After landing they took a taxi into the city, found a café with rows of outside seating and commandeered three of the small round tables. It was late afternoon, the sun sinking but still warm. Droves of people wandered the streets, passing by in constant waves as if herded together by some unseen force. The smells of the city surrounded them, petrol and diesel mixed with strong coffee and garlic. Alicia took one look at the crowds and eyed Crouch.
“I know exactly what you’re thinking and you’re right,” he said.
“Then what are we doing out here?”
Crouch paused as a waitress wearing a smart white shirt and black trousers squeezed by. “They know we’re in Paris. The plane at least would have to file a flight plan. Who knows how many other methods both Riley and Kenzie might employ, but they’re criminals at the top of their game. If they’re not in the city yet they soon will be. We should quickly make a plan, and then go dark.”
Alicia watched the waitress deliver a round of coffees. “Dark?”
“Split up,” Crouch said easily. “It will make us harder to find, easier to hide. I suggest we meet again in two days.”
Alicia took a moment to ponder, staring at the chalkboard menu without really seeing it. Crouch had a point. The trail that led them here was reliable but also relatively thin. Crouch and Caitlyn would have some deep investigations to implement if they were going to uncover more clues. And besides, she’d had her fill of staring at old churches and monuments.
“Sounds good,” she said. “I could do with some alone time.”
Crouch nodded quickly. “We’ll meet up in two days at the Arc du Carrousel. Midday. Don’t be late.”
Alicia finished her drink and walked away before Russo or Healey could suggest anything. The sun was sinking rapidly now, throwing shadows across the city, and though the last thing she wanted to do was wander the darkening romantic haunts they did at least offer anonymity. Her mind flashed on Claire Collins—the FBI agent she’d recently worked with who looked after the Disavowed guys—that girl worked hard and partied harder and, if caught in this city, would already be stoking up the dance floor. Alicia felt she might be approaching a turning point in her life, and needed time to compute and choose which of many options she might take.
Many options?
Sure, that was perhaps putting it a bit ambitiously. But her future did have opportunity, even if she couldn’t quite see it yet. She took a narrow alley, enjoying the closeness of the walls and the phony darkness. Randomly, Laid Back Lex came to mind, she hadn’t heard from him since Vegas. Her biker days had ended with the departure of Lex. She would never go back. Perhaps he had sensed that even then.
Unable to help herself she rang an old friend.
“Ay up.”
“Drakey,” she said softly. “How’s it going?”
The Yorkshireman sighed softly. “Komodo’s funeral was not easy. We miss you, Myles. Karin is taking it so hard.”
“I’m sorry.” This was not what she needed. “And the Sprite?”
“I dunno. Gone to Japan. I haven’t heard from her.”
“Do you really expect to?”
A sigh. “Nah. Not for a while.”
“Did you catch another case?”
“Yeah. The Pythians are up to their new but old tricks.”
“So,” Alicia saw a way to liven the conversation up, “you’re all missing me then?”
“Oh yeah. Every time someone doesn’t take the piss it’s like—where the hell’s Alicia?”
“I like it.”
“So why are you calling, Alicia?”
The question took her by surprise. She’d been trying to find her flow, her mojo, trying to turn a dark day and a dark outlook into a gossamer veil of silver. Drake’s question brought it all back into focus.
“No reason. Just catching up.” And wondering who’s willing to help me through the darkness that’s coming.
“I’ll see you soon then.”
“See you soon.”
Alicia pocketed the phone, realizing now that she was staring along the River Seine and the city built around it. The rich golden glow of many lights filled the surrounding buildings, their deep radiance reflected in the waters that flowed below. The lighted balls of street lamps marched away as if marking the course she must take. Without waiting another moment she threaded her way back into the city and stopped at the first hotel she came across.
Using cash she paid for a room for two nights and made her way upstairs. Not used to and not happy about sleeping alone she crashed onto the bed and lay with her clothes on, studying the ceiling, listening to the noise of traffic and revelers outside, the bangs and clangs of the hotel and its returning guests, the sound of distant sirens.
