Chameleon's Death Dance

by BR Kingsolver

  “Can we set a watch on the destination port?” I asked.

  “Which one?” Miles countered. “If she took the shortest route to England, then she’s almost there by now.”

  “Well, what are the possible destinations?” Wil asked.

  “Isle of Man, Holyhead in England, Pembroke in Wales, Roscoff or Cherbourg in France. At the Isle of Man, she could get off, or continue on to Glasgow, or go to Belfast. From Pembroke, she could take a ferry back to Cork, or another to Cherbourg. From Cherbourg, she could go to Bristol or back to Ireland, and from Roscoff, she could take a ferry to Spain.”

  “We’ve lost her,” Wil said.

  “Unless we get uncommonly lucky,” Miles agreed. “We’ll have people watch the ports, but all it would take is for her to leave the car, wear a wig, and walk off the ferry. We’d probably never see her again.”

  “Yeah, if she was just trying to dodge us and the media, she might not take extensive precautions,” I said. “But if she’s running from Reagan, she’s probably terrified. She could walk off the ferry with a backpack and two suitcases. That probably wouldn’t be that unusual.”

  Miles nodded. “You’re right, Miss Nelson. Most people who ride the ferries aren’t bringing a car.”

  “So,” I said, “since we can’t watch everywhere, Wil, you take Roscoff, and I’ll take Cherbourg. We fly there and wait for the ferry. We’re the only ones who know her on sight, so we might have a chance of spotting her, no matter how she’s disguised.”

  He gave me one of those patient smiles of his. “And why are you guessing France?”

  “Because Murphy speaks French. She spent a year in France between university and graduate study, and another year doing an internship before she landed the job in Vancouver. You speak French, and I kinda do.”

  “Your Quebecois is good enough to get around in France,” Wil said. “People might laugh at your accent, but they’ll understand you. Most people speak English, and all the Chamber people do.”

  “Great.” I turned to Miles. “When can you give us a ride to France?”

  Chapter 22

  Either of the ferry routes from Dublin to France would take Kieran about nineteen hours. It took two hours to prepare a jetcopter for our trip, and two hours later they dropped me off in Cherbourg at the Chamber offices. I waved to Wil as they lifted off to take him on to Roscoff.

  Wil arranged for me to get a Chamber car. I took it into the city and down to the port, where I took advantage and parked in an official reserved Chamber parking space. Before the bombing of Paris and The Fall, Cherbourg had been kind of a backwater. The Cherbourg that I found was a bustling, modern city with a huge commercial harbor and shipbuilding industry. The old historic city was underwater, including the ancient fortress the French and the English had fought over for centuries.

  Checking my chrono, I saw that I still had ten hours to wait. With all that time on my hands, I asked around and found a seafood restaurant that several of the locals recommended. It took me some time to find it, and when I stood in front of the place, I wondered if they were laughing at the idiot tourist.

  Bracing myself, I opened the door and stepped down into a dimly lit bar filled with the most incredible aromas and laughing, happy people. None of them looked like tourists, and none of them looked to be in danger of imminent food poisoning. I found a table, input my order through the automenu, and settled in to wait.

  Wil called about an hour later. He’d landed in Roscoff, and a Chamber man he knew there was taking him out to dinner.

  I sat and drank strong French coffee until I realized I didn’t need any more caffeine. I paid my tab and walked outside to wander around for a couple of hours. A pastry shop lured me in, and I bought a couple of eclairs.

  The ferry port had a waiting area filled with people waiting to board, as well as those waiting for friends or family to arrive. I stood out on a narrow balcony overlooking the docks and leaned against the railing as the ferry from Dublin glided in and tied up.

  I knew the make, color, and number of the car Kieran had taken, but I had a feeling she planned to ditch the car. The ferry dropped its ramp, opened its doors, and cars started driving off. At the same time, passengers began disembarking from a gangway on the side of the ship. I hadn’t anticipated having to watch two separate exits, and I felt my neck starting to ache from swinging my head back and forth.

