by J. K. Kelly
Mercier gave him a polite smile. “Well, this took an unexpected turn.” He stared at the body propped up against the wall in front of him.
“Expect the unexpected, my friend,” Matt responded. “See you downstairs.”
Where to next, he thought to himself as he climbed the three flights of stairs back up to his room on the tenth floor. Montreal?
He showered, packed up the rest of his belongings, and placed the lone bug back into the prescription bottle it had been delivered to him in. He wiped the bottle and the phone clean and placed them in his jacket pocket. Just as he switched off the bathroom light, something on the television caught his attention.
F1 practice began this morning at the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve flashed across the screen as video of the exotic racing cars screamed past the cameraman covering the action. Bingo, Matt thought. He knew a few of the principals and engineers on some of the teams, contacts he had made either through his family’s personal wealth or by tapping a foreign friend for all-access passes when his work or play took him to Monte Carlo or, most recently, in Melbourne, last March. Unless he got another assignment from D.C., he decided to jump at the chance to reconnect with some of his jet-setting friends. If Eve answered his call and wanted in on some racing, that would be the icing on the cake. The quicker he could get out of Quebec City, the better, now that he’d been tagged by a member of the State Department’s protective services.
With five minutes to spare, Matt stepped out of one of the classic old-world elevators and walked straight to the lobby bar for the hand-off. Leclerc and Mercier were waiting there for him with coffee and croissants being delivered to their table as he arrived.
“Well, you two seem pretty calm and collected,” Matt said with a surprised smile.
“This is now a matter for the police,” said Leclerc. “Our job is to make sure nothing disrupts the conference. Hopefully, we can get back to things other than murder and intrigue and just deal with the protestors and hecklers disrupting some speeches.”
They exchanged small talk while Matt enjoyed his morning coffee. He slid the phone Mercier had given him back across the table and then placed the bug bottle in a napkin to pass off unobtrusively.
“Wait,” Matt said, reaching for the phone. “Let me have that back for a minute, please.”
Mercier slid him the phone and watched as Matt retrieved a number, Eve’s number from the contact list, entered it into his personal phone, deleted it, and slid the phone back.
“Well, unless you need me for anything else, I’m heading off to the Formula One race in Montreal,” Matt said with a smile. “Either of you want to forget about this damn conference and come watch some speed?”
Both Canadians shook their heads to indicate they’d stay in Quebec and then stood up from their chairs to wish Matt a safe return home.
After exchanging handshakes and a few final thoughts, Matt grabbed his laptop bag and small suitcase and headed for the front of the hotel. With the room charges taken care of by his hosts, all he needed to do now was catch a cab to the train station. In a few hours, he’d be partying in downtown Montreal.
“Stop!” someone yelled.
“That’s him,” a black suit, Tilton’s alpha, pointed at Matt, “he’s the one!”
After a brief interrogation by one of Quebec City’s homicide detectives and an intervention by Leclerc, who had seen Matt taken aside for questioning, the cop, Matt, Leclerc, and two hotel employees were huddled in front of a flat-screen television in the hotel’s security office.
“That’s the woman there,” a front desk clerk pointed out. “She’s the woman I checked into room 730 at 2:18 p.m., two days ago.”
The police had already determined that the identification used to check into room 730 had been a fake Canadian driver’s license bearing the name Jean Bouchard, with a post office box address in a rural part of Eastern Canada near Halifax, Nova Scotia. She paid in cash, leaving an extra $100 security deposit for incidentals.
“She knew what she was doing,” Matt suggested, pointing out how the woman with the long brown hair and baseball cap seemed to purposely avoid the security cameras in the lobby and outside the lobby elevator doors.
“Notice how she looks down, or away, or has her hand to her face, whenever she’s anywhere near any of the optics,” the homicide detective agreed. “We’ve checked the room for prints and DNA. Nothing we can use yet.”
“There’s so much DNA in these damn hotel rooms that you’d have to bring in a hundred people or more for questioning,” Matt laughed.
