by Niv Kaplan
They reached the Etoile. For a moment she was awestruck by the famous Arch surprised by its sheer size, then held her breath as the driver plunged into the whirling traffic madness. She had the urge to shut her eyes and pray, but she kept watching the driver maneuver masterfully around three quarters of the Etoile before sharply veering right, making a hairpin exit.
The hotel had a modest entrance off a narrow, brick paved street that merged with Avenue Kleber at a busy intersection where three other streets combined. Sarah paid the driver and was left standing on the pavement until a concierge stepped through the glass doors and seized her belongings. As she turned to follow she noticed the Eiffel again, shimmering tall and dignified in the distance, dwarfing all other buildings. She looked at the tower thinking of how she had imagined the legendary city from all that she had seen and read, and her stomach knotted with excitement as she realized that the real thing was even better.
Later that evening she took the Metro to the old Latin district around St. Germaine Boulevard, and walked the streets until her legs felt full of lead. She caught a taxi back from Luxembourg Gardens and was back at the hotel at half past three. She woke up at ten the following morning and began her preparations.
His Air France flight was due in from Los Angeles at eleven that morning at Charles de Gaulle airport and Glass was expected at the hotel around midday. At half past eleven, she positioned herself in front of a small Tabac shop across the street from the hotel, keeping its lone entrance well in view. Sarah purchased an English newspaper, ordered café olé with sweet biscuits and prepared to wait. Her Nikon camera with the zoom lens and miniature tape recorder were tucked in her oversized orange handbag, ready to be unsheathed.
Glass showed up at a quarter to one. He came alone. The taxi dropped him off in front of the hotel and the concierge carried his large suitcase inside. Sarah had shot half a roll of film by then.
He came out an hour later walking briskly toward her. She was slow to react. She managed to drop the camera into her bag and froze as he swooped by her into the shop. From the corner of her eye she could see him approach the register. She didn't dare turn further. She sat rigid looking straight ahead waiting for him to leave. When he finally did, he kept walking straight on Avenue Kleber, away from the hotel. She began to scramble to get her things together and pay for her coffee when she saw him enter a public phone booth a little further down the Avenue. She quickly paid the aging waitress and got up to follow.
Glass spoke briefly on the phone and continued on his way. He turned right on Rue Boissiere walking rapidly up the small incline. Sarah kept a moderate distance behind him, keeping close to random pedestrians moving in the same direction. There weren't many at that hour and she felt quite exposed.
At the top of the incline Glass stopped and turned to face a wrought iron gate. Sarah was quite a ways from him when he suddenly disappeared from view. She rushed across to the other side of the street to get a better angle and managed to see him entering a yellowish three-storey building.
She kept walking, crossing an alley with another tabac on the corner, situated right across from the building Glass had entered. She continued a ways up the street then doubled back and entered the shop. The place was small and loaded with goods. Along its back wall, opposite the cash register, was a long counter where several people sat chatting and drinking. Above the counter were three small windows that allowed observation of the street and the buildings across.
Sarah ordered coffee and sat at the counter, facing the windows. The first thing she noticed about the yellowish three-storey building was it being completely enclosed by the iron fence, its only entrance being the one through which Glass had entered. The clearing between the building and fence was paved with concrete slabs and was deserted except for a few stone statues that looked out of place. No light was visible through any of the building's windows which were small and caged with iron bars. The building resembled a fortress.
Sarah got up to stretch after an hour. She walked around the small shop, peeked outside at the street studying it a little more carefully, then ordered another coffee and was back at her post. She began to feel that she had stretched her welcome at the shop after another hour, so she grabbed her orange bag and left to find another vantage point. Not far up the street, she found a few clothing shops that enabled her to keep the building in sight. She wandered around each store for twenty minutes keeping to the front display windows, stepping outside every now and then to make sure she was not being evaded by Glass. When Glass did not show for another hour, she decided to make a pass at the building. She walked slowly along the iron fence, taking a quick glance as she passed by the gate, noticing a name etched in gold on a rectangular silver plate above the gate knob. It read 'Krausse-Hauser'. She continued down the street almost to Avenue Kleber then crossed over and started up the opposite side this time finding a small book shop to pass the time. Minutes later, as she raised her eyes from an impressionist collection she had been browsing through, she saw him pass her by. She waited, saw him turn the corner, and rushed to follow.
He headed straight back to the hotel and did not come out until the following morning. Sarah spent most of her evening around the hotel lobby and its vicinity, waiting for him to show. She turned in at midnight and was up and ready by six the next morning. Glass appeared at eight thirty. He ate breakfast at the hotel and by nine was heading back toward the 'fortress'.
