The Diva Crusade (John McRae Book 1)

by Phoenix Ford

  “Let’s do it, “ she smiled, already on the way out the door.

  CHAPTER 21

  Three months later

  John McRae’s eyes had barely left the computer screen for the past two hours. He was drafting a new Letter of Intent for the acquisition of a company in Mexico. Only four weeks earlier he had resigned from the company to accept a job offer from a group of investment bankers based in New York. Their offer was too good to refuse. They only required him to be in New York for presentations and agreed to provide office space in downtown Houston, Texas for the new due diligence team hired to concentrate on the purchase of small to medium sized companies in the oil & gas industry. Houston was considered the energy capital of the world and a much better location for scoping out companies in this industry. He continued to live in his highrise condominium in Houston overlooking Hermann Park which was a short drive to his new office.

  The sudden ringing of John’s phone interrupted his concentration. “John McRae,” he answered.

  “Hello, John! This is Sylvia Walsh in London calling. How are you?” she asked.

  “Well, hello Sylvia. I’m doing well, thank you. What a pleasant surprise to hear your voice,” he said.

  “Thanks for sending me your new contact information,” she said. “Do you have a few minutes for a chat?”

  “For you I always have time! I’m drafting something for the deal I’m working on and need to take a break anyway. What’s up?” he asked with a smile.

  “I need to discuss where we are with the investigation of the missing explosives and the attempts on your life,” she replied. “It took the Sûreté quite a while to check out all the employees of Angolaturbine, Angolan Fabrication Franϛaise and its other companies. The night guard at Angolaturbine had a criminal record which made him suspicious. Unfortunately just when they were about to pick him up for questioning he was found in an alley with his throat slit.”

  “My God,” John said in an astounded tone. “The murder of the terminated project manager whose name was forged was bad enough.”

  “Yes,” Sylvia said. “The Sûreté didn’t turn up anything in connection with any visitors to the warehouse or offices of any of those companies for the two weeks during which the explosives were taken. No connection could be established with any of the employees either. However, there is one project manager on the payroll of one of their companies who is Italian that still needs to be checked out. She actually lives in Rome and is only required to come to Paris when she has a meeting or customer negotiation. She was in Paris for five days for a customer negotiation about the same time the explosives were removed from the warehouse.”

  “Do you have reason to believe she’s connected to what happened?” he asked.

  “We have no reason to suspect her other than the elimination of all other possibilities in the investigation. And here’s the really interesting part: She works under the name of Eleanora Campisi, but that is not her real name. She is really the Contessa Eleanora Ravasini, a member of one of the very old and prominent families of Rome. I had to contact the domestic Italian secret intelligence agency AISI to gain their cooperation and permission to operate within Italy for purposes of this investigation. They have informed me that she lives in the old family villa overlooking the Tiber river where she has a fabulous art collection.”

  “Why is someone like that working as a project manager for a French company?” John asked.

  “It seems that the family lost much of its wealth, and she needs to work to supplement her income from their vineyards. Due to historical preservation laws she cannot sell a painting without governmental approval. I am told that’s not easy to obtain,” Sylvia replied. “Apparently this woman saw this coming early in life and got a degree in engineering.”

  “I see,” John said.

  “One other fact I learned from AISI is that her family has been closely connected to the Vatican for centuries. Because we have reason to believe the suicide bombers attacking the Islamic State in Syria may have been Syrian Christians I find the Vatican connection to be most interesting.”

  “How do I fit into all of this?” John asked.

  “I need to go to Rome to dig around a bit and try to find a connection if there is one. I would have much better cover if I could pose as your assistant again,” she replied.

  “But I’m not working on any deals there,” John said. "You know I'm no longer working for the equipment manufacturer. In fact, I've only been in this job less than four weeks!"

  “As you know, MI6 works closely with the CIA. I have had many discussions with Professor Arnold, the consultant they use in connection with all the turmoil in the Middle East. They have given you a security clearance for this case. He has already talked with your new employers, the investment bankers, and explained the situation. Provided you agree too, they have agreed to send you to Rome to do some preliminary due diligence on a company that fabricates tubulars for oil & gas projects. If you agree to go to Rome with me they will clear it with your boss,” Sylvia explained.

  “Gee, Sylvia, I don’t know. I’ve only been here four weeks and am in the middle of my first deal. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize my new employment.” At the same time he really wanted to see her.

  “I understand, but your employers assured Professor Arnold that going to Rome will not jeopardize your employment. In fact, they are actually interested in the company you will be examining. Apparently it would be a larger deal than the one you are working right now. They also want to help in any way they can. And I need to tell you we really need you; your country needs you. Less than a month ago there was another terrorist strike against the Islamic State which appears to be the work of the same group who launched the suicide bomber attacks. We must find that group before the Islamic State finds them. The Islamic State could use that group to accuse the West of launching a new crusade against Islam. We must not let that happen! If you allow me to travel as your legal assistant it will be much easier for me to carry-out the real purpose of this trip without raising suspicion.”

  “What happened in Syria?” John asked.

