Obscure Intentions

by Anthony J Harrison

  “I’m not sure what you mean, Adrien. I’m rather comfortable,” the banker said.

  “Then why tell my associate your fee was increasing?”

  Pierre sat, his scalp tingling as beads of sweat formed along his hairline. “The bank has a new president, and he’s being more meticulous with the books,” he stammered as the waitress came for their order. As the young woman left, he continued. “Several of the other accounts I’ve managed have pulled out and gone elsewhere. When this happens, he scours the ledgers looking to see why they left.”

  “Are you saying my account is at risk?”

  “No, as long as we keep the transactions like we have in the past, yours will be fine Monsieur,” Pierre said. “It’s just, well, if Monsieur Reno digs deeper, he may find yours on accident," he continued. "If this happens, I’ll want to make sure I can live comfortably since my banking days will be over,” Pierre explained, gulping down his glass of water.

  “Let's see if I understand what you’re telling me,” Gregory said. “You’ve mixed my account with others which are now at risk of being found out, am I correct?” he asked, giving the older man a cold and determined stare across the table.

  “Yes, ah, it’s possible,” Pierre answered. “But I had to do the transactions like this because of how your funds were being accepted, Monsieur Richelieu. Several of the offshore entities are not welcome in our banking circles, so I had to mask them, for your benefit.”

  Gregory looked past his guest and out the window, contemplating whether it was time to end Papillion Transport’s association with the bank. The question looming before him was how to leave the bank with their money intact without arousing suspicions by the new president. As the server brought their food to the table, Gregory was still considering his options.

  “I’ll need to discuss this position with the board of directors for the company, you understand,” he said. As he poured some soy sauce into a dish, he continued. “If you don’t have any objections, that is.”

  “Why would I object to you discussing things with your colleagues? I would expect nothing less,” Pierre said. “But I hope you understand the position Monsieur Reno has put me in as well, though. If my current or past transactions are discovered, the assets for Papillion Transports will be seized and the police will come for both of us.”

  “Then I recommend we both exercise a greater degree of caution,” Gregory said. “Would you like some wasabi for your spring rolls?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sitting around the small table of the conference room, the three detectives looked at each other while waiting for their senior officer to arrive. Though Geneviève knew what they would soon learn, Berger and Masson were waiting to find out a practical excuse for their prisoner’s release.

  Claude stumbled through the door, spilling some of his coffee onto the floor. “Damn, I forgot a lid,” he muttered, sidestepping the fresh puddle he made. “So, I’ve news about this Monsieur Gomez,” he started, tossing a folder on the table and taking a seat. “He’s an American.”

  “What do you mean he’s an American?” Detective Berger asked.

  “According to what Superintendent Chevallier told Captain Duval, yes; he’s an agent for their Drug Enforcement Agency,” Detective Lemieux said. “He’s been working a special assignment for over three years. And we’ve been asked not to interfere with it.”

  “The Spanish provided us with some background about his activities,” Berger said, waving the communique. “He was apprehended in Hamburg for inciting a melee on the docks before being arrested. When the BKB looked into his activities, they were told to turn him over to the Spanish," he explained, summarizing the message.

  “So, he got drunk with the dock workers; what seaman hasn’t when in port?” Masson asked.

  “He wasn’t drunk though,” Berger said, reading more of the text. “It says when apprehended, they found several grams of hashish and nearly ten-thousand euros in his pocket. The odd part was when they ran his Spain-issued passport, it came back as invalid.”

  “So, we’ve been alerted to this guy because of several past instances of phony documents,” Claude said. “And yet INTERPOL has asked us to look the other way? Something’s not right,” he said, looking at Geneviève sitting in her chair.

  As the conversation between her fellow officers was taking place, she had fallen asleep, slouched in the oversized chair. It wasn’t until Claude looked over did they see she was dozing, her breathing rhythmic and gentle.

  “Should we wake her?” Berger whispered to his fellow officers.

