LACKING VIRTUES

by Thomas Kirkwood

  “Frank! Frank Warner. I was going to look you up at the NTSB tomorrow. I hardly ever leave Paris anymore unless I’m summoned by a marriage or a funeral.”

  “I hope this summons is the former.”

  “In fact. My brother, Michael. Never mind it’s his seventh. Hope springs eternal. How about dinner this evening? It would delight me to reminisce.”

  They went to a pub at her suggestion, not some fancy restaurant he would have hated, and stayed half the night talking about those incredible six weeks in the spring of 1974. That’s when the French government had invited Warner to help investigate the crash of a Turkish Airways DC-10 in the Forest of Ermenonville outside of Paris. He’d barely arrived at his hotel when the squabbling, the rivalries and the politics made it evident he wasn’t going to be able to do his job. Then New York Times bureau chief, Sophie Marx, a total stranger who said she had anticipated his troubles, showed up and appointed herself his translator and adviser. She would allow him to play the role God had intended him to play, she said, that of the world’s most talented air crash investigator.

  When he left France, Warner had conclusively linked the DC-10 crash, the worst crash to date in aviation history, to a defective design of the rear cargo door. He’d told Sophie he owed her one, a favor as big as any she could dream up, but she had never asked for anything in return. Helping him make air travel safer, she said, was quite enough.

  Well, here he was preparing to ask her for another enormous favor. Frank Warner wasn’t an ingrate, but as he dialed Paris at one a.m. Central European Time, he felt like one.

  He hung up over an hour later, discouraged by his failure to make inroads into Sophie’s friendly but immutable skepticism. He was preparing for another wave of depression to hit when he heard a car door close. He pulled open the curtain and peered into the autumn twilight.

  Claire, suitcase in hand, was walking toward the front door. She had come back, and she looked as lovely as any creature he had ever seen.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Anyway,” Sophie said, “the big break came around ten last night when Father Roget telephoned me at home.”

  “Father Roget?” Steven said. “He still remembered us?”

  “I don’t know about you, darling, but he remembered me. I think he rather enjoyed the interview. You know how old people are. Talking about the past lets them relive a time when they had more to look forward to. I hope I don’t bore you to death with my reminiscences.”

  “Are you kidding? You’ve had the most fascinating life of anyone I know. I dreamed a few nights ago you stole my motorcycle and roared off through town chasing a story. It seemed credible enough.”

  “You know how to charm a woman, Steven, even an ancient one. While you were having your dream, I was no doubt fumbling through the medicine cabinet for laxatives and sleeping aids.”

  Steven laughed. His mood was finally improving after Sophie’s unannounced five a.m. wake up call. He had wanted to meet with her today: he had his own pressing agenda to discuss. But after last night, seven o’clock would have suited him better.

  He had dragged himself out of bed, and Sophie had led him down deserted city streets to the Jardin de Luxembourg. They had been here talking ever since.

  It was dawn now, the cloud cover broken and spotty, the rain of the previous night over. Plants and flowers in the opulent park glistened with moisture in the pale morning light.

  The scent of freshly baked bread wafted in from somewhere, a deceitful scent, Steven thought, a prelude to the diesel stench of a Parisian rush hour.

  “So what’s this big break?” he asked.

  Sophie took his arm at the elbow. They stopped walking. She looked at him earnestly. “I trust you remember the essence of our interview with Father Roget. There were times your mind seemed to be wandering.”

  “It was, but I remember the important part.”

  “Which was?”

  “What is this, Sophie, an exam? He really zeroed in on how the ‘Anglo Saxons’ treated De Gaulle and the Free French during the War, on how the history of that humiliation stoked young Michelet’s hatred of us Yanks. Did I pass?”

  “C minus.”

  “C minus?”

  “Steven, every Frenchman to the right of the Anarchists agrees the British and Americans pushed the Free French around. It’s no surprise they’re still bitter. Michelet has made his feelings on the subject clear. In fact he does so in every campaign speech. It isn’t even newsworthy.”

  “It is to me. Shows you how much I know about the guy. The daughter . . . now that’s a different story.”

  She didn’t say anything, didn’t laugh or even smile. He had better quit playing buffoon, he thought. She didn’t want to joke around; she had something she needed to tell him. If he didn’t shut up and listen, he might end up with a D minus for the morning – a morning for which he had great expectations.

  “Sorry, Sophie. Maybe I was asleep. What was the important part?”

  “Our discovery of the little clique of patriots Michelet put together at Saint Claude prep school. If you will recall, one of his followers was Albert Haussmann, now the richest entrepreneur in France. But there was another boy Father Roget referred to as extraordinarily gifted in mathematics. Roget hadn’t had him as a student and couldn’t remember his name.”

  “Now Monseigneur has suddenly remembered?”