  “This time they didn’t use explosives. They poisoned the water tanks on the roofs of many Islamic State-controlled buildings including madrassas, their religious schools, and apartment buildings where lots of the top the Islamic State leaders live. Our sources informed us that more than 1,800 people died from potassium chloride poisoning including a sizable percentage of the top the Islamic State hierarchy,” Sylvia replied. "Some of the people may have also been innocent civilians, we don't really know."

  “But isn’t that a good thing, that those Islamic State criminals are being eliminated?” John asked.

  “Yes and no,” she replied. “Of course we are glad any time any of those murderous Islamic State fanatics have been eliminated, but innocent people most likely died too. We must stop whomever is doing this before the Islamic State can claim that Christians and the West have launched a crusade against Islam.”

  “Were any of the perpetrators captured or killed?” John asked. “What was there to indicate they were Syrian Christians?”

  “Several were killed, but our sources tell us there was nothing on their bodies to indicate their identity or religion. However, the manner in which they carried out their attack was very similar to the plan used for the suicide bombers. We believe it’s the same group.”

  “I’ll do it on one condition,” John said.

  “What condition is that?” Sylvia asked.

  “I want my boss, the man to whom I actually report, to not only agree but to request in writing that I go to Rome. That way he can’t use this against me if anything negative results from the interruption of the deal I’m working.”

  “That’s not a problem. As soon as we are finished talking I will call Professor Arnold and ask him to call the investment bankers again today. I imagine your boss will tell you tomorrow to go to Rome as soon as possible and give you the request in writing. Please do
n’t disclose anything about this investigation or the clandestine purpose of the trip to him. I’m sure Professor Arnold will ask the investment bankers to only tell him they urgently want you to take a look at the company they might buy.”

  “Fantastic. I love Italy, and I can’t wait to see you!” exclaimed John. He had enjoyed being with her so much the previous time.

  “I was hoping you would say that,” she replied in a seductive voice. “The U.S. government will pay for your airline tickets and all expenses. Today is Tuesday, so perhaps you could fly over on Saturday. I’ll find out your arrival time and meet you at Leonardo da Vinci Airport in Rome. The Italian intelligence agency will arrange the hotel where we will stay and provide extra security.”

  “Okay,” replied John. “I haven’t been to Rome in a couple of years so I’ll find out which restaurants have the best ratings now. See you soon!” Despite his concern about interrupting the deal he was working for his new employers John couldn’t help but smile when he put down the telephone receiver. He really wanted to be with Sylvia again.

  CHAPTER 22

  Sylvia was waiting for John after he cleared Customs at Schipol Airport outside Amsterdam early Sunday morning. He had taken a KLM flight departing Houston Saturday afternoon because they decided it would be safer for him to enter Italy by train from another European Union country so that he would not be required to go through Italian Customs. The CIA had provided him with another passport under the name of Thomas R. Oliphint, credit cards, a State Bar of Texas ID card, a Texas driver’s license, a AAA membership card, business cards and other cards under that name. For this trip Sylvia’s alias was Alison Gayle Newton.

  “Hello…uh...Alison!” John grinned, setting down his carry-on and briefcase and enveloping her in a bear hug. He kissed her on the cheek.

  “I’m happy to see you too!” Sylvia laughed. “Do you have any checked luggage?”

  “No, I’m traveling light. Everything I need is in my carry-on and briefcase. If I need something else I will just buy it at government expense!” He whispered the last sentence.

  It was mid-October and much cooler than in Houston, Texas. In fact, this early in the morning it was a bit chilly. He stopped a moment to put on the lined raincoat he carried over his arm. Sylvia was wearing a dark blue pants suit with a dark gray light weight cashmere coat.

  “There’s a slight change of plans, “ Sylvia said as they walked into the main lobby of Schipol airport. “I know you never get a wink of sleep on airplanes so I figured you would be too tired for such a long train trip to Rome. Instead I bought a pair of KLM tickets to fly to Nice, France. The flight leaves at 10:05 this morning and only takes one and a half hours. We’ll be there before noon. I suggest we spend one night in Nice to give you a chance to recover. Then the next day we can catch a nice coach or bus, as you Americans like to say, to Rome which is much faster than the train. There’s a bus departing Nice tomorrow at approximately noon which should get us there in six hours or so. This will give us a chance to discuss a lot of details about our plans.”

  “That sounds good to me. I’m okay on a bus or train for eight to ten hours, but it quickly becomes tedious when it’s longer than that,” John replied.

  “I know what you mean, but six hours isn't too bad.” Sylvia said. “I’m much the same.” She glanced at her watch. “Why don’t we have breakfast before we catch the flight to Nice? I’m famished!”

  “That makes two of us. They served breakfast before we landed here, but it wasn’t anything I like. I didn’t eat much, and I certainly need more coffee.” John grabbed the handle of his carry-on, and they walked towards an airport restaurant.

  “Before we catch our flight to Nice I will need to collect my carry-on which I left in a locker,” Sylvia said. “Do you have any hotel preference for Nice?”

  “As you probably know, there are many good hotels. I usually avoid the big name hotels wherever I go in favor of smaller hotels with more character. The last time I was in Nice I stayed at the Hotel Windsor and liked it. Have you stayed there before?” he asked.