  “You can. I’m afraid of what she’ll do to us when she wakes,” Masson said.

  “This break-in at her apartment has her pretty spooked,” Claude said. “I’m surprised she’s been able to go this long. Just yesterday, the young woman from the lab, oh, what’s her name…”

  “Francine,” Berger replied.

  “Yes, her,” Claude confirmed. “She found Geneviève curled up on the sofa in the ladies’ lounge.” He stepped next to the young woman. “Excuse us, Miss Benoit,” he said softly, shaking her. “Would you care to join our conversation?”

  Drifting off like she did, the officer soon found herself clutching her school books, dodging puddles left from a passing shower. Roaming the back streets near her home in Cherbourg, the young woman could sense the eyes of several sailors following her along the sidewalk. Feeling a hand touching her shoulder, Geneviève’s first reaction was to drop her books and assume a defensive posture, one of several her ju-jitsu instructor taught her many years ago.

  “Whoa there, Geneviève,” Masson said, catching her before she slid off the chair.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking the cobwebs of sleep from her eyes. “I’ve not gotten much sleep the last few days. What did I miss?”

  “Our former guest,” Claude said, alluding to Guillermo Ochoa. “It seems Berger here might have some insight into his activities INTERPOL failed to tell Superintendent Chevalier. This, of course, wouldn’t be the first time for them to withhold information.”

  “So, what can we do about it?” Geneviève asked, standing and straightening her blouse while pacing the room, trying to stay awake. “They’re the authority on issues like this, aren’t they? They've got the means of crossing jurisdictions to make sure the bad guys are caught.”

  “In normal circumstances, you’re probably right,” Masson said, weighing in on the speculation. “However, with something that’s high profile or embarrassing to another country, they’re most likely to keep things to themselves. Wouldn’t you agree, Claude?”

  Seeing his reflection in the window, the senior officer thought of the words to answer his colleague. “This involves something beyond our rank, I’m afraid,” he answered. “Until we’ve been given more leeway to act with the information we have, we’ll need to watch what actions we undertake.”

  “But we have the information right here. We know something isn’t right,” Berger said, holding the communique. “Unless someone created this to make us look foolish, I say we keep our options open to arrest Ochoa, or Gomez, or whatever name he’s using now.”

  “If he was prone to selling drugs before, I’m sure he’ll try again,” Geneviève said, stretching her arms above her head. Transferring her weight, she tilted her body to the left, exposing one of the small scars on her back to her fellow officers.

  “Captain Duval wants us to focus on the mystery of the shipping company,” Claude said. “We know one, if not all, of their vessels was being used in drug smuggling. Moreover, since our first visit, the staff has vanished, but why can’t we find them? It’s time we go back to being detectives and try to decide what happened since our last visit.”

  “Nicolas and I still have nearly a hundred pages of vessel movements to review,” Masson said, alluding to the harbormaster printouts. “So far, nothing except the De Gaulle coming in the day before yesterday from Naples.”

  “Then I suggest the two of you find who is the
captain and first officer and keep an eye on them while they’re in port,” Claude said. “I can’t imagine the master of a ship not wanting to boast to his employer about how well he and his crew are performing.”

  “And what are you and I going to do?” Geneviève asked, looking at the senior officer.

  Claude walked up to her and placed his arm around her shoulders. “You and I are going to gather some of your things and move you to the police academy,” he said. “Captain Duval has agreed to allow you to stay there for a few days while the foot patrols search for your prowler.”

  ***

  Yelling from the docks echoed off the warehouse and ships’ side as workers continued to offload the freighter M/V De Gaulle as the sun began setting. “Don’t you just love watching them sweat out a deadline?” Captain Sebastian Dubois asked of his first officer.

  “Better they do it after sundown than high noon,” Olivier Girard said. “Besides, this is probably the first time we’ve had a legitimate load for them to handle,” he noted, referring to their illegal shipping practices from their history. “I still can’t get past the expression on the harbormaster's face when he wanted his kick back, and you just shook his hand,” the first officer said.