Cities like this, they could never be still.
They possessed a soul that could never be quieted, a spirt that could never be quelled, an essence that demanded they move forward, and a heart that constantly craved for more.
As did she.
*
Crouch didn’t comprehend the passage of time. After paying for a quiet room with high-speed Internet in one of Paris’s classiest hotels he took advantage of the fact that the hotel staff clearly mistook the reason he wanted to whisk Caitlyn up to his room and made sure they would be granted privacy.
Once they were alone Caitlyn looked a little embarrassed. “Did you see the looks on their faces?”
“Sorry, no.” Crouch was distracted as he powered on the laptop and arranged his notes.
“One of them even winked at me. Made me feel kinda filthy.”
“Don’t worry about it. In reality, I’m a major catch. A most eligible bachelor.”
“That’s not exactly what I was hoping to hear.”
Crouch paused and laughed. “Yeah, sorry, I was a little side-tracked. The truth is—this couldn’t be better. Now we’re sealed off. We can work in peace, Caitlyn.”
She appeared to shrug it off. “All right, all right. What have we got?”
Crouch took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Napoleon stole the Horses and the statue at the same time. Brought them both to Paris. Not long afterwards he erected the Arc de Triomphe Du Carrousel to better display the Horses. He compared himself to Hercules and Paris to Rome, though never directly. And there the Horses remained until defeat at the Battle of Waterloo sealed his fate. Following that, France ceded the Horses back to Venice.”
“But not the statue?”
“We don’t know that. If the trail leads back to Venice . . .” Crouch allowed the sentence to hang, not liking where such a development would take them.
Brick wall? Dead end? A maze with no exit?
“We should read up on Napoleon and the Arc,” Caitlyn decided. “And again, why is this statue so valuable to everyone? I never even heard of it.”
Crouch threaded his fingers together. “Imagine this. The personal sculptor of the greatest known king who ever lived and the man who coached the creator of one of the seven ancient wonders of the world actually sculpted personal works by the hundreds. But none remain. Not one. The copies of his works are regarded themselves as ancient works of wonder. Now,” he sat back, “imagine one work survived. Considered his greatest effort, it exists and is disclosed to and displayed only for the privileged and the ultra-wealthy. And even they cannot possess it. It is Lysippos’ legacy.”
“You truly believe works of art like this exist?”
Crouch barked out a laugh. “Don’t show your naivety, Caitlyn. Of course they exist. Surely, over at MI5 you heard rumors of missing art. Freud’s Portrait of Francis Bacon. Rembrandt’s Storm on the Sea of Galilee. Picassos. Caravaggios. Even a Raphael that disappeared in 1945, taken by the Gestapo to decorate Hitler’s Berlin residence. It has not been seen since except in an episode of the Simpsons.”
Caitlyn blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry?”
“Yeah, go figure. More conspiracy theory for you. And they’re merely a snip of what’s out there. Do not tell me that wealthy individual
s and secret groups all around the world aren’t acquainted with that’s going on.”
“Private showings?”
“At the very least.”
Caitlyn poured herself a glass of red wine. “Well, Napoleon conquered much of Europe through the Napoleonic Wars—a chain of key conflicts fought on an unprecedented scale. He fought sixty battles, only losing seven, most of which were at the end of his career. The most famous defeat—at least for us—is at the Battle of Waterloo. After Wellington’s victory the allies then reversed all French gains at the Congress of Vienna.”
“All French gains?” Crouch picked up on the statement. “Is that when the Horses of St. Mark were ceded back to Vienna?”
“Yes. The end of the wars resulted in the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire and,” she paused, “Britain became the world’s foremost power for the next century.”
Crouch narrowed his eyes. “Really?”
Caitlyn nodded. “The Duke of Wellington was a conquering hero as Napoleon had been before him.”
“And Waterloo? Anything there?”