  “That’s right. When he called, he said he didn’t want us to think he had held the name back intentionally. He swore up and down that he’d been trying to think of it ever since the interview. The instant it popped into his mind, he picked up the phone.”

  “You don’t believe he delayed us? He didn’t need to say all those things.”

  “As I said before, Steven, I think he enjoyed the interview. I think he wants our good will.”

  “Your good will. So, don’t keep me in suspense. Who was this mystery boy?”

  “Paul Delors.”

  “Who the hell is Paul Delors?”

  “Presently, Steven, he is Deputy Director of the SDECE, French Intelligence. I’ll know a lot more about him by nightfall.”

  Steven reflected for a minute. “Okay, I admit this is very fascinating. Of the three fire-breathing patriots who hung out together in prep school, one is now Minister of Industry, one is Deputy Director of the French CIA and the third is the richest man in France.

  “I guess it could be a conspiracy that began long ago and is now bearing fruit. But what’s the present connection among these three guys, Sophie? Isn’t that what counts? And how can you say getting Delors’ name is a big break. I mean, it might be, but how can you say for sure before you’ve done any research on him?”

  He thought for a moment. “Or is there something I don’t know? Something you haven’t told me? Such as, he’s a member of Nouvelle France?”

  Sophie said, “He’s not officially a member, of course, or he would not have been able to maneuver himself into such an important post in the Eighties. But you’re right; there’s something you don’t know. I was going to come down and tell you last night, but it sounded rather like you had a visitor.”

  Steven grinned. “I did. Father Roget wasn’t the only active one last night. My visitor also supplied us with an incredible piece of information. So incredible I came upstairs to fill you in the moment she left. But you were on the phone, Sophie. I didn’t want to disturb you. Were you still talking to the good father at one o’clock in the morning?”

  “Heavens, no, Steven. I had a call from the States.”

  “An old lover?”

  “No, an acquaintance, a friend. A person in the government – and also in a bind. It was a sad talk, the sadder the more I think about it.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Steven wasn’t interested, but Sophie seemed to be trying to get something off her chest. He might as well encourage her. She’d done the same for him a hundred times. “Why’s that? I mean, why sad?”

  “Because, Steven, my friend is a good and com
petent person who is being put under pressure to explain what is causing all of those air crashes in the States. He’s unable to do this, so he’s started to grasp for straws. This is what I felt compelled to tell him at some length.”

  “So what does he think’s going on? Why did he contact you?”

  “He thinks, darling, that Airbus might somehow be involved in Boeing’s misfortunes.”

  “Who’s to say they aren’t? These people have a real thing about Americans.”

  “Steven, don’t be ridiculous. If a large public concern such as Airbus were sabotaging American planes, there’d be hundreds of leaks. You can be sure I’d be privy to at least some of them. To make a long story interminable, my friend asked me to investigate the situation here in France. He’s a good man, as I said. He’s done a lot for the safety of air travel. It was painful for me to turn him down. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to continue with what I brought you here to report.”

  “Sure,” he said, anxious for her to wrap things up so he could present her with his discovery.

  “Well, Steven, in our business it usually goes something like this. You chase down a lot a leads, you put out a lot of feelers. For a long time, nothing happens. Then, all of a sudden, the work starts to pay off. I’ve reached that point, darling. It sounds as if you may have, too.”

  “Yep, I’d say so.”

  They walked a little further in silence. She seemed to be thinking.

  Morning had come. He listened to the first wave of cars and cabs on Boulevard St. Michel. Engines snarling, brakes squealing, horns being warmed up for a long day’s use.

  He breathed in a lingering whiff of freshly baked bread and prepared himself for the inevitable onslaught of traffic fumes.

  Sophie stopped again and looked him in the eye.

  “You understand, Steven, that as far as anyone knows Haussmann is not a member of Nouvelle France, either. But I’ve had my doubts about that for a long time. After our interview I asked my brother in New York do some checking up for me.”

  “The one who’s the international financial whiz”

  “Yes. Uncle Emmanuel has both the intellect and the connections.”

  “Uncle? I thought you said ‘brother.’”

  “I call my brother Uncle Emmanuel – that’s another story. Anyway, he has been as upset as I have about the blatant fascist overtones of Nouvelle France. Don’t forget, Steven, that we lost six million of our people and most of our family to similar patriotic barbarism.

  “In any case, Uncle Emmanuel called in some favors. It didn’t take him long to uncover a financial link between Haussmann and Michelet that dates back more than twenty years. In fact, it looks as if Haussmann has bankrolled Nouvelle France from the start. We might be able to prove it.”

  “No shit.”

  “It could be big, very big. But let’s return to Delors. Let your mind play games for a moment. He’s listed as a member of the Republican Party, the moderate center, and has been ever since he stepped into public life. If this allegiance is genuine, it means he gave up the rabid nationalism of his youth a long time ago.”