*
“We’ve swabbed the deceased. So far, there is nothing on him, either,” the detective advised them. He then thanked the clerk for his assistance and sent him back to the lobby to get back to work. “Whoever did this is a pro, plain and simple,” he continued. “They seem to have completely cleaned up after themselves. The victim’s face, hands, and genitals were swabbed with alcohol rubs of some kind.”Leclerc looked to Matt, hoping the American undercover investigator might have more answers than he had supplied so far. The detective had been impressed to learn of the credentials of the man Tilton’s security chief had pointed out to him in the lobby. He had agreed to confidentiality to protect his identification nor disclose who he really was.
“The maid who cleaned the room yesterday morning,” Leclerc said, “she thinks that two people may have slept, or at least been in the bed in 730, the night before. For whatever reason, she felt it had been two women in the bed. ‘I can tell the difference after all these years,’ she added.”
“My best guess, as I said upstairs this morning,” Matt summarized, “was that this was a setup done by a professional. Now, seeing what we have on the monitor, I’d bet my boat on it.”
The detective agreed, and Leclerc nodded as well. The three speculated for some time on the possible cause for the suspected murder. Was it politically motivated? Was someone out for revenge? Did this have anything to do with the first lady and perhaps someone trying to embarrass her personally?
“This was done by an environmental extremist group,” Matt assured them. He doubted any feminist or feminist group would go to all this trouble to first, kill the guy, and second, embarrass him in his death. They’d want him alive, paraded before the cameras, prosecuted, and ruined.
“You would be surprised to hear what some people kill for, Agent Christopher,” the detective said with a somber tone.
“Nothing surprises me anymore,” Matt responded. “I’ve seen it all. But now, I’ve got a train to catch, gentlemen. If I can be of further service, please give me a call. Or, Mister Leclerc, you can reach out via Ms. Dale in Washington, if you prefer.”
As Leclerc and the detective walked Matt to the front entrance, there was a scuffle of some sort behind them in the center of the lobby. Matt had already started to spin toward the noise when someone yelled, “Stop!” The next word sent everything into chaos.
“Gun!” a Quebec City policeman yelled.
In an instant, he and three other officers, as well as five members of Canada’s provincial and federal protection services, drew their handguns. Recognizing the threat, Matt grabbed Leclerc by the arm and pulled him through the doorway exit. Shots rang out behind them as they pushed through others trying to escape.
Inside, as people continued to scream and run in every direction, the lawmen surrounded the fallen gunman. One kicked the shooter’s Sig Sauer 45 away from the body. It had happened so fast. As the first patrolman had reacted to the threat by attempting to neutralize it immediately, the others had opened fire as most often happens under these circumstances. In all, the dead man was hit at least 20 times. The homicide detective knelt down, checked the man’s neck for a pulse, and then examined the credentials attached to a lanyard he had been wearing.
“State Department Protective Services,” the detective read out loud and then turned to look for Leclerc and the American he had been with just moments before. He found them outside, caring for a woman wh
o had fallen down the marble steps outside the lobby entrance.
As additional police and an EMT crew ran into the lobby to lend assistance, Matt looked to Leclerc. People had recorded the incident with their phones, but he felt sure they had focused on the gunman and not the man who had been his target. The last thing Matt needed or wanted was to have his image broadcast on CNN’s Breaking News.
“You know who that was, don’t you?” Matt asked Leclerc.
“You pulled me through the doorway before I even had the chance to look at what was happening,” he replied. “You are everything Ms. Capri said you were, and then some.”
Matt waved to another emergency medical services person passing by them to attend to the woman who had fallen.
“She hit her head on the step pretty hard,” Matt told the responder and then stepped away so she could be attended to properly. Matt nodded for Leclerc to follow him away from the doorway and to the pedestrian tunnel that ran from the Chateau’s main entrance to the Grand Alle.
“I can’t get caught up in this,” Matt stated emphatically. “I need to get my face the hell away from all of this now!”