  Then I saw her, walking down the gangplank. She wasn’t wearing a wig, but she had her hair stuffed under a white knit hat so large that it looked like a bubble sitting on top of her head. Walking amongst several men much larger than she was, she wore a small backpack and carried two suitcases. Their bodies partially hid her, but also showed her height. She might have been smarter disembarking with a group of women.

  I raced down the stairs and reached the bottom at the same time she walked into the terminal. Seeing her closer, I knew it was Kieran. She passed through the terminal and approached the taxi area. Most taxis were completely automated, but she approached one with a driver. She had a short discussion with him, and he loaded her bags in his trunk. As soon as they got in the car, I snuck up behind and attached a tracker to the bumper.

  Whirling away, I ran to my borrowed car. The tracking app connected to my GPS, and I pulled out into traffic, following Kieran’s taxi.

  They drove across the city to the train station. The taxi driver drove like a madman, and if not for the tracker, I probably would have lost them. It was unusual to pay the extra for a driver, and I wondered if Kieran paid him even more for speed.

  I morphed into my Jasmine Keller persona, abandoned the car in a no-parking zone, and ran into the station. When I didn’t immediately see her, I panicked. After a search from one end of the terminal to the other, I decided that I had lost her.

  Just as I was pulling out my phone to call Wil, Kieran came out of one of the washrooms. She walked over to the ticket windows and stood in line to buy a ticket. With a sigh of relief, I got in line behind her.

  She bought a ticket in a private compartment to Lyon. When she walked away, I shoved my card into the machine and bought the same type of ticket.

  “Please,” I asked the guy behind the counter, “is my compartment near that woman’s?” I pointed to Kieran’s back.

  He gave me kind of a weird look, but checked the computer readout. “Right next to it. Why?”

  I made an expression of distaste. “She snores. She was on the ferry from England with me.”

  He chuckled. “I can move you to another car, if you wish, but you’d have to share a compartment.”

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll get some earplugs.”

  With a smile, he handed my ticket back and pointed behind me. “You really can’t hear one compartment from another,” he said, “but the shop over there sells all kinds of travel accessories, including earplugs.”

  I thanked him and called Wil. “She’s here in Cherbourg, but she won’t be here long. She plans to take a train to Lyon.”

  “Damn! Any way you can capture her first?”

  “I don’t think so. There are a ton of people. I mean, I might be able to get close enough to stick a gun in her ribs and steer her out of here, but what do I do if she says no? I’m not going to shoot her.”

  He was quiet for a bit while I tried to keep Kieran in sight. I really needed to get to that shop. I hadn’t planned on a long trip, and other than having a toothbrush and toothpaste, I was woefully unprepared for an overnight.

  “I can meet you in Lyon, or maybe someplace in between,” Wil said.

  “That works. Look, I’ve got an hour to get ready for a long train ride. I’ll call you, okay?”

  Luckily, Kieran went into the shop. While I was buying a package of underwear and other things, she bought two newspapers, a book, and a bag of chocolates. I added some chocolates and a newspaper to my purchases, too.

  As I followed Kieran to our train, I reflected on how some words from the past seemed to hang on. Books and newspapers had
n’t been printed on paper since long before I was born. To buy a newspaper, I laid my phone on a glass plate, then browsed on a screen for the media I wanted to buy. When I paid, a file was transferred to my device.

  The compartment was similar to the ones I used in North America, and several steps above anything I had used on my previous trips to Europe. It even had a small sink and a toilet. Kieran obviously knew continental Europe better than I did. She had lived there for two or three years, and she had grown up in Ireland, so she probably had opportunities to travel around. I had spent two summers there when I was at university, and been to France, Germany, and Poland for jobs.

  Although I saw Kieran get on the train and struggle getting her luggage into her compartment, I didn’t trust her to stay there. As soon as I entered my compartment, I blurred my image, stepped back into the corridor, and plastered myself against the wall. I stayed there until the train lurched out of the station and began to pick up speed.

