“And Hector and Pasqual, they’re back too?” Julien asked.
“They’ll be in today,” Julien answered. “I had them take the train so they could unwind.”
“And was their trip a success?”
Louis looked at the former medic and team member from his Legionnaire service. “Yes, Pasqual was able to dispatch the problem, but I’m not sure it will contribute to the Irish lawyer or the ship captains though,” he sighed. “The older captain, Duncan, he’s a proud man and I’m afraid his arrest will be the end of him.”
Before he and Julien could continue their discussion, Gregory came through the door, catching the men by surprise. “And how was Scotland?” he asked, tossing his jacket aside.
“Pleasant,” Louis said. “And Captain Duncan expressed his thanks for assisting him in his problem with the Scotsman. Now, can we try to figure out what to do about our current situation, please?” he asked, alluding to Giuseppe Ricci’s arrest and its impact on their operations.
As if on cue, the television once again broadcasted a snippet of the arrest, displaying the pictures of the two Italians. Concentrating on the pictures, Gregory shook his head in dismay. “You’re right; it’s Geno.”
“So, what are we going to do about him?”
“Right now, nothing,” Gregory said. “Sure, he knows you and me, but he’s never been to any of our offices. We’ve always conducted business over the phone.” He twirled his cell phone in the air. “Which means we’ll need some new ones by the end of the day.”
“Do you think the Carbone family can do something about this?” Julien asked, entering the conversation. “Oh, by the way, speaking of Claudio... He says we owe him the fifty-thousand for losing the warehouse,” he informed them, passing along the parrain’s demand.
“That’ll wait for the time being,” Gregory said. Looking at Louis, he could see the concern on his partner’s face. “We can use this as part of the ploy against Nazim,” he added. Over the next ten minutes, he recalled the conversation he had with his sister-in-law, Claire, about Hakim Talib and where he was being held.
“So, let me get this straight,” Louis started. “You want to do pass this information to Nazim, through the Italians, then tip off the police when he tries to free Talib?” Louis asked with a low whistle. “And how will we know when Nazim and the Algerians will make this attempt?”
“Easy,” Gregory said. “We’ll tell them he’s being transported off the rock to another facility, which will be too tempting for them not to try and make a move. And we need to make sure our intentions at deceiving them are obscure enough to avoid being implicated, that’s all.”
“Gregory, we’ve been out of the game a long time,” Louis pointed out. “What if they find out and come after us too?”
“It’s why we need to get Romain and Elise to set up some training for us,” Gregory answered. “Within a week, no more than two I’d say, we’ll be back to our former selves. You’ll need to figure out a new stance though,” he noted, pointing down at Louis’s leg.
“Don’t worry about that,” the diminutive Frenchman said. “When do we start planning?”
“Right after I visit our favorite banker,” Gregory said. “Seems I need to make a withdrawal if I plan on discussing our things with the Carbone parrain.”
***
With the summer sun beating down on the city, the crowds still made their way out along the promenade below Alberto Scuderi’s villa. Sitting underneath the shade of an umbrella, his chilled wine nearby, Alberto was still bathed in sweat, reeling from the news about his two men in France.
“Bianca, did we get this communique validated?” Alberto asked the young woman.
“Yes, we did,” she replied. “As soon as I saw who it was about, I contacted our representative at the consulate for confirmation.” She dabbed her brow with a napkin. “Both men have asked for representation and have yet to say anything to the police.”
“I would expect nothing less from them,” he said. “Still, I’m not looking forward to the outcome of their arrests.” He knew each man had an intimate knowledge of him and his operations in Naples.
“Bianca, please contact Antonio in Toulon,” Alberto said. “Have him prepare a few men in the event we can free Giuseppe and Benito. And make sure he does so without alarming the Carbone family. They’re the last ones I need finding out about this,” he finished, gulping down his wine.
Taking up his cell phone, he scrolled through the names before settling on his friend and associate from Algeria. Pressing the call button, Alberto soon heard the familiar click of the telephone exchange. On the second ring, a young woman’s voice answered his call. “Bonjour? May I help you?” Ketifa, said answering the phone.
“Good day, this is Monsieur Scuderi. I’d like to speak with Monsieur Khalid if I may,” Alberto replied. “It’s most urgent.”
“Just a moment,” the young woman answered, padding across the hardwood floor to her master. “It’s Monsieur Scuderi for you, your excellency,” she said, handing over the phone.
“Good day, my friend,” Omar said.
“I apologize for the intrusion, Omar,” the Italian said. “I felt it important to let you know of a condition which came up in abducting the policewoman.”
“Go on,” the Algerian crime boss said.
Over the next twenty minutes, Scuderi related how his plan was compromised. First by the incompetence of Angelo who had undertaken his assignment more for his pleasure than the reward. And then, explaining to the Algerian about the botched attempt by Benito and Giuseppe to abduct the woman’s lover.
“It seems I might have asked you to do something which was too difficult,” Omar said, listening to the Italian. “Are you calling me to back out of our arrangement?”