She watched him approach the fortress from a distance and began searching for a proper place to photograph the building. She did not want to risk it from within the tabac or any of the other small shops, afraid someone would notice so she tried a few of the building doors opposite the fortress but they were bolted shut. She went past the tabac again and noticed a man come out of a building further down the street. The person had turned his back and was heading away from her. The door to his building was slowly closing. Sarah ran the last few steps and managed to slip into the building unnoticed. She went up a flight of stairs and looked out through the narrow stairway window. She could see the fortress but at bad angle. She climbed another flight of stairs and almost ran into an open door. An elderly couple stepped out, looking at her suspiciously. She climbed another flight as the couple headed down. The window on the third and last floor was blocked so she ran back down to the second floor, taking out her camera in stride. She took several photos of the fortress able to catch only half the building from a cumbersome angle and was in the process of trying to position her camera better when she noticed Glass stepping out the gate accompanied by another man. The two started walking in her direction on the opposite side of the street. She quickly aimed her zoom on them and consumed her role of film with one squeeze. Then she ran down the stairs and slipped out of the building, on their heels.
They reached the Victor Hugo Etoile at the end of Rue Boissiere and began to circle around. They stopped in front of a restaurant across Avenue Victor Hugo and looked around hesitantly until a man, dark complexioned and wearing a tailored gray suit and a shiny orange tie, showed up to greet them and led them to an outdoor table underneath an assembly of green parasols.
Sarah stopped to replace the film in her camera. She was leaning against a tree with a clear line of sight to the three men who had just managed to organize themselves around to table. She shot off her camera quickly consuming half a roll. Then she circled the Etoile in the opposite direction, found another tree, and photographed them from a different angle focusing on Glass's two companions, congratulating herself on her choice of lens which allowed her to capture them from a safe distance.
She took out the second finished roll, inserted a third, and threw the camera in her bag. Then she found a crowded little tavern nearby and sat outside, camouflaged by some shade, keeping an eye on the three men who were, by now, deep in conversation.
Glass and his companion left the dark man sitting at the table an hour later. Sarah hesitated. She considered abandoning Glass to follow the dark man, but fi
nally decided against it. Glass was her objective; their only current link to Karen. The others could be common, everyday, business associates, though she strongly doubted it.
The two men returned to the fortress for a brief stint then emerged from the gate where a taxi promptly picked them up. Sarah cursed herself for not anticipating it. She quickly looked around for another taxi but none were available. Helpless, she stood watching the taxi drive off, disappearing among the narrow streets.
She walked back to the hotel turning over in her mind what she had been able to accomplish. She had the name and location of the company Glass had come to visit and she had photos of Glass and his companions. Not a bad day's work, she thought.
Later, after making certain Glass had not returned, she had the film developed into double prints. She sent one full copy of the prints, next day courier, to a Los Angeles post office box address Lisa had given her. The second copy and negatives she kept herself.
She saw Glass only briefly when he returned that afternoon to pick up his effects and check out, on his way to the airport.
She still had one more evening in Paris.
CHAPTER 31
It was to be Lisa's final night at home. She was out of excuses and forced to inform her parents her survey was complete and that she was heading back to New York.
In her three weeks there she had once again become closer with her mom and felt a real change in attitude. Her mother had opened up, becoming less cynical, and had found renewed interest in some of her old hobbies. She took to painting again and listening to jazz. Albert’s presence had ceased to disturb her. She had come to realize it was wrong for her mother to be spending her life alone and in the shadow of a harsh man such as her father. If Albert made her happy, so be it. Her mother deserved to be made happy.
Her father had raised an eyebrow or two as he kept seeing her around. She had been careful to keep him appraised of why she had remained, but she knew she was reaching his limit.
She notified him she was leaving the day he arrived back from Paris. Her report was ready and she was ready to go. Her travel arrangements had been made and she was booked on a flight to New York that weekend.
Her mother informed her they were planning a special going away dinner for her on her last evening, surprising Lisa when she mentioned her father insisted on participating and was bringing home a guest. It must have been at least three years since the three of them had sociable dinner together, and Lisa couldn't recall the last time they had a guest.
The afternoon before the dinner she met Mikki at the inn. It was to be his last night there and he was all packed and ready to go. They were splitting up. She was going back to New York to hook up with Eckert who had been systematically collecting pertinent information regarding the case. Mikki was driving up the coast to San Jose to meet a friend of Eckert's who had promised additional information regarding Langone. The so called friend, who served as an accountant for one of the largest high tech firms in Silicon Valley, had been an independent stock broker who was badly burned by Langone, lost everything he owned, and was looking for payback. Eckert had dug him out, lulled him, and promised a nice reward if his information turned out valuable. The ex-broker promised dirt and Mikki was being sent to retrieve it with an open check.
When her father arrived with his guest that evening, Lisa nearly swallowed one of the ice cubes floating in her glass of soda and Scotch. He was introduced as Mr. Campour, an associate of her father's on business in LA.
Lisa recognized him as the dark man from Sarah's Paris photos.
He was Indian, or so he said, living in London, representing American companies in Europe, PhotonTek among them. Lisa immediately detected deceptive behavior and forced body language. He displayed a keen interest and had commendable knowledge on a wide variety of subjects, yet everything about him seemed synthetic. It was as if he had rehearsed his lines.
