Romantic Road

by Blair McDowell

  The third passport was Canadian, Tracy Thompson from Kitchener, Ontario. In this photograph she had a sprinkling of freckles on her nose and a halo of curly red hair. They were all her, and yet they were not her. How had he done this without her knowledge? And, more to the point, why had he done it?

  Lacy reached again into the manila envelope again and pulled out a page in Igor’s handwriting.

  My dearest,

  I know I’ve been difficult to live with these last months. I want you to know I’ve never ceased loving you. I have a terrible premonition I may not have much longer to live. I’ve never been a superstitious man but…

  You probably have many questions. If I answer them here, you may unwittingly let something slip and place yourself in jeopardy, so I must ask you simply to trust me.

  Arrange to take a holiday. Tell everyone you’re going to the Auberge du Lac in Quebec, where we spent our honeymoon. That you’ll be there for some months. Jean-Paul and Claudette are expecting you. Call them. Travel to the Auberge on your own passport. Jean-Paul and Claudette will prepare you for what is to come. You’ll disappear from there.

  Take the three passports you found in this box and all the cash. You won’t be able to use credit cards once you start on this adventure, and you may find it expedient to be able to change identities. It will all become clearer as you go.

  I love you, my darling, and I want, above all, for you to be safe, but the quest on which you’re about to embark is possibly dangerous. If you choose not to become involved, I’ll understand. I can only tell you it is deeply important to me.

  Your devoted husband.

  Lacy sat immobile. What had Igor gotten himself into? What was all this cloak and dagger stuff? It felt like she had stepped into the script of a bad Hollywood film. Then she remembered being stopped and threatened on the road in the Berkshires, the ransacking of her apartment, the attack on Jane. It was real. Whatever this was about, it was real. And she wanted to get to the bottom of it. To do what Igor asked of her.

  She’d go to the Auberge du Lac. He must have told Jean-Paul and Claudette something about all this. They’d been friends of Igor’s for many years before she met him. She had a convenient excuse for going away. Her apartment needed complete redecorating after the break-in. She couldn’t stay there.

  She carefully placed everything back in the box. She’d need something larger than her handbag in which to carry all this cash. When her travel plans were in place, she’d come back for it.

  That evening she placed the call to Jean-Paul and Claudette. They were still in their winter residence in the little village of Belle Rive on the southern end of the lake. Claudette answered the phone. “We’ve been wondering when you’d call. We were so sorry to hear about Igor, my dear.”

  “I should have called you sooner. I know how close you were.” Lacy’s voice had a catch in it. She still had difficulty talking about Igor’s sudden death. She took a deep breath. “It was a second heart attack.”

  “Yes. We heard. I’m so sorry. We will miss him. He was un homme extraordinaire.”

  Lacy could hear Claudette crying softly on the other end of the line. “I meant to call, but there was the funeral, and since then, so much has happened.”

  Claudette rallied. “You’ll come to see us soon then? I think Igor knew he didn’t have long to live. And he said you’d come.”

  “I want to if you’re sure it’s no trouble.”

  “No trouble at all. The ice is off the lake now and we’re about to go to the Auberge and open it for the season. ”

  “It may take me a few days to get ready,” Lacy said. “I have to get things settled here and find someplace to board Sica and…”

  “N'est pas nécessaire. It’s not necessary to board Sica. Bring her with you. I know how Igor adored that cat. Just ask your vet to give you an international health certificate. It shouldn’t be any problem at the border. You’ll be coming by car?” Claudette asked.

  “Yes, I thought driving would be easiest. And thank you. I’d love to bring Sica. I hate boarding her, especially when I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

  Claudette said simply, “Igor asked us to look after both of you.”

  After she hung up, Lacy puzzled at Claudette’s last comment. Igor had decided Sica needed to be taken care of while she…While she what? What were his plans for her after the Auberge? He said she’d disappear? It wasn’t difficult to guess why he’d chosen the Auberge, isolated at the end of the lake as it was, accessible only in summer, only by boat or float plane, off the grid. Even phones were problematic there.