  “Did he?”

  “I don’t believe so, Steven. I have a suspicion that Delors has played political chameleon for decades. If so, and if he and Haussmann are both in this movement together with Michelet, their prep-school alliance forms the core of a very dangerous adult political force. Think Pulitzer, Steven.”

  He whistled and watched her closely.

  She seemed more driven, more obsessed than he had ever seen her in the past.

  He said, “If you’re right, this is amazing.”

  “Yes it is, darling.”

  Now it was his turn, and he felt terrific. She had gotten her biggest break, but how big was it, really? She could derive a lot of interesting theories from it, but how in the hell was she going to verify them?

  He smiled. He didn’t think she could. He, on the other hand, was in a perfect position to find out with total certainty whether or not she was barking up the right tree. This was no small achievement for a guy his family thought of as a tennis-playing bum.

  “Tell me something, Sophie. Did you know that Michelet has been holding Wednesday night political meetings at this place out in the country? He’s been having them for as long as Nicole can remember.”

  She shot him a piercing look, which he took to be a sign of her fierce ambition to succeed – the tip of a submerged iceberg. His dad and brothers showed that same type of fierce ambition all the time, but with them it gave off a bad odor. For some reason, Sophie’s ambition didn’t stink.

  He had a thought that warmed his heart. Maybe his dad and brothers were just assholes. Maybe you didn’t have to be like them to succeed in life. He had always assumed you did.

  “No, I didn’t know that,” Sophie said.

  “Well, now you do. And according to Nicole, the prick has built his entire movement at these meetings. So here’s what I’m thinking. If Haussmann and Delors are in on this, they’d be attending these meetings, wouldn’t they?”

  “Most likely, yes. But are the meetings still taking place?”

  “You bet. Last night was Wednesday. That’s why Nicole felt comfortable staying at my place until late. Her father was out in the country. No chance he would show up at home before two in the morning.”

  “Steven, this is a piece of very fine work on your part. It’s exactly what I hired you to do. Do you suppose you could find out – in a subtle way, of course – where the meetings are held?”

  “I already did.”

  “Subtly?”

  “As subtle as you can imagine. We were in the middle of talking about something else and the subject just came up.”

  “Out of the blue?”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “That worries me. It sounds almost as though she’s holding out a piece of bait to see if you’ll bite. I hope you didn’t show too much interest.”

  Steven gave her a friendly tap on the arm. “Hey, would you please relax. You haven’t heard the whole story. We need a place to meet outside the city. I didn’t see the problem until we got our asses photographed yesterday in some obscure café.”

  “Not good.”

  “It wasn’t anything, just a kid on a moped. But it woke me up. I guess I didn’t realize the extent the gossip columnists had picked up on her.”

  “You should read more, darling.”

  “I’m too busy. Anyway, when we came back to my place, I made some suggestions about how to conduct an incognito relationship in the city. It turned out she had her own plan, much better than mine.”

  “This is yummy, Steven.”

  “It gets better. Talking about her plan is how the subject of her dad’s meetings came up – just something in the context of something else.”

  “Fortunate.”

  “Yep. Anyway, Michelet inherited his father’s country home about fifteen years ago. He kept it up real nice, but only for these meetings. He’s never there otherwise, so Nicole wants us to make use of it. Except on Wednesday nights, of course.”

  “Careful, Steven. There must be caretakers. If they see you, they might betray you to Michelet.”

  “I don’t think so. The caretakers are an old peasant couple. Nicole is very close to them. She spent her vacations with them when the convent school closed. Sounds like her dad didn’t know what to do with her.”

  “He didn’t. He will, however, if he catches her with you. You’ll have to lay low when you’re out there. Believe me, Steven, these old retainers don’t bite the hand that feeds them. So take my advice, take a sleeping bag and keep out of sight. Being seen there would be worse than being photographed in Paris.”

  They had come full circle around the park for the third time. They both stopped simultaneously, as though attuned to each other’s thoughts.

  Steven said, “Well, it’s too late to change plans now. Nicole is driving out there this morning to visit the caretakers. She’s going to tell them she has a
boyfriend she doesn’t want her dad to know about. She’s sort of announcing my arrival in advance, you know, giving me a nice French introduction. She thought it would be a good idea.”

  “Steven, they’ll know you’re not French. Your command of the language is excellent, but you still have a slight American accent. They’ll hear it.”

  “Wrong. They’re deaf. Listen, Sophie, Nicole and I are going to meet there this coming Friday. I’ll get the lay of the land, see if I can find out exactly where those meetings are held and whether there’s a place I can hide and listen. If there is, I’ll sneak in Wednesday. If I get lucky, I might be able to bring home some serious bacon.”