“No, certainly not, Omar,” Alberto exclaimed. “It’s just with these men in custody, my options for taking action are limited. And with the freighter already in transit, I may need to arrange her delivery by other means.”
The Algerian sat up in his chair, placing the empty cup on the end table. Rising to his feet, Omar paced across the veranda, considering his options. Getting his hands on the policewoman was more of an act to satisfy his bruised ego from their earlier encounter. The most important issue was finding his nephew Hakim safely.
“I’ll give you three days to offer me with another solution Alberto,” Omar said. “Afterwards, I’ll turn to someone who is less concerned about appearances, do you understand?” he asked, alluding to his relationship with members of the Maghrebi gang in Marseille.
“Yes Omar, I understand,” Alberto replied. “I’ll let you know of my intentions later this evening.”
“Don't delay, my friend. I’ll be waiting for your call,” the Algerian answered before ending the call.
Feeling the warmth of the breeze increase, Omar slipped out of his robe before stepping into the waters of his pool. Disappearing under the surface, he let his thoughts conjure up several ideas he would need to have before making his next call. The frigid water caused his skin to tighten as his body twitched, heat of the day washed away.
Coming to the surface, he spied Aisha standing dutifully near the edge, a towel in hand. Gliding gently towards the steps, he rose from the pool, his skin glistening as the water cascaded off him. As he was pulling his foot out of the water, the young woman wrapped the towel around him to begin drying off her consort.
Pulling on his robe, Omar picked up his cell phone and scrolled through a list of names. Soon he came across the name he only attempted calling on two other occasions. Pressing the select key, he was greeted by a ringtone.
Fourteen hundred miles across the Mediterranean Sea, Amed Gilles sat in a small back room of the mosque, surrounded by several of his devoted followers. As they discussed the dealings from the earlier evening, his phone vibrated with an incoming call. Looking at the number, he was cautious while answering.
“Bonjour?”
“Bonjour, Amed,” Omar replied. “I
apologize for the unscheduled call, but I was hoping to discuss a most urgent need with you.”
“And what can I help you with, my esteemed brother?” Amed asked, dismissing the men in the room.
“I was hoping to have an acquaintance help with an abduction,” the elder Algerian said. “But it turns out his men were too lax in their approach. All three of them have been arrested and I’m concerned they may talk.”
“And what action do you wish for me to undertake for you?”
“For the sake of our operations, I need to have assurances they won’t talk, of course,” Omar said.
“This isn’t Algiers; this is Marseille, and the police are more diligent,” the younger one said. “If they were as careless as the ones you pay, I would have provided you with the information about your apprentice’s cousin by now,” he informed him, alluding to Hakim’s location. “But I can see they are paid a visit by my lawyer and reminded of the circumstances if you wish.”
Omar sat in the shade of his veranda, contemplating the consequences of an attempt to silence the Italians associated with Alberto Scuderi. Too quick a retaliation would bring attention to Amed and his men. No action would possibly jeopardize the ability for the Italians to help him in future events.
“Then please have your associate pay them a visit,” he said. “Have your man remind them of their families and the cost of speaking against us.”
“As you wish, Omar,” Amed replied. “I’ll let you know what was discussed as soon as my lawyer returns,” he said, hanging up on the elder. Dialing another number, he was soon directing his lawyer to pay the Italians a visit, passing along what was said about their futures and that of their families.
***
Pulling his car into the parking spot for a market, Gregory noticed the Italian restaurant, with several men standing outside, smoking their cigarettes while scanning the thoroughfare in both directions. Shutting the car door, he walked across the street, approaching the entrance.
Stepping through the eatery doorway, he soon entered a small sitting area. Gregory’s mouth felt dry and pasty, his stomach tightening as he knew being here on his own involved certain risks. As he glanced at the few patrons inside, a lean, slender young man stepped in front of him.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Monsieur Carbone,” Gregory replied, keeping his gaze on the person.
Before anything else could be said, the parrain of the Carbone mafia family came through the back entrance, a fit, athletic-looking man in his late forties. Displaying a gold Rolex contrasted against his suntanned arms, Claudio Carbone didn’t hide his wealthy position in society.
“Good evening Gregory,” he said, extending his hand.
“Claudio,” the Legionnaire replied, shaking the offered hand.
“Please, have a seat,” Claudio offered, gesturing to the table and its two chairs.
Sitting, Gregory soon realized he and the Italian were the only ones left in the establishment. In a moment, the younger man from earlier brought out a tray with bottled water and glasses filled with ice.
Smiling, Claudio took a bottle and poured its contents into a glass before passing it to Gregory. “What do I owe for this visit?” he asked, pouring his own drink and sitting back in the chair.
“First, I apologize for losing your building,” he began, placing a stack of one-hundred-euro bills on the table, paying the 50,000-euro fee Julien mentioned earlier. “But the real reason for my visit today is to ask for help in passing along specific information to an Algerian,” he continued picking up his glass and taking a drink.
“And why don’t you do it yourself?”
“I’m apt to undertake something more drastic than talking if I came across him and his apprentice again,” Gregory said of his growing disdain for Nazim and Khalid. “I’m hoping to have the police do the work for me.”