  ****

  Lacy said her good-byes to Richard and Jane and drove out of the city, Sica in her carrier in the back seat. The adventure was beginning.

  Mid-morning, two days later, Lacy pulled up in front of the little stone house in the village of Belle Rive.

  Claudette rushed out to greet her.

  “Ça va, cherie? How good it is to see you once again.” The plump, matronly woman enfolded Lacy in a warm embrace, kissing her on both cheeks. “You have arrived at just the right moment. We’ve finished loading the boat for the trip up the lake.” Then, seeing the cat carrier, “C’est Sica? But of course. Quel charmant,” Claudette exclaimed, taking the carrier out of the back seat. The cat yowled in response. “You are in for a boat trip, little one.”

  Jean-Paul appeared around the corner of the house. In his early fifties, greying at the temples but youthful in demeanor, he hugged and kissed Lacy enthusiastically. “It’s been too long since we’ve last seen you. Vite, vite, around to the boat. It’s cold out here. I’ll get your bags.”

  Lacy grabbed the small satchel, with her four passports and all her cash, and followed Claudette around to the dock. The little cabin cruiser was filled to the brim with supplies. A chill wind blew off the lake, but the cabin was warm. The three of them, with Sica in her carrier, were soon headed up the lake.

  “Do you have many bookings at the inn for the next months?” Lacy asked.

  “Zut, alors,” Claudette exclaimed. “We haven’t a room empty in July and August, and even June and September, with their cooler weather, we’re almost full. The first guests arrive next week. So you see your timing is quite perfect. The students we’ve hired for the summer won’t arrive until just before the guests. This week we’ll have the inn to ourselves.”

  An hour later Lacy watched as the Auberge came into view. It was a sprawling two-story log building, in a clearing surrounded by old growth forest. There was a long sweeping lawn down to the dock. The inn was majestically isolated in its treed setting. She had seen no other houses on the shore line for the last forty-five minutes of the journey.

  Lacy had a moment of nostalgia as she remembered first time she’d seen the Auberge. Igor had brought her here for their honeymoon. Their bedroom was on the front, with a view of the lake. There was a stone fireplace in their room, meant to take the chill out of the evenings. They hadn’t needed it much. She smiled as she remembered Igor’s passionate lovemaking in those early, heady days. He’d kept her more than warm.

  “Going to have to spend some time cleaning up the outside,” Jean-Paul grumbled, bringing Lacy back to the present. “Look at all those limbs down, all that storm debris. Good thing we’ve got extra help coming.”

  A couple of hours later the boat was emptied of its cargo and the kitchen was stocked. Claudette unpacked boxes and put things away while Jean-Paul worked at clearing away the debris outside. Both had refused her offers of help, so Lacy sat basking in the warmth of a large fireplace in the main sitting room of the inn, Sica planted firmly on her lap, purring loudly. The cat’s pitiful howls had disturbed them all during the boat trip. She seemed much happier now she was once again on dry land.

  Some hours later, the aroma of good French cooking assailed Lacy, reminding her she hadn’t stopped for lunch.

  Claudette appeared from the vicinity of the kitchen. “I’ve called Jean-Paul in. It’s getting too dark for
him to do anything more outside and dinner is ready.”

  Soon they were seated at the large pine table in the kitchen. Claudette bustled between the stove and the table.

  Jean-Paul filled Lacy`s glass. “Here, have some of our good Quebec wine.”

  The onion soup reached Lacy’s nose before it reached the table, steaming hot, made with rich brown stock and covered with Gruyère cheese. She spooned it up, savoring every thick drop. She didn’t think she could eat another bite, but then Claudette came to the table with a large platter of succulent chicken cooked in red wine. Lacy demolished her plate of food. “I’ve eaten more tonight than I have in the last several weeks,” she confessed to Claudette.