  “If Gregory and Louis get their way, we could just become a legitimate business firm,” Sebastian said. “It doesn’t pay as well, but it’s certainly less dangerous for everyone.” He looked at a stranger with familiar features of his business partner approaching.

  “Doesn’t that person remind you of Clement?” Olivier asked, pointing to the man limping on the dock.

  “The hair’s longer and the beard seems out of place, but it could be,” the captain said, studying the man approaching the vessel.

  Dodging the trucks and other vehicles moving cargo along the docks, Louis Clement limped along the waterfront towards the gangway. Glancing towards the bridge, he saw the two officers in conversation, before one of them waved at him. He could see the man trying to yell, but he couldn’t understand them over the noise.

  Handling the ropes on the gangway, Louis pulled himself up the steep walkway until he could step over the edge and onto the deck. “Bonjour, mon ami,” he said to the crew member. “I’m here to see your captain.”

  Before the sailor could call the bridge, a door swung open with a clank of metal on metal as the first officer came through it. “Louis, my friend,” Olivier Girard shouted, hugging the man. “It’s been too long. Why are you limping? What’s with this cane?”

  “A permanent gift, thanks to my tussle with Franco,” Louis said. “I took a bullet from a policewoman the day he fled Marseille.” He rubbed his thigh. “It’s not too bad, but Gregory and I've been looking at office spaces we can move into, so I’m a bit tired at the moment.”

  Reaching them, Sebastian Dubois asked, “I practically didn’t recognize you, did you forget to shave this morning?” he joked with his friend. “What brings you down to the docks? I thought we would be meeting tomorrow as scheduled.”

  Glancing about the deck, Louis sat on a vacant bollard along the ship’s railing, glancing at the captain. “We’ve had to move our offices because of the police,” he said. “Seems Papillion has gathered some interest after the last delivery to the Irishman,” Louis continued, relating details about the Bonaparte delivery in the North Sea to the men.

  “So, the entire enterprise is in jeopardy?” Sebastian asked.

  “I would be willing to say we’re in a more tenuous position,” Louis said. “However, I’m confident as a group, we've got the means of overcoming this obstacle just as we have in the past. Since we’ve cut ties with Aziz and his Algiers connection, we don’t have to scour the vessels to remove the stench of the drugs.” He glanced at the seaman for his reaction.

  Sebastian looked at Louis, surprised to find out his disdain for their former drug operations. “So, how will we earn our living then? Am I supposed to be an honest sailor now?” he asked, chuckling at the thought.

  Meanwhile, as the two men talked about the future, first officer Olivier peered over the side, observing the activity of several dockworkers near the warehouse entrance. The lead worker, wearing the cleanest work clothes, was arguing with a man standing in the shadows. Two of the dockworkers were stepping closer to their supervisor as he became more animated in his discussion. “Captain, we might have an issue on the docks,” he said, turning to Sebastian and Louis.

  Both men moved to the rail and glanced over, watching the event unfold. The supervisor, now flanked by four of his workers, had surrounded the one man, who was still obscured in the growing shadows. “I haven’t seen the workers get this agitated since the dock strikes two years ago,” the captain said. “Jules, go see if you can find out what this is all about,” he ordered.

  “Oui, Captain,” the young man said, scurrying down the gangway.

  “How soon can you prepare a defense?” Louis asked, sensing something wasn’t right.

  Glancing at his friend, Sebastian said, “A few minutes, no more than five. Why?”

  “I’m getting an odd feeling about this,” Louis said, watching the work come to a halt while the workers gathered at the end of the warehouse. “How much cargo do you still have to off-load? And how soon can you get underway?”

  “Olivier, get a count of what’s left to discharge and get Max up here,” Sebastian said, more as an order than a request.