“It sounds like you’re trying to play one against the other,” Claudio said. "And what is the payoff to the Carbone family? You and I have done little business since you took over my uncle’s company," he reminded Gregory. "So, as the Americans would say, what’s in it for me?”
Looking across the table, Gregory knew he’d be obligated to work closer with the criminal family by asking for his help. So, he thought for a moment, choosing his words with care. “We are moving away from our past business with the North African elements. But, we are still capable of moving most anything amongst the eastern ports,” he assured him, knowing the Carbone family would trade in heroin through Turkey.
“I’m thrilled to hear that, Gregory,” Claudio replied. “I was afraid you might try and become a legitimate corporation.” He chuckled at the thought. “Tell me, what information do I need to pass and to whom?”
Without divulging his sister-in-law Claire as the source of information, Gregory provided the mafia godfather his intention of pitting the Algerians against the police. This would be done when they find out about Hakim Talib being held at Chateau Il d’If.
“And who is to receive the information?” Claudio asked.
“The man’s name is Khalid. Omar Khalid of Algiers,” Gregory replied, finishing his drink.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The bus squealed as it stopped outside the vacant building, discharging its single passenger. Strolling along the sidewalk, a woman glanced over her shoulder as she approached the entrance, unlocked the door, and entered.
Watching the bus, patrol officers involved in conducting surveillance of Papillion Transport practically missed the driveway they had been parking in over the last five weeks. “Do you think this Captain Lemieux is trying to make a name for himself?” the driver asked his partner.
“I don’t care if he is or not,” the other said. “Just as long as I’m not getting assigned to patrol the neighborhood where the African gangs are growing. This might be mundane, but at least I can go home at night without worrying,” the junior officer said.
“I was assigned one of the patrol areas for nine months,” the driver said. “It was essentially like being in a war zone. We averaged at least one shooting or stabbing a week. It almost got to the point the medical crews refused to furnish aid,” he explained, stopping the car.
“Look, we’ve got someone going in the building,” the passenger said, pointing towards the vacant offices.
“Well, she’s the first one in over three weeks of observing this place. Let’s see what she’s doing here,” the senior officer said, getting out of the patrol car.
Claudette didn’t detect the police car as she entered; she just knew Louis needed her to retrieve several computer discs from the office of the fictitious shipping firm. Unlocking the door, she made her way into the vacant office, walking towards the private bathroom.
Looking at the small vanity, Claudette opened the cabinet and reached underneath, feeling the small envelope. “Just like Louis described it,” she said, tugging on the tape holding the packet in place. As it broke free, she heard the footsteps of someone coming along the hallway.
As the officers came upon the door, they checked it to see if it opened. Showing up to the former space of ‘Papillion Transport, they found it to be unlocked. “Marseille Police. Show yourself,” the senior officer ordered, a gun in a ready position.
Hearing the officers' voices, Claudette’s heart raced, her brow moistening with perspiration. Slipping the packet into her purse, her legs shook as she stood, leaning against the sink. Stepping out of the bathroom, she was confronted by the two officers.
Claudette held her palms raised. “Please don’t shoot,” she said, her voice relating her nervousness.
“Put your hands down. What are you doing here?”
“I came to collect my paycheck,” Claudette stammered, telling the lie she had concocted for this occasion. “The business let me go four weeks ago, but they didn't give me my check. I need to pay rent, but I can’t do it on a promise,” she pleaded, clutching the strap on her purse.
“And what wer
e you doing in the back room?”
“I had to use the washroom,” the woman replied.
“How did you get in this office?”
“I’ve still got my keys,” Claudette said, holding up the lanyard with two keys attached.
“You’ll need to speak with the detectives, I’m afraid,” the senior officer, said gesturing Claudette towards the door.
After a short drive to the district building, Claudette was led into one of the vacant interrogation rooms where she was soon joined by Captain Lemieux and Detective Benoit.
“According to the officers, you were found in the former office space for Papillion Transport, is this true?” Claude asked.
“Yes. Like I told them, I was dismissed a month ago and I hadn’t received my last paycheck,” Claudette said.
“Last month? Are you saying you were let go after our interview on the thirteenth of last month?” Geneviève asked looking over her notes.
“Yes. Everyone was handed a letter the day after you showed up telling us our services were no longer needed,” Claudette lied. “It was terribly sudden.” She sat uneasily in the metal chair, her hands getting sweaty.
“And what are you doing for employment these days?” Claude asked.
“I’m still looking for a job. It’s why I was going back to ask about my last check.”
Claude looked down at his notes from their earlier investigation session into Papillion Transport with the inspectors from Scotland Yard. “If you’ll excuse us for a moment,” he said, gesturing to his partner towards the door.
After stepping outside, Claude turned to Geneviève. “I don’t think she has anything to offer. Do you?”
“I’m not sure,” she answered. “Waiting nearly a month before getting your money sounds like an awful long time, don’t you think? I know I’d want to be paid as soon as I was released, but she waited a month.”
“So, you think she is keeping something from us? But what is she hiding?” Claude asked.
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