Caitlyn took some time to read through a wealth of information, finishing half the bottle of red wine and starting to feel decidedly tipsy. “Fought on Sunday 18 June 1815. Wellington called the battle ‘the nearest-run thing you ever saw in your life’.”
Crouch listened for a while, perusing information on the Arc du Carrousel as he listened. When Caitlyn took a breath he interrupted. “I believe the Arc is more important. Known as a triumphal arch our Horses were placed atop it. Finished many years before the more famous Arc de Triomphe it was a monument to and a focal point for Napoleon’s victories. It inspired the design and construction of London’s Marble Arch. Every one of its bas-reliefs depict Napoleon’s victory in battle.”
“None of that brings us any closer to the Hercules.”
“No,” Crouch mused. “No it doesn’t.”
At that moment there was a knock on the door, a soft rap. Caitlyn jumped, eyes wide, but Crouch appeared unnerved.
“Don’t worry.”
“You’re expecting someone?”
“Yes. I’m just surprised he didn’t enter through the window.”
Crouch rose and unlocked the door, welcoming the figure dressed all in black. When Beauregard shrugged off his knee-length woolen coat Crouch saw that he was attired, as usual, in the skin-hugging jumpsuit.
“Oh crikey, man. Does it have to be so tight?”
Beauregard slipped around him, a sinuous shadow. “We have little time.”
Crouch turned in time to see Caitlyn staring at the newcomer, a new blush creeping up her exposed neck to her face. “Oh dear.”
“I’ll say,” Crouch said. “Sit down.”
“I prefer to stand.”
Caitlyn grinned. Crouch shook his head. “Whatever. This is all the information I have on both Kenzie and Riley.” He handed Beauregard a sheaf of papers. “I think Argento at Interpol will be able to help with Kenzie’s travel plans, though Riley might not be so easy. He’s always been a slippery one. Call me when you have information.”
“Consider it done.”
“Good. And Beauregard?”
“Yes.” The well-built man half-turned toward his boss.
“No sneaking around Alicia, do you understand? You two don’t have the time or, more importantly, the necessity to be getting to know each other.”
“I think they know each other pretty well.” Caitlyn tried not to stare and gulped even more wine. “At least from what Alicia described to me.”
Beauregard turned his swarthy face upon her. “And what did she describe?”
“Ah, well, ummm . . . .”
Crouch came to her rescue. “Please just get the information, Beau. The entire team is up against it here.”
“I will do my best.” The Frenchman whirled, swept up his coat, and exited the room. Crouch locked the door in his wake.
“I guess mum’s the word,” Caitlyn said. “Which is a shame since I’ve never seen such perfect buttocks.”
Crouch shuddered. “Rein it in dear. You’re beginning to sound like a certain Miss Myles who must never know Alain was here.”
Caitlyn coughed. “Yes, I’m sure I’ve had too much to drink. Sorry, sir.”
Crouch shrugged. “Well, it is Paris.”
Caitlyn swilled the remains of her wine around the bottom of her glass. “His appearance does raise one or two questions though, sir. Nobody’s ever been sure which side he’s on.”
“He’s on my side,” Crouch told her. “And that’s all for now. I intend to explain myself soon but now is not the time.”
Caitlyn nodded. “Fine. Agreed.”
Crouch settled back down. As his eyes skimmed the screen a thought occurred to him. “You mentioned a Congress of Vienna, where all of France’s gains were returned.”
“Yes.”
“Well, a congress is a meeting, right? A great, important meeting between heads of state, perhaps. And with meetings like that there is often paperwork.”
“Every time, I’m thinking.”
“So if we could get a look at the official document that relates to the Congress of Vienna then we would see what various lands, arts and others works were returned to their owners.”
“Yes, the Horses were mentioned briefly.”
“On the Internet.” Crouch said. “What about the original document?”
“You’re thinking it may have been altered for the Web?”
Crouch raised a brow. “Haven’t most official and governmental things? An omission here and there keeps the world oblivious.”