  I attached a bug to Kieran’s door and then went into my compartment. Sitting down on the bunk, I called Wil.

  “Where are you?” he asked when he answered.

  “On the train, heading to Lyon.”

  “Okay. I can get there before you do.”

  “Wil, we don’t know if she plans to go all the way to Lyon. The train makes several stops.”

  He was quiet for what seemed a long time. “Wait,” he suddenly said. “I know where she’s going. She’s going to Geneva.”

  It had been more than twenty-four hours since I got up and went running with Wil, so I was a little slow. Geneva? The word finally filtered through to a part of my mind not caught up in the moment. Switzerland, which still had a democratic government. Neutral, independent. Not run by the corporations. No Chamber of Commerce. Switzerland, where the government still regulated the corporations. Where any charges against her would have to be proven before we could take her into custody.

  “Oh, hell,” I said. “I’m so damned dense sometimes. Of course. Wil, I’m going to get some sleep. I’ll call you when I wake up.”

  “Sweet dreams, Libby. I’ll see you in Lyon.”

  I ate an éclair, brushed my teeth, and collapsed onto the bed.

  The view out the window was dark when I awoke, though I could see occasional lights in the distance. I checked the time, then my GPS. We were approaching the city of Macon. The train would have a brief stopover, then the last leg to Lyon. I figured about an hour and a half.

  Checking the route from Lyon to Geneva, I discovered that there wasn’t a direct train from Lyon to Geneva. The train would go back to Macon, then change trains to Geneva.

  Wil sounded groggy when he answered his phone.

  “Where are you?” I asked.

  “Lyon. I was just catching a couple of hours of sleep.”

  “Wil, she’s not going to Lyon at all. She’s planning to get off at Macon, and take a train from there to Geneva.”

  “Just a second.” Silence, and then, “Crap. I should have checked the schedules.”

  “Me too. How long until you can get to Macon?”

  “About an hour, maybe an hour and a half.”

  “We’ll be gone. Go to Geneva.”

  I brushed my hair, ate my other éclair, and got ready to disembark. The next train to Geneva left in an hour, and I bought my ticket online. The bumping of luggage next door confirmed that my traveling companion was indeed getting off the train.

  The train slowed and crept along through the outskirts as we reached the city and then into the station. I looked out the window and saw the city lights still in the distance.

  At the sound of Kieran’s door sliding open, I cracked my door and watched her pull her bags into the corridor. She turned her back on me and headed toward the door at the end of the car. Blurring my image, I followed her. A lot of people from our train got off.

  Kieran briefly checked the notice board and took off toward the other side of the terminal. She clearly knew where she was going, walking quickly, but not appearing to be in a hurry. Since she didn’t glance around or seem nervous, I assumed she didn’t consider that someone was following her, let alone waiting for her.

  Once again, she bought a newspaper. I hadn’t even glanced at the one I had purchased, but to check on what she was reading, I bought one, too. While she sat on a bench and read hers, I stood in the shadows behind her and called Wil.

  “Are you in Macon?” he asked.

  “Yeah. The train leaves for Geneva in about forty-five minutes.”

  “I’m boarding a helicopter now,” he said. “Any chance you can capture her before she crosses the border?”

  The platform wasn’t crowded, but there were a couple of dozen people near, and more coming.

  “I’m not sure. Can you get some cops here to arrest her? I can impersonate a cop if you really want to get her.”

  I could tell he thought about it, but then he said, “No, don’t do that. Just figure out a way to keep her off that train.”

  Pulling up the newspaper, I searched for the word ‘art’. A dozen articles came up, three of which included Kieran’s picture. For the most part, the articles focused on the culture of art collecting in Vancouver. One provided profiles of the Gallery’s board of directors. I still couldn’t find a single mention of Michael Reagan. I tried searching for his name and came up empty.

  I tried to figure out what my options were. We had no idea of Kieran’s plans once she reached Geneva. She probably had money stashed there, but she also might know someone in Switzerland who would help her.