  “No, but I’ve heard the name. Is it in central Nice?” she asked.

  “Yes, and it’s an interesting place with lots of contemporary art. Each year they invite different artists to display their work. Many years ago after I finished a contract assignment in Saudi Arabia I actually lived in Nice for almost a year. I love the food there, a blend of Provence and Italy. I’m already drooling thinking about a restaurant I know where they make the most delicious pizza.”

  “Well, provided they have a room, staying at Hotel Windsor is fine with me,” she said. They rode an escalator to another floor of the airport where they found a restaurant that looked pretty good. "Perhaps you can call the hotel to make the reservation while we have breakfast."

  After they were seated and ordered their breakfasts John asked “Have there been any more developments I should know about?”

  “Nothing much has happened since we last spoke except that the Sûreté now suspect the attempts on your life were carried out either by the Italian mafia or arranged by them. It seems that there were a couple of street cameras near your hotel in Paris that captured images of two men identified through a photo-recognition computer program. The photos were low quality due to dim night lighting so they are not one hundred percent certain. However, if they are right my suspicions concerning the project manager in Rome may be correct. As a precaution we will need to disguise our appearances a bit before we leave Nice. It won’t be difficult. I brought everything we will need from a special ops department at MI6. In your case we will simply change your hair color and give you a fake but realistic-looking mustache. I too will change my hair color. After I do that, put on a pair of glasses and add a little padding to look heavier you will hardly recognize me.” Sylvia gave him a mischievous look.

  “I’m not sure I like that idea,” John replied with a grin. “I rather like the way you look right now.”

  Sylva smiled. “Thank you, but we need to stay under cover and don’t want to risk being recognized by anyone in Rome while we dig around looking for the connection. Besides, you might enjoy a little cloak and dagger.”The waiter arrived with their breakfasts.

  CHAPTER 23

  By the time Sylvia and John arrived in Nice and took a taxi to the Hotel Windsor it was approximately 12:30 PM Sunday. Fortunately their room on the third floor was ready for them. It was a nice corner room with two French windows. It was a magnificent autumn day on the Cote d’Azur. The sky was so clear that John had caught a glimpse of the snow-capped Maritime Alps in the far distance while they were in the taxi coming from the airport.

  After the bellman left their room Sylvia asked “Do you want to sleep for a while or would you prefer to have lunch first?”

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “No, not really after the big breakfast I ate,” she replied.

  “In that case I would like to take a shower and then have a nap until 4 or 5 PM if you don’t mind. I need to recover from so much time in airplane seats. What I suggest is that after my nap we go to a restaurant for an early dinner. Then if I go to bed by 11 PM or so I should be able to sleep the night. This is the way I quickly adjust to the time difference between Texas and Europe when I come over here. For me it’s when I return to the U.S. that takes several days to adjust.”

  “I have similar problems too when I fly to the U.S.,” Sylvia replied. "Because I’m already adjusted to this time zone I suggest you have your nap, and I will return at 5 PM. I have a few calls I can make from somewhere downstairs, and then I’m going to take a taxi to the local Galleries Lafayette department store to buy a few things. I rarely have time to do such things so your plan is fine with me. I’ll see you at 5 PM!” She smiled picking up her purse and mobile phone and headed to the door.

  “Thank you, Sylvia.” John smiled back at her and was opening his carry-on as she left the room.

  The next morning Sylvia and John were at the bus station a
t 11:15 to buy their tickets to Rome. Fortunately there were plenty of seats. The bus left on time, and they managed to sit towards the back where there were only a few other occupied seats. John couldn't help but smile at her because Sylvia looked so different. Now her hair was red, she looked slightly plump, and her clothes were decidedly dowdy. His own hair was now jet black, and he sported a well trimmed matching mustache. Sylvia had dyed their hair the night before in their hotel room.

  "How are you feeling this morning?," Sylvia asked John. "Have you adjusted to the time difference?" She sat down in the inside seat.

  "Actually, I feel fine," John smiled, taking the seat next to hers. "I had a full night's sleep. I'm eager to hear what you have planned for Rome."

  "Well, we will have to play much of it by ear, but we will be staying in a hotel selected and guarded by AISI, the Italian Internal Security Agency. I had to notify them that MI6 and the CIA would be operating on their turf." She spoke in a whisper to be certain no one else could hear her.

  "What hotel did they select?," John asked.

  "Just this morning they called me and told me to check into the Hotel La Residenza. Do you know it," she asked.

  "I can't recall seeing it," he replied.

  "I don't know it either, but I have the address in my bag. I looked it up on Google while you were in the shower. It's a block behind the Via Veneto at the end very close to the Piazza Barberini," Sylvia commented.

  "It has been a couple of years since I last was in Rome, but I noticed that gradually the Via Veneto seems to be becoming nice again. And being near Piazza Barberini as well as the Via Veneto means there will be plenty of good places to eat nearby." John looked out their window as the bus left the station in Nice. Briefly he thought about Anne, the Frenchwoman he had known years ago when he had lived in Nice for almost a year. It now seemed several lifetimes ago.