  “That’s a good thing,” Claudette replied. “You’ve lost too much weight.”

  Lacy helped stack the dinner dishes and cutlery in the large commercial dishwasher and carried the dessert plates to the table. Claudette followed with a tart piled high with glazed apple slices.

  After dinner, Jean-Paul retired to the sitting room with his pipe and his paper while Lacy and Claudette finished clearing the table and began washing Claudette’s treasured copper pots and pans by hand.

  “Did Igor tell you what this was all about?” Lacy asked.

  “Yes, of course. He told us you would need our help. He seemed so worried the last time he was here. Not himself, at all. Almost fearful.” Claudette paused, her hands resting in the soapy water. “He said if he died unexpectedly you would come to us. That we should tell you everything we know and prepare you for what was to come. That was last fall.”

  “He was here last fall? I didn’t know.”

  “He wanted us to explain some things to you, things he couldn’t bring himself to tell you.”

  Lacy absently dried the last of the pots and hung it on the rack above the six-burner, propane-fueled stove. “It’s all so confusing. Why should Igor have felt there was anything he couldn’t discuss with me?”

  “Men get strange notions at times. You’re so young. Where you were concerned, he was very protective.” Claudette frowned in thought. She turned from the sink and looked directly at Lacy. “Was there anything suspicious in the way Igor died?”

  “I don’t know. The doctor said he was fully recovered from his first heart attack. But he was so strange those last months. So secretive. I wondered…” Lacy shivered involuntarily. “I was afraid…”

  “What?” Claudette put her arm comfortingly around Lacy. “What is it you were afraid of?”

  “That he may have committed suicide.”

  “Igor?” Claudette’s said, her eyebrows raised in astonishment. “Never. You can rest your mind completely on that score. He would never have taken his own life. He had too much joie de vivre for that. Even in his darkest days, he loved life too much to throw it away.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Claudette took off her apron and hung it on a hook in the pantry. “Come,” she said, taking Lacy by the hand. “Let’s join Jean-Paul.”

  When they were comfortably settled around the fireplace in the sitting room, Jean-Paul spoke. “I heard you wondering whether Igor could have committed suicide. Never. He’d never have done such a thing.”

  “But you didn’t see him those last months.” Lacy looked down at her hands, tightly clasped in her lap. “He was so preoccupied, so depressed at the end. And the doctors thought the second heart attack might have been brought on by an accidental overdose of some kind.”

  “Not possible. You knew him, Lacy. He was the most methodical man I’ve ever known. If he died as a result of a drug overdose, someone else gave it to him.” Jean-Paul spoke firmly.

  Lacy was shocked. “But if it wasn’t accidental and it wasn’t suicide…”

  “Exactement,” Jean-Paul said.

  “But surely you’re not suggesting Igor was murdered?”

  “What did the police say?” Claudette interjected.

  “The police weren’t involved.” Lacy stood and started pacing agitatedly. “It was simply an accident. He had a heart condition, and something brought on a second, fatal heart attack. There was never any question of foul play.”

  “Who are you trying to convince, Lacy, us or yourself?” Jean-Paul’s voice was soft but compelling.

  “There was nothing to create suspicion.” Lacy hesitated. “Not then anyway.”

  Jean-Paul leaned forward, alert. “If not then, when?”

  “There was a break-in, just a couple of weeks ago. Someone was looking for something. They tore our place apart and stole Igor’s computer.” Lacy frowned. “But there couldn’t be any connection, could there?”

  Jean-Paul and Claudette looked at each other for a long moment. When Jean-Paul spoke his voice was calm but very firm. “I can’t imagine there isn’t a connection.”

  Lacy looked in shock from one to the other of her two friends. There was such certainty in their expressions. Was it possible? Had Igor been murdered?

  Jean Paul took a deep breath. “It’s time we told you what we know about this. You’re aware we’ve known Igor for many years?”

  “Yes. He told me when he first brought me here you were long-time friends.”

