"I've been thinking, Sam. We know someone in Paris who could help us. It's the only way. We're going to need to trust someone. I thought we’d make contact with DuPont."
"The guy from UNESCO who worked with ICCRU? I remember him. He seemed trustworthy, but then again, so did Philippe. It seems my judgment is lacking these days. How do you figure he'd be able to help us?"
"Well, I thought since he's involved in security, he might be able to trace the car's plates to an address."
Sam grinned broadly. "Anyone ever told you that you have the mind of a genius? That's the best idea I've heard all night. Let's give it a shot. What do we have left to lose?"
"We can use the emergency call button on the phone, right? They should be able to connect us."
"Think we could grab a bite to eat en route while you make contact? I'm ravenous."
DuPont didn't hesitate to take their call, and within minutes Alex had an address and directions to a house situated in the 8th arrondissement in the city. According to DuPont, the car was registered to Maurice d'Andigné, one of the wealthiest aristocrats in France. As with the rest of the affluent suburb, the street in front of the three-story apartment block was deserted. A streetlamp flickered above their heads as they got out of the car.
"Looks like he's up," Alex said, pointing to the light in one of the rooms on the top floor.
"I'd be up all night too if I had this view in my front yard." Sam had his back to the apartment door and was staring at the Arc de Triomphe that towered out from behind a few tall trees directly in front of the building. "I bet he'll have a view of the Eiffel Tower too."
Alex rang the doorbell and waited. Her eyes trailed upward to the surveillance camera in the corner above the door and she rang again when no one answered. Still, there was no voice over the intercom box.
"Maybe we should just go in. I mean we are here to return the man's car, and it's not like he doesn't know who we are. He brought us here, remember?" Alex suggested.
"The door might be locked, but I guess you're right. It's worth a try."
But when Sam's hand leaned ever so gently against the door, it gave way.
"It's been open all along," Alex mouthed as she reached suspiciously for her gun and used the barrel to open the door wider. Their senses were at full alert as they entered the building greeted only by an empty, dark foyer. They walked back to back through the large room—each with their guns in position. Alex signaled for them to split up between the two gracious reception rooms on either side of the foyer. When the lower level delivered nothing but darkness, they met up at the marble staircase that led to the next floor. The impressive staircase had several steps that ended at a small landing and then divided into two sets of stairs—one to the east wing and one to the west. Using every skill learned from their tactical training, they proceeded with caution in opposite directions, checking each of the dark rooms along the long corridors. Again their sweep presented zero threats, leaving only the final floor above them unchecked. Alex tightened her grip on her gun. She recalled her magazine was almost empty and Sam silently communicated he estimated his to be even less than hers. There was no turning back now, and they slowly climbed the small flight of steps to the third floor. Once at the top, it was by this point in their partnership a well-practiced routine for Alex to step out first while Sam covered her, and after a small pause, they proceeded with skilled precision. The short corridor was empty. It was entirely dark like the rest of the apartment, apart from the low light they had spotted from the street coming from what seemed the only room on the floor. When they reached the room's doorway, Alex took a deep breath before quickly popping her head around into the room. It was his office and presented no immediate danger. Staying in position outside in the hallway, Alex mouthed to Sam, "Ready?" to which he nodded.
"Monsieur d'Andigné, it's Alex. May we come in? The door was open."
Hearing no reply, they remained in position, and Alex called out to the man again. The answer was the same. Sam signaled for them to go in, having assessed that there seemed little to no risk of a perpetrator being inside. To his mind, the man who appeared to be asleep in a red leather chair at his large wooden antique desk in the center of the room was alone. His assumption was correct. The somewhat small room in comparison to the rest of the house posed zero threat. Apart from the desk and red leather chair, there were only two floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases on either side of the room and a wall that was given over entirely to large windows that overlooked the larger than life Arc de Triomphe in front of them.
Alex called out to Maurice d'Andigné again as she approached him from behind where he still sat unmoving in his chair. Her stomach turned when she reached him.
"Sam, we have a problem."
An ear to ear slit in the folds of his neck revealed the man had been murdered. Sam stared into the wound in d'Andigné's neck and with recalled medical expertise, volunteered his observations.
"It's fresh, so fresh I'd guess it happened within minutes of our arrival. He's still pumping out blood. Whoever did this knew what he was doing, that's for sure."
"How do you know?"
"He made sure he cut the external and internal jugulars. My guess is our host here never even saw it coming. It looks like a really thin exceptionally sharp knife was used, no ragged edges, no midway pause, clean from left to right. The guy bled out in minutes."
"Sam, what is going on here? I knew getting on that train was a bad idea. Dead bodies are turning up everywhere, and we're smack bang in the middle of it."
"Sweetheart, I have no idea, but I suggest we stay calm and see if we can find anything without leaving any fingerprints behind. There has to be something in this room that will help us understand who he is and why he sent you those messages in the first place."
"The way I see it, we are no longer on a fact-finding mission, Sam. We're fugitives. It's only a matter of time before they link us to both Philippe and now this guy."
Sam's eyes swept through the room. D'Andigné's desk was empty bar a couple of pens and a blank notepad. He crouched down to find a computer cable on the floor; one end still in the power socket.