“I understand,” Leclerc replied. “But who had the gun?”
“Tilton’s main security guy,” Matt responded. “He was the one who confronted me in the bar asking who I really was, remember?”
“Tabarnac!” Leclerc replied, using a French word that, loosely translated, meant ‘holy shit.’
Matt looked back toward the main entry doors and saw the homicide detective standing at the top of the three steps. The detective moved his head back and forth to indicate the shooter was terminated.
“Who knows, maybe they were lovers,” Matt suggested in a joking tone. “It might be best if you go attend to the detective and your conference and I’ll just go back inside, grab my bags, and get out of here, if that’s okay with you.”
Leclerc looked at the American, as if still somewhat in awe of the behavior he had just witnessed.
“You are one cool operator, Matt Christopher,” he stated. “You haven’t even broken a sweat.”
Matt smiled and reached out to grasp Leclerc’s hand. Matt’s was dry and firm, while the Canadian’s was shaking and clammy.
“It’s just the adrenaline,” Matt assured him as he pulled his hand back. “Take a few deep, slow breaths, and you’ll calm down pretty quickly.”
Leclerc gave Matt a smile as he pulled his hand away.
“Get your bags and get out of my city,” Leclerc said. Matt nodded as he read the expression of sincere thanks that replaced the smile. “I’ll go see what sort of a mess is waiting for me up there.”
Minutes later, bags in hand, Matt hailed a cab near the horse carriage stand across from the Chateau and directed the driver to take him to the train station. “Now, let’s see how long before my phone rings and the ass-chewing begins,” he whispered. “Montreal, here we come!”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
F1 was in town, and the street had been closed to automobile traffic. Free Red Bull samples, interactive displays, and tents selling race event t-shirts and hats lined both sides of the road. A collection of Alpha Romeos and exotic Ferraris were parked intermittently along the way, their engines revving from time to time to add to the excitement of an international racing spectacle. Typically, finding a seat at this bar, or any bar for that matter, would be almost impossible. But Matt lucked out and had staked a claim that he would be very reluctant to give up – until his guests arrived. He checked his phone and read the exchange with his new friend.
I’M IN TOWN. MEET ON CRESENT AT 5? I’LL BE AT W&G
She’d responded simply. OUI
Dressed in a tight-fitting black swoop neck t-shirt, tights, and stiletto high heels, Eve wrapped her arms around Matt and kissed both cheeks as if they were in Europe. He was genuinely excited to see her again, and the expression on his face made her smile even more.
“Excuse me,” a woman interrupted their moment. “What’s a girl got to do to get some of that?” she asked jokingly.
“Matt Christopher,” Eve stated, “this is my best friend and roommate, Vicki.” Matt stood up from his seat and gave Vicki a hug and passed on the two-cheek kiss he had just received from Eve. He had checked her outfit, too, and that wasn’t lost on Eve.
“She’s built like a Ferrari, isn’t she,” Eve suggested, giving Vicki the same up and down Matt had just performed. Wearing a white t-shirt, blue jeans, and sandals, she had dressed down for the occasion, preferring Eve to be the center of attention.
“I’ve never seen anything less than a ten in this town,” he said admiringly and then gestured for one of the girls to take his seat. Vicki wasted no time and stepped in between them.
“You two can suck face if you have to, but after the week I’ve had, I need tequila, STAT.”
“American?” Matt questioned.
“Nope,” she responded, “I just watch a lot of American television.”
An hour later, after many drinks and two rounds of tequila shots, Matt gestured to the girl staffing the reception desk. He was ready for dinner.
“How’d you get a table at this place with such short notice?” Eve slurred as she broke into a laugh when she caught herself.
“I know the owners,” Matt said.
With Vicki following close behind, the three took their seats at a balcony table on the second floor that gave them a panoramic view of the action below. Hours later, as the three descended the steps and headed out of the restaurant onto the still very busy sidewalk, Eve asked Matt where he was staying.
