

  A short while later Martino arrived to retrieve the artwork from her room.

  “Has the art expert discovered any forgeries?” Janessa asked.

  Martino nodded, his eyes serious. “He has discovered three so far.”

  “Was one in the library?”

  Martino’s eyes widened. “How did you know that?”

  “Lucky guess,” Janessa told him. “I would like to see a list of the forgeries and their locations when he is done examining all of the artwork. I think we have a lot of work to do before the luncheon on Friday.”

  * * *

  Garrett and Stefano looked through the two-way mirror at the man who had once been their father’s most trusted advisor. Throughout the interrogation, Lord Tratte maintained that he had done nothing wrong, insisting that the Americans had framed him because he was so openly opposed to their naval base in Meridia.

  The interrogator had not yet informed Lord Tratte of how he had come to their attention but rather had allowed Tratte to assume that he had been identified through his bank records. With this strategy, his motives became more and more apparent.

  “Don’t you understand?” Lord Tratte asked the interrogator, assuming a superior attitude. “With the Americans here, Meridia will lose its autonomy. We will be just another port for sailors to get drunk and cause trouble. King Eduard has lost his perspective on the long-term effects this decision will have on our country.”

  The interrogator nodded in understanding. “So you are concerned with preserving our way of life.”

  “Absolutely. First it will be a US naval base, and then it will be high-rise hotels and condominiums. Our coastline will be cluttered with tourists, and the king will be forced to increase funding for the local police and the port authority.”

  “Do you often go out on the water?”

  “Rarely.” Tratte shook his head. “I much prefer looking at the water to being on it.”

  “I see. Well, that would explain why you don’t own a boat.” The interrogator flipped through his notes, taking his time before looking up. “But that being the case, why would you frequent Alberto Manero’s gas station?”

  Tratte narrowed his eyes. “I don’t understand.”

  “Alberto Manero, the man who owned the gas station that caught fire last week,” he read from his file. “His gas station only provided gasoline for boats, not automobiles. I just wondered why you would go there every month if you didn’t have a boat.”

&nbs
p; “You must be mistaken,” Lord Tratte said now. “I don’t know anybody by that name.”

  “That really is odd.” The interrogator stared him down, watching as his face paled slightly. “Why would you meet with him the first Tuesday of every month if you didn’t know him?”

  “I refuse to answer any more of your questions without my lawyer present.”

  “That can be arranged.” The interrogator gave a curt nod and left the room. A moment later, he entered the viewing booth where Garrett and Stefano had been watching.

  “Sounds like you have him on the ropes,” Stefano told the interrogator. “If he’s asking for his lawyer, you know he’s worried.”

  He nodded. “It doesn’t hurt that the financial records are supposed to arrive tonight. My sources say that his father squandered much of the family’s fortune, and when he died several years ago, Lord Tratte found himself with debts that were well beyond the family’s ability to pay.”

  “His longtime hatred of the United States must have helped him justify his involvement with the embassy bombing. The real question is whether he will identify the others involved.”

  “That may take some time, especially if he was responsible for the fire that killed Manero,” the interrogator told them. “If he thinks he is going to take the fall for something he didn’t do, he may come forward with more information, but I expect that he is still justifying his actions.”

  “Let me know if you get anything else out of him,” Stefano instructed.

  As soon as Garrett and Stefano were alone, Garrett turned to his brother. “What do you think the chances are that he set that fire at the gas station?”

  “Tratte doesn’t strike me as the type to get his hands dirty, but it’s possible. He did serve a few years in the military, so he probably had the expertise needed.” Stefano shrugged. “I keep wondering why Manero was killed.”

  “I have to think that either he wanted out or someone was afraid he would talk,” Garrett suggested. “The night of the gas station fire, Manero was supposed to have his monthly business meeting, yet his body was the only one we found at the scene.”