"They took his laptop. Clearly, they were after something," Sam said to Alex, who was searching through the bookcases.
"Nothing here that I can see. Most of his books look like first editions. Quite the collection I'll tell you that much."
"This is interesting."
"What, Sam?”
"His signet ring. It's a black bishop, as in a chess piece."
Alex paced back over the red and gold Persian rug toward the desk and paused as her feet triggered a creak in the floorboards. She stepped back over it. It was the same noise that had been annoying her since the safe under her floor was installed.
"I've got something," she said, announcing her find to Sam as she started rolling up the rug from one end until she rested on the spot roughly halfway down the middle of the rug.
"Of course, he had yours installed after all."
Familiar with the trigger mechanism to open the floorboards, Alex knelt and clicked the underfloor safety box open. As their eyes took sight of the light-brown leather suitcase safely hidden under the floor, they heard the police sirens approaching.
"Grab it! We need to get out of here," Sam urged, before hurriedly concealing the safe under the carpet again.
Just as they reached the bottom of the stairs, the flashing blue and red police lights announced they were too late to escape through the front door.
"This way," Alex yelled, heading through to the kitchen where she led him down into the private parking garage she’d discovered when they first entered the apartment.
"Take your pick," Alex motioned to Sam when they were met with three more shiny vehicles while she pushed the manual button on the wall to open the garage.
"Don't mind if I do," Sam said with glee as he slipped behind the wheel of a slinky steel-grey sports car.
"Come on, Sam. They're about to come
down those stairs any second."
"There are no keys! It's biometric."
"We don't have time to check the others, Sam, let's go. We'll have to do this one on foot."
Alex was still in position with her hand on the button. "Come on, come on!"
The quick closing garage door afforded them just enough time to slip underneath undetected, and the pair escaped on foot into the dark streets behind the building.
Chapter Twelve
Soft droplets of rain settled on her brows as Alex ran beside Sam along the quiet streets. Her newly transformed silk pumps that complemented the ball gown she had worn earlier were drenched, and the wet male shirt she got from the washing line, only exacerbated the chilly night air. She tightened her grip around the handle of the small leather suitcase. The rain made it slippery. Soft streetlights illuminated the vapors expelled from their lungs as they kept running.
When the rain came down harder, and it became increasingly more difficult not to slip on the smooth cobbled roads, they ducked under the shelter of a nearby bus stop. At that moment, Alex had never felt more lost or helpless, and she sensed Sam, who was usually quick to come up with solutions, was feeling the same. They were cold, wet, and tired as they huddled together on the narrow bench.
"What are we going to do, Sam? The sun will be up soon."
"Shh, let's not worry about that right now. Let's rest and dry up for a few minutes. I doubt anyone will come looking for us here. Hopefully, the rain will stop soon."
Sam jolted when he felt someone kick the sole of his shoe and woke to see an elderly French woman go off at them. From her body language, he could tell she was displeased with them turning the bus stop into a homeless shelter. The woman's shrill voice woke Alex too, whose elementary French managed to calm the woman down enough to stop kicking at Sam's feet and leave. Thankfully the rain had stopped. Around them, the city's morning activities were in full swing. Pedestrians rushed along the sidewalks to work, and the smell of fresh-baked bread and coffee tantalized their empty stomachs.
"What time is it?" Alex asked, suddenly alert and on edge.
"Got to be somewhere in a hurry? Relax. It's not like we have anywhere to go, sweetheart."
"We can't stay here or keep roaming the streets of Paris. We're going to have to risk it and get back to the hotel to get our passports."
"No need, I've got them right here, my dear." Sam lifted his shirt to reveal the small pouch he had strapped to his torso.
"You've had them there all along?"
"Yep," he said, grinning with satisfaction. "I've learned a thing or two along the way. Always be prepared, right? Got our cash too."
Alex kissed him on the cheek. "What do you say we try to get something to eat then? Now might be the perfect time for that omelet you never had back home."
A nearby street café buzzed with friendly Parisian flair and Alex and Sam took an intimate table in the corner of the shop. As was typically preferred all over Europe, apart from a few occupied tables that stood alongside the window, most of the customers sat at the tiny tables on the curb outside. Alex couldn't delay the inevitable anymore and unclipped the latch to the suitcase. She lifted the glass object that lay snugly between red velvet cushioning from the suitcase. It measured roughly ten inches in height and about five in width weighing no more than about three pounds. The base was made from a wood she guessed to be walnut upon which a glass dome was attached. Inside, a smaller object was held in position by a black metal rod. Dark brown with a burgundy tinge she immediately recognized it.
"It's the heart, isn't it? The one he sent me in the picture on the phone.” Sam nodded.
"Is it real?"
"Not sure, I'd have to open it up to be certain. It could just be a replica, but without touching and inspecting it up close, there's no way of knowing for sure. People are quite crafty these days."
Alex inspected the wooden base and tried twisting it as if she was opening a jar of apricot preserve.
"Here, let me try."
But the result was the same when Sam tried. "Seems the only way in is to break the glass."