Her father was acting quite oddly in his presence. He seemed wary of him, almost intimidated. She could not recall her father ever being intimidated by anyone, certainly not by anyone who looked half his age. The entire scenario was odd, she thought - her father insisting on having dinner with them; inviting a guest over for the first time ages. The guest turning out to be someone he had just met under questionable circumstances in Paris. Her father had never invited any of his business associates who came to LA home as his guests. Why was this one suddenly invited? Why now?
The question pounded in her head all through dinner. She could not shake the feeling this strange visit was a silent message to them and the Indian was the deliverer. She decided to try and force the issue out in the open. When dinner was concluded and they were withdrawing for more drinks in the living room, she went ahead and stood by one of the shelves next to her sister's photo. Acting as nonchalantly as she could, she carefully watched for any reaction.
The Indian came in from the kitchen looking directly at her. Then his eyes shifted to the photo and back to her.
"Is that you?" he asked pleasantly.
"No," she said, directing her gaze at him, "it's my sister."
He didn't flinch but looked around the room waiting for further clarifications.
"She… is not with us," Martha said hesitantly.
"Oh, living somewhere else, is she?" he remarked.
"No," Martha said almost angrily, "she has been missing for the last three years. We don't know where she is."
The atmosphere in the room tensed up a notch.
"My God," the Indian said in a startled tone, but Lisa thought she noticed him eyeing her father.
"It's a long and very difficult affair for us, Mr. Campour," Glass said. "I wouldn't want to burden you with it."
"I'm deeply sorry for prying Mrs. Glass," the Indian addressed Martha, almost ignoring Glass. "I had no idea."
"Nobody has, outside this family," Martha said. "We try to deal with it ourselves. It's no one else's problem."
He looked at Lisa. "Never stops hurting, does it?" he said.
"More than you'll ever know," Lisa said.
"Oh I know," he said and his look seemed genuine for the first time. "My father was killed in India ten years ago. I carry this pain with me everywhere."
"I'm sorry," Lisa said, a little embarrassed.
"No need," he said glancing at Karen's photo again, then straightening his gaze back at Lisa. "How tragic for you," he added and swallowed the rest of his scotch.
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Lisa excused herself to go to the bathroom. She needed to think. Campour was conveying something. She was certain of that. There was a hidden agenda with him being there tonight, important enough to make the trip all the way from Paris.
Then she had a disheartening thought. They had been found out. Campour and whoever he represented, knew about their little scheme. The dark man in the living room was there warning her. Why else would he be there, she thought, beginning to feel her stomach knot and a touch of hysteria begin to paralyze her body.
She needed to talk to Mikki.
She dialed his room at the inn using the phone in the bathroom, letting it ring twice before hanging up. Then she went back into the living room. She steadied herself against the door frame and tried to keep her voice from wavering as she asked to use her mother's car to fetch something she promised a friend to take to New York. She thought they were looking at her a bit curiously, but she ignored it.
Ten minutes later she met Mikki at their usual rendezvous by a small playground near the inn.
"The dark man, from Sarah's photos," she said, almost out of breath, "he's at the house!"
"Oh," Mikki murmured, not entirely comprehending the significance of what she was saying.
"I think he knows, Mikki! I think he knows we're following my dad! I think he's here to threaten us!"
"What are you telling me Lisa? Would you calm down?"
She stopped talking as if slapped across the face, her chest heaving; her legs weak. She realized she was being incoherent but it felt imp
ossible to collect herself. She raised her dress over her knees and sat down on a low wooden balance beam. She had grabbed her woolen sweater coming over but still felt shivers. Mikki sat down beside her.
It took her more than a minute to pull herself together, then she looked up at him again and spoke softly. "Our dinner guest is the dark man in the fancy suit Sarah photographed meeting my dad in Paris. I believe he came out here to warn us to lay off trying to find Karen."
"How can you be sure? Did he say anything?"
"I just know Mikki. His body language; his manners; his eyes. I just know!"
"He could be anybody, Lisa."
"No!" She exclaimed. "He's not just anybody. He's here for a reason. Think of it Mikki. My father insisting on dinner with us? Inviting a guest over? We haven't had dinner together in over three years and I don't remember ever having one with one of his business associates."
She paused, letting out a disheartened sigh, then continued. "I show up out of nowhere with a dimwitted story about a ridiculous study I'm conducting about my father's business, snoop around his house and factory, stick around forever. You hang around close by...d’you think they are that stupid Mikki? Do you honestly believe they wouldn't have put appropriate safeguards to keep threats away?"
In the ensuing silence that engulfed the darkened playground with its miniature swings swaying gently in the light breeze, Mikki considered what she said, but was not convinced.
"If they know what we're doing, then how come they haven't done anything to stop us?"
"So far we've been quite reckless, thinking the other side was not aware of what we were up to," Lisa asserted.
"Well , yeah, but…"
"And we have no idea if and how long they've been on to us, do we?" she reasoned, interrupting him. "They could still be fishing and may not be entirely aware of everything we know, but I'm convinced the man in my house is not there for a social visit."