  “Oui, Captain,” the first officer replied, climbing the stairs to the bridge.

  In minutes, Olivier’s voice could be heard over the ship's intercom requesting the engineer topside, and soon he was seen traipsing down the ladder back to his captain’s side. “We’ve twenty-two containers left to off-load according to the logs,” he said, catching his breath.

  “Are any of them perishables?”

  “No. Ten are dry-goods, eight are machinery parts, and four are empties being returned,” the first officer said, citing the list he’d committed to memory.

  Meanwhile, the engineer of the ship, a hearty and stout-figured German from Munich wearing a pair of white coveralls emerged on deck. “What’s the problem, Captain?” he asked. It was uncommon for him to called on deck, so he was naturally curious for this instance.

  “How much time do you need to get us underway?” Sebastian asked with Louis looking on.

  “We just got into port last night. Why the rush to leave?” the engineer asked.

  Gesturing to the rail, the captain pointed out the gathering crowd. “Seems the natives are restless,” he said. “I don’t want us caught up in a strike or worse, a melee amongst the dockworkers and vehicle operators. I’m not in the mood to have anything endangering us.”

  The engineer began to understand their plight. “We’ve enough fuel to make it to Toulon if need be. The power plants are still warm, so getting them ready wouldn’t take long, maybe an hour at the most,” he said, calculating the time to bring his engines online. “But I’ve just the three snipes onboard. Vysaily and Alec are off the ship,” he added, alluding to his first and second engineers.

  “When do you expect their return?” the captain asked.

  “You gave them until tomorrow evening,” the engineer said, reminding his captain it was his decision to release several of the crew members. “I’m not sure if they have their phones, but I can try calling them back if you wish?”

  Sebastian looked at Louis. “What is your gut telling you?”

  Louis peered over his shoulder. “It’s not getting any worse, but....” he started, knowing things involving the docks could turn in an instance. “I would keep a watch at the ready and consider calling your men back at first light.”

  Meanwhile, the seaman Sebastian sent to the docks had returned and stood off to the side. Motioning the seaman towards them, he asked, “What did you find out Jules?”

  “The harbormaster was advised tomorrow morning, the police will be sealing off all the commercial docks,” the young man said. “They plan on searching every vessel for contraband.
The supervisor was being told he and his workers will be escorted off the docks and all work will end.”

  “That explains why he and his men are so pissed off,” Olivier said. “No work, no pay.”

  Walking away, Louis took a few steps from the group, motioning for Sebastian to follow. “How much spare cash do you have onboard?” he asked.

  “The usual sum we agreed to keep for bribes and such, why?”

  “I recommend you prepare to get underway,” Louis said. “I’ll go and see how much it will cost us to help you leave the docks. Between the dockworkers and a sympathetic tug-boat captain, we might need to start a collection.” He chuckled at the thought of passing a hat.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The sound of a paperback book falling to the floor startled Geneviève, causing her to bring her pistol to bear at the noise. Dammit. Grabbing her wristwatch, she saw it was practically six in the morning, the faint glow of sunrise filtering through the curtains. Getting up from the chair, she plodded into the kitchen to fix coffee. Searching through the cupboard, she found a cup to hold the mahogany liquid.

  Tugging open the refrigerator, she noticed how bare the shelves were. “I’m going to need a few things,” she said as she grabbed the creamer. “I’m sure Claude won’t mind stopping after work.” Stirring her coffee, she brought the cup towards her lips for that first sip. “Near perfect,” she uttered with a sigh.

  Before she sat, a knock at her door stopped her. “Just a minute,” she shouted, trotting into the bedroom to grab her slacks and a t-shirt. Sliding on her shirt, she walked back to the front room, clutching her pistol as she approached the door.

  “Detective Benoit, we’re going to be late,” her partner shouted through the door.

  Opening it, she saw the haggard look of her partner, which was becoming all too familiar. “How many bottles was it last night?” she teased, knowing his after-hours routine.