“I’ve got a room at the Sheraton a few blocks over,” he told her. “Care to see it?”
Vicki gave Eve a look, and then Eve smiled.
“Only if she can come,” Eve replied. “She’s got a thing for stealing hotel soaps.” Matt laughed and then extended his arms to both women, Eve taking his right while Vicki waved off his left.
“I’m not that drunk,” she laughed. “At least not yet.”
The next morning, as the sun lit up the suite, Matt crawled from the king-size bed in the master bedroom, pulled on his jeans, and then stumbled into the living room area in search of a coffee maker. As he entered the room, Eve, wearing Vicki’s t-shirt, startled him with a loud greeting.
“Mornin’ sunshine!” she said in a bubbly tone.
“Oh shit, you’re a morning person!” he chuckled. He looked back into the bedroom and realized Vicki was there, under the covers. He gave Eve a hug, kissed her cheek, and then stepped away to admire the view out the window.
They waited an hour for room service to arrive. The smell of fresh-brewed coffee, bacon and eggs, crepes, orange juice, and fresh flowers woke Vicki from her tequila-induced sleep-in. She wasted no time in putting on Matt’s t-shirt from the night before and grabbed a seat at the dining room table. As they focused on the meal and beverages, Matt grabbed the remote and put on CTV, the Canadian equivalent of CNN.
“I still can’t believe he’s dead,” Eve remarked as she watched the broadcast intently.
“Yeah, it seems like just yesterday he was checking out your tits,” Vicki remarked.
Matt laughed to himself. “Oh, I like you,” he said, looking toward Vicki as he refilled their coffee cups.
They continued to focus on the news, listening to more details about the American official’s death in Quebec and the shooting of his lead bodyguard in the hotel lobby. Videos taken by bystanders of the incident were played over and over, and the three watched every moment.
Matt continued looking at the videos, hoping he wouldn’t see his own image appear. To his relief, only Leclerc’s face, and the arm of someone as it pulled him to safety, showed up on the broadcast. As the headlines switched to local news, Matt began to scroll through social media and various apps, many of them secure, on his phone.
“Is that a new phone?” Eve asked, noticing it was a different model than the one she had keyed her number into days ago in Quebec.
“No, it’s a back-up,” Matt managed to rebound with. “I’ve got a tendency to lose these from time to time, so I always have one stored in my bag just in case.”
“So, where’s the one from Quebec?” Eve persisted.
“Not sure,” he responded. “Lost it somewhere between here and the Chateau, I guess.” Eve looked at him for a moment. Matt could see the doubt in her eyes.
“I told the hotel and the train line that I’d check back with them to see if it turned up.” He hoped that would be the end of the line of questioning, and focused back on the phone in his hand. A text from Claire Dale had come in hours earlier:
Hope you are staying out of trouble in Canada ☺
Be in my office Monday 0900
When the roar of Formula One engines came from the television, Matt put down his phone and focused intently.
“I think I told you ladies last night that I can get us all-access passes to the race if you want to go,” he said in a tone that let them know he hoped they’d join him.
“Watching playboys speed around a track wasting fuel and knowing all the private jets that come to these really pisses me off,” Eve stated emphatically. Remembering that she had expressed her passion for protecting the environment, and in particular her concerns over global warming, Matt took on the challenge.
“Actually, Eve, the fuel they burn is now made entirely from renewable resources. Regulations restrict the amount of fuel they can burn, so it’s much more eco-friendly than ever,” Matt explained. “Plus, I’ve heard an F1 race brings in millions to the local economies.”
“You can’t sell that argument here, young man,” Vicki said as she sat up in her chair to participate in the discussion.
“Not in the great white north!” Eve interjected.
“Unless you’re going to use that money to build a thousand-square-mile, air-conditioned, indoor fun center for polar bears – don’t bother us Canadians with any of that bullshit.” Vicki sat back in her seat and waited for Matt’s rebuttal, but he could tell from the enthusiasm in their protests that this might be a lost cause.