  “More than friends. Igor and Claudette and I were, I suppose you might say, colleagues, in the same business, for a number of years.”

  Lacy frowned. “You were writers, too?”

  “No. Claudette and I were never writers. It was quite another business.” Jean Paul went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a brandy. “Claudette? Lacy?” He indicated the bottle.

  They nodded, and he brought them each a snifter.

  “I don’t understand.” Lacy took the proffered drink and warmed it in her hands.

  “No. Of course you don’t. I told Igor he should have discussed this with you before he married you, but he was afraid he’d lose you if he did. That you’d find his past too unsavory.”

  “Unsavory? What do you mean? Was he doing something illegal?”

  “Frequently. We all were.” Jean Paul took a sip of his cognac. “You see the three of us, along with a small number of other men and women, all worked for COCI.”

  “Cocky?”

  Claudette laughed. “I suppose we were, more than once. But no. The initials stand for Covert Operations Counter-intelligence International.”

  Jean-Paul continued. “You see we were part of an international task force, set up in cooperation with the governments of Canada, Great Britain, and the United States. We did jobs the intelligence forces of our counties wanted done, but needed to have done at arm’s length. They needed to be able to disclaim knowledge and responsibility.”

  “But how…” Lacy hardly knew what questions to ask.

  “Our assignments were delivered anonymously. We never knew precisely who we were working for. We only knew what they wanted done.”

  Lacy was silent for a moment, absorbing the shock of what Jean-Paul had just said. “What kind of assignments?”

  Claudette picked up the story. “We were told the purpose of our work was to discover the extent to which organized crime was infiltrating governments. Sometimes our work was a matter of stealing documents, sometimes we became members of suspect groups and reported back on their activities, other times we simply gathered information on specific targets.”

  “And Igor was a part of this?” Lacy asked.

  “Igor was well known as a writer. It was an excellent cover for clandestine work,” Jean-Paul said.

  “But what did he actually do?” Lacy was fascinated in spite of herself. How could she have been married to a man and known so little about him?

  “He moved freely in important circles, both inside government and outside the law. He learned everything he could about the extent to which illegal activities reached into the legitimate world of government. And, most important, who the connecting links were between organized crime and so-called legitimate governments. Which government officials were on the payroll of criminal organizations.”

 
Lacy sat back and sipped her cognac, thinking. Finally she asked, almost afraid of the answer, “It sounds like a dangerous business. What happened to those people, those connecting links, when they were discovered?” She had visions of James Bond and his “license to kill.”

  “That’s what was so frustrating. Usually nothing. I suppose they were placed under surveillance. They may have been watched more closely. But they were never arrested. They were never stopped as far as we could tell. They just kept on, business as usual. If fact some of them appeared to prosper, both financially and in their scope of influence. To go on to even higher positions in government.”

  “Unbelievable.” Lacy studied Claudette, so sedate and motherly. “You said you worked together. Just what kinds of jobs did the two of you do?”

  Claudette smiled. “You wouldn’t know it to look at us now, but we were very adept at burglary. Retrieving important documents was our specialty. Jean-Paul and I worked as a team.” She reached over and took her husband’s hand. “We didn’t marry until we retired just ten years ago. That’s when we bought this place. We’d both had enough of dirty tricks.”

  “So Igor was sort of a spy? You were all spies?” Lacy shook her head.

  Claudette nodded. “I suppose you might have called us that.”

  Jean-Paul sighed. “For a long time, Igor believed in what he was doing. We all did. But as time went on, some of us became increasingly disenchanted. We began to question our assignments. Once that happens, you’re pretty much out of the business. In a way we were fortunate. We were allowed to retire. But there were warnings and threats attached to our retirements. Documents to sign, pledging our discretion. We were allowed to walk away, but we had to agree never speak about what we’d done in our clandestine careers.”

  “But you’re speaking about it to me now.”

  “I must. Igor is asking something of you potentially very dangerous. I begged him not to do this, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “What does he want me to do?”