“The original . . .” Caitlyn deliberated. “Ah, it’s in the Louvre.”
“Excellent. Is it on show?”
“To a degree. They won’t just let you take it down and have a flick through.”
Crouch smiled for the first time. “We’ll see about that, won’t we? My own assets may not be on the outside, Miss Nash, but they’re just as large as our French friend’s.”
This time, Caitlyn choked on her wine.
TWENTY THREE
The next morning their first act was to visit the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel. Crouch led Caitlyn to the Place du Carrousel and the two stood in the early chill, staring up at the grand monument.
“Still feeling ropey?” Crouch asked, giving her space.
Caitlyn groaned. “The next time I decide to swig an entire bottle of red wine please just kill me first.”
“I’ll do better than that,” Crouch said. “I’ll render you unconscious. That way you get to see tomorrow.”
“Sounds fantastic.”
Crouch made a move toward the arch. “Built between 1806 and 1808. A high central arch flanked by two smaller ones.” He motioned. “See all the bas-reliefs?”
Caitlyn made an agreeable sound, taking in the raised sculptures across the front of the arch. She moved aside as an older man knelt beside her to take pictures. Crouch waited until he wandered off.
“The quadriga on top is what we’re really interested in. It is a direct copy of the Horses of St. Mark but even so, while the French had them, the originals were still brought up for special occasions.”
Caitlyn seemed to fathom his meaning despite her stupor. “So the originals were usually hidden away?” Her face broke into a grin. “Shit, that’s perfect. The masses get to marvel at a copy whilst Napoleon and his cronies ogle the original.”
“You got it. And that poses the question—what else did they ogle?”
Caitlyn nodded, saying nothing.
Crouch continued. “It’s likely that, like most of these triumphal arches, there are rooms inside or perhaps an underground chamber. Who knows what goes on beneath our feet?”
“Tunnels?” Caitlyn questioned. “Secret passages and byways?”
“Perhaps. Every old city, especially those with an underground train system, has them.”
“All right.” Caitlyn looked around. “Now we just need to prove it.”
; “It always comes back to the Horses,” Crouch said. “Until now. It says here that they were looted and then paraded in front of Parisians along with a vast war booty in much the same way that Roman Emperors commemorated their victories.”
Caitlyn took several deep gulps of water. “Which leads us to the 1815 Congress of Vienna.”
“And to the Louvre,” Crouch said. “Which I believe is over there.”
*
The most visited museum in the world welcomed the new arrivals as it did almost everyone else, first through the large glass and metal pyramid and then a descent into a spacious lobby whereupon they would be required to re-ascend into the main buildings. Though the hour was still early the area was jam-packed. The ambiance was pleasant, excitement helping to stimulate tired tourists in their quest for ancient wonders. Crouch paid whilst Caitlyn used the old-fashioned method to locate the document that related to the 1815 Congress of Vienna.
“Here,” she waved the guide book at him when he returned. “Richelieu Wing. There’s some kind of temporary exhibition hall where it’s being housed for now.”
“Good. We have thirty minutes to get there.”
“We do? Why?”
“I’m sure you remember me mentioning my assets?”
Caitlyn colored a little. “It was a rather memorable moment.”
“A curator will be meeting us there and, hopefully, allowing us a few minutes access to the document.”
“Is that long enough? How big is it?”
“Oh, it’s big but the curator knows his stuff. He should be able to help.”
Caitlyn allowed Crouch to lead the way, trying to imagine how wonderful it must be to at least know someone who knew someone who could make things happen. Of course, Crouch had been in authority for decades and had traveled the world dozens of times. If a person was clever he never missed an opportunity to make a valuable contact. Crouch, to his team’s unceasing gratefulness, appeared to have taken that advice wholly to heart.
The Richelieu Wing stretched before them, lined to either side by old masterworks, a perfect white vault above, allowing a huge amount of inspirational light to shine down upon the ambling worshippers.
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