"No! That will jeopardize its value."
"Really, Alex? You're worried about preserving its value over trying to get us out of the situation we’ve found ourselves in?"
"Not necessarily but there's got to be another way, Sam. It's not like they had superglue back then."
Alex took back the encased organ and stared into the wooden base. The rounded sides were smooth and free from any vignettes or markings of any kind. Underneath, a thin layer of dark green felt fabric covered the underside of the base. It was ever so slightly raised in places, and Alex gently ran her fingers across the wooly cloth. Excitement rushed through her body as her fingertips traced the edges of a small square. She grabbed the knife from the table and carefully picked at the corner of the fabric until it peeled away from the wood to reveal a piece of paper folded into a small square.
"It looks like a letter.” Alex squealed with excitement and placed the heart back into the suitcase before gently unfolding the paper. The yellowed paper was perfectly intact, and she spread it out onto the table. Penned in grey ink which, judging from the ink blotches across the page, indicated that it was done with a quill or perhaps even an early creation of the fountain pen, and dated August 1805 it was simply signed off as R.J. Pinoir II.
"I can't understand a single bit of this! My French isn't that good, but if I'm not mistaken, then it's the same traditional French from the newspaper clipping d'Andigné sent to me."
"Any chance we could get it to your contact back home? The one who helped you out with the first one."
"Not likely, no. Without me being able to meet face to face with the man, it would have to pass through too many hands to get to him. We can't risk anything now."
"Well, then I guess that only leaves DuPont. We’ll have to pay the guy a visit and hope for the best. He might understand it."
"You're right, come on then."
It was a short bus ride to DuPont's office near the Louvre museum, and Alex and Sam were told to wait for him in the small reception area outside his office. His secretary, a young raven-haired girl with legs up to her neck, impeccably dressed in a tight black skirt that ended just above her knees and a translucent yellow chiffon blouse, glanced suspiciously at the poorly dressed pair on the couch. Alex was sure the sizeable well-arranged bouquet with soft pink roses and lavender on the coffee table in front of them did nothing to mask the odor their bodies emitted into the small space either. Feeling unduly aware of herself, Alex combed her fingers through her tangled hair and tucked one side behind her ear. She wasn't the jealous type, but she couldn't help wondering if Sam's eyes appreciated the girl's appearance. She glanced at him where his nose was deep between the pages of a medical magazine he’d found on the table next to the couch and smiled inwardly as she realized he had no interest in the girl at all.
The phone on the desk bleeped, and Alex watched as the girl lifted the receiver to her ear. An instant later, she rose and beckoned for them to follow her into DuPont's office—he had already left his desk to meet them at the door. As was the tradition in Europe, DuPont kissed the air above each of Alex's ears and, in true energetic form, ushered them to take a seat before slipping into his chair behind his desk.
"You remember Sam Quinn?"
"Oui-oui, of course. And now I can give you a proper congratulations on your engagement."
"I'm sorry to disturb you again, Jean-Pierre, but we have nowhere else to turn. We need your help."
"But of course," DuPont answered through pouted lips accompanied by his usual Gallic shrug.
"We found a letter that we need help translating. It's in French and dates back to 1805."
Alex placed the small case on her lap and flipped it open. She heard DuPont draw in a sharp breath when his eyes caught sight of the artifact, but he remained quiet, watching as she pulled the letter from the secret envelope under the green cloth.
She unfolded the letter and gently smoothed it out onto the glass desk in front of him. DuPont hooked a small pair of spectacles over his ears, rose, and leaned in as he examined the letter more carefully. He hovered like that for several minutes with his hands behind his back, as if he was too scared to touch it and then eventually spoke in a nervous voice.
"Where did you find this?"
"In Maurice d'Andigné's apartment—last night. He's dead."
DuPont removed his spectacles and took a step back.
"What does it say?" Sam asked, the tone of his voice lower than usual.
"It's a confession."
"To what?" It was Alex's turn.
DuPont seemed suddenly withdrawn and equally nervous.
"What does it say, DuPont? A confession to what?" Sam repeated sternly.
"I'm not sure, but leave it with me. I will contact you once I know for sure."
Alex picked up the letter, "You know I can't do that, Jean-Pierre. I think you know what it says. Why don't you want to tell us?"
"I can't, Alex, it's protocol."
"Protocol! You're joking. What protocol, DuPont? Tell us what it says." Sam spoke with urgency, his voice carrying more frustration than he had intended.
DuPont slammed one hand down onto his desk, sending a clanging sound similar to that of metal hitting glass into the air.
"I can't, okay?”
Alex felt her heart skip several beats as her eyes took hold of the piece of jewelry on his little finger.
"Thanks for your time, Jean-Pierre. We'll find another way,” Alex said, maintaining her composure and hastily closing the case. Sam had noticed the ring too and followed Alex toward the door. Halfway there the pair froze when they heard the familiar sound a revolver makes when you pull back the hammer to cock it.
"I can't let you take it, Alex. Please hand it over. I don't want to have to shoot you."
Alex and Sam slowly turned to see DuPont standing behind his desk with a small revolver in his hand.
The Dauphin Deception Page 9