  I could take her if I ever got her away from crowds, but that would get trickier once we reached Switzerland. How would we get her back across the Swiss border? The Chamber had a guarded relationship with Swiss authorities, and the Swiss were notoriously picky about kidnapping people in their country. I couldn’t imagine Wil taking any chance that would piss them off.

  I waited fifteen minutes for Chamber security, feeling increasingly frustrated. On an impulse, I unblurred my form, walked over to Kieran, and sat down beside her. She gave me a quick glance, then did a double-take.

  “Hi, Kieran.”

  “Libby. Uh, how unexpected.”

  “It is a long way from Vancouver. I tried calling, but you were very hard to catch.” I nodded at the article she was reading on her phone. “You know, I warned you that you needed to get on the right side of that mess.” I shrugged. “Of course, no one ever listens to me.”

  She stared at me, her eyes wide, and her mouth open as though she wanted to say something, but couldn’t figure out what.

  “I find it very interesting that Michael Reagan’s name hasn’t come up,” I continued. “Don’t you? I guess you don’t have the money to pay people off the way he does.”

  I shifted my position to face her. “I never would have guessed that you’re the brains behind the whole thing. I usually consider myself a good judge of character, but I just didn’t think you were the kind of person who orders people killed in cold blood. Boyle, Abramowitz, Karen Schultz. How many more did you order O’Bannon to slaughter?”

  “I-I didn’t. That wasn’t me. I didn’t do that,” she babbled.

  I held up my hand and she stopped.

  “Prove it,” I said. She looked like I’d slapped her. “It’s all your fault, Kieran.” I motioned to her phone. “Stealing famous paintings. Defrauding rich people by selling them stolen paintings. And worst of all, forging famous paintings. You know that’s the worst offense. Even the Swiss won’t be able to protect you from that charge. You know what the forgeries do, don’t you?”

  She stared at me like a bird facing a snake.

  “The forgeries disrupt the market,” I said. “Collectors and insurance companies can deal with the thefts. But when no one can trust whether a painting is genuine, no one buys, and prices plummet. And someone who can copy a Rembrandt? A Monet? A Van Gogh? You’ll never see the light of day again.”

  The train pulled into the station and stopped.
Kieran looked in that direction.

  “Look down,” I said.

  She turned back toward me and then looked down. The MiniStealth pistol I carried in my boot was in my right hand, its muzzle peeking out from under my left arm.

  “If you take one step toward that train, I’ll shoot you,” I said.

  Her eyes returned to my face, wider than before.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked in almost a whisper.

  “Help me get Reagan and O’Bannon.”

  “If they don’t kill me, what happens to me?”

  “We tell the world that you were working undercover for the Chamber and NAI insurance. You walk away free under one condition.”

  “What?”

  “If you ever even think of forging another painting, I’ll hunt you down. You’ll have to hold a paintbrush with your toes. Understand?”

  She swallowed hard and nodded.

  “Okay. We’re going to sit here until someone comes to get us.”

  I pulled out my phone with my left hand. The muzzle of my pistol never wavered. “Wil? We didn’t get on the train. Is someone coming to terminal three to collect us?”

  “Us?” he asked.

  “Kieran is going to cooperate. I offered her a deal.”

  “Oh, good God. I don’t want to hear this, do I?”

  “It’s all good. Just hurry. This bench is uncomfortable.”

  Chapter 23

  The train pulled out of the station. Kieran watched it go as though it contained all of her hopes and dreams. Two men wearing dark trousers and turtlenecks walked up to us. The older of the two flashed a Chamber ID. I could see at least three more security operatives hanging back.

  “Kieran Murphy?”

  She looked up at him. “Yes.”

  “I’m Investigator Durant. You’re under arrest. Please come with us.”

  Kieran looked to me, and I nodded. We both stood. The younger man took her suitcases while Durant turned her around and slipped the backpack from her shoulders. Holding it, he turned to me.

  “Elizabeth Nelson?”