Gregory turned away from the window and saw the four men staring at him, all of them wanting to hear what he was learning. “My business may be at risk depending on who the officers detained,” he answered. “I specifically need to know if a man by the name of Nazim Aziz or Louis Remesy is amongst those arrested. But Claire,” he cautioned, “be careful. Do nothing that’ll put you at risk, understand?”
“All right, I can look at the preliminary reports,” she said. “I’ll send you a text with what I learn, will that be ok?”
“That will do,” Gregory replied. “Au revoir, Claire.”
“Well?” It was Louis asking what all the men wanted answered.
Julien LeBlanc came into the office just as Gregory was preparing to answer Louis. “What did I miss?” he asked, dropping into a vacant seat at the table.
“Claire mentioned there was an attempt to free Hakim Talib from Chateau Il d’If earlier today,” the head of Papillion Transport announced. “She mentioned there were several casualties and several members who were arrested.”
“It sounds like we got what we wanted, right?” Julien asked. “We wanted Aziz to try something foolish and for the police to act on it.”
“My concern is how promptly the information got from Carbone to the Algerian and for them to assemble and act,” Gregory said.
“You think they had information already?”
“Someone did,” Gregory replied. “Since moving here to Marseille, we’ve avoided the Maghrebi elements. It might be time we consider them an adversary to our operations.”
“You think Khalid has an allegiance with them?” Hector Pichon asked.
“I’m not going to discount it after today,” Gregory replied. “From today on, we retain a means of protecting ourselves, understand?” He looked at each member of his group. “Louis, call Romain and see when he’ll be ready for us.”
“Are we operating as a squad again?” Pasqual asked, twirling his knife.
“Until we get a better handle on who to trust, yes, we are,” Gregory said. "At least traveling in pairs when we're outside the building."
"And what of Phillip? How do we get word to him?” Julien asked, concerned for his cousin.
“With Giuseppe being arrested, I’ll be going back to Toulon and getting both him and Sophia,” Gregory said. “I’ll see if Romain and Elise can help with keeping her safe for the time being.
As the discussion wound down, the office phone rang. Louis looked at Gregory for a sign if he wanted the call answered. Receiving a nod, he reached over and picked up the receiver. “Bonjour. Papillion Transport; how can I help you?”
Amed Gilles sat in the small office of the mosque close to where Louis and the office of Papillion Transport was located. Looking at the photos laid out across his desk, he cleared his throat before speaking. “I’d like to speak with Monsieur Richelieu, please.”
“One moment, please,” Louis replied, putting the caller on hold. “It’s for you,” he said, handing Gregory the phone. “They want to talk with Richelieu.”
Punching the flashing ‘HOLD’ button, Gregory answered. “This is Monsieur Richelieu; how can I help you?”
“Yes, messier, I was wondering if you and I could meet and have a face-to-face discussion?” Amed asked.
“And may I ask what your name is? I don’t wish to be rude when addressing you,” Gregory asked.
“My name isn’t important for the moment. But I’m sure Mademoiselle Dubois is,” he said.
The color of Gregory’s face changed as fear and rage overwhelmed him. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Come now, such a beautiful woman can’t elude your thoughts, messier,” Amed said. “I’m sure you thought she was safe supplying your fictitious organization with information. I can assure you the world can be a particularly dangerous place,” he warned, insinuating harm could be done to Gregory’s sister-in-law. “And all this was done in plain view of the authorities... highly ambitious on your part.”
“Where and when do you wish to meet?” Gregory asked.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Omar Khalid sat in silence on his home's veranda in Algiers. Still shaken by the news, he was still trying to understand how his nephew, Hakim, had been killed in Marseille. His associate, Amed Gilles, was wasting no time in passing the information about the gunfight at Il d’If and the attempt to free his brother’s son.
Along with the news of Hakim’s demise, he also had the task of letting Aisha know her sister’s life had been taken from her. Even as he sat alone, their bodies were being returned to Algiers from Tunis. Once he’d found out from Amed that Nazim was safe on the Southern Warrior, Omar contacted the freighter, beginning the solemn task of returning the bodies.
Contacting his counselor, Mister Alvaro, the necessary documents were soon prepared and sent with the two vehicles needed to make the journey to Tunis. Here, members of Khalid’s criminal syndicate took possession of the bodies and meeting Nazim and the lone survivor of Amed Gilles’s contingent.
Opening up his phone, Omar selected the number of his associate in Casablanca, Youssef Raif, who’d arranged for the freighter’s services. After the second ring, a man’s voice answered. “Alu?”
“Ssalamū 'lekum,” Omar responded. “I’m calling for Monsieur Raif. Is he available?”
“Who may I say is calling?” the man asked.
“It’s Monsieur Khalid, from Algiers.”
An awkward silence fell as Omar waited for his call to be passed along to Youssef. Sipping the mineral water next to him, it did little to cleanse the bitter reality that two of the closest members of his family were now gone.
“My dear friend,” Youssef said, accepting the phone from his servant. “I’m sorry to learn of your loss. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“First, I’m grateful for your assistance,” Khalid said. “And I appreciate your condolences. Considering my losses, I want to exact swift and merciless revenge on the Marseille police. But I’m not so foolish to think doing so would lift me of my pain and suffering.”
Youssef could gather in his associate’s voice the level of anguish and despair in having lost those close to him. It wasn’t long after Omar had come to Youssef to set up his drug trade that the Moroccan had learned of the Algerian’s past accounts. He had learned of Omar Khalid’s brother and his only son Hakim. With his death, it was only natural the elder would want to see those responsible being held accountable for taking the young man’s life.
“Omar,” the Moroccan said, “there may be something I can offer. I’ve learned one the partners of your apprentice may have had a hand in action against your nephew.”
“How did you learn of this?” Khalid asked.
“For the moment, it’s unnecessary for you to learn how I obtained it,” Youssef said. “What is important, however, is the manner we use this against Papillion though.” Straightening himself in the chair, Youssef continued. “I’ve already taken steps towards exacting revenge against the infidels who are responsible for the loss of my associates. In time, it would not take much to discredit them in our line of work.”
“That won’t bring our people back,” Khalid said.
“No, it won’t. But those responsible will not be around to meddle in our future affairs either,” Youssef said. “Plus, with our swift reprisal against this group, it’ll help establish our brothers in Marseille against the Corsicans as well.”
Khalid stood up from the table, pacing the veranda while considering the ramifications of Youssef’s actions against him and his organization in Algiers. Without the insight from Nazim, he was unsure how his former French partner Gregory Arsenault would react. More importantly, how far he would go to protect himself and his associates.
“And what do you plan to do if the French retaliate?”
“I have faith in my associates, my friend,” Youssef said. “They’ll do what is necessary to protect you and I when the time comes.”
***
G
eneviève Benoit walked out of her apartment, making her way towards the marina. Passing the various shops, she caught her reflection in the windows. Her shoulders were slumped while her chin drooped as if she was pouting. Others walking past her would only see the image of someone who was lacking confidence. Inside, her struggle was with her own frailty and inexperience as an officer.
“How did I not see the foolishness in my actions?” she murmured, walking through the intersection near the beach. Shifting through the evening crowds, Geneviève soon found herself walking the promenade, a gentle breeze tossing her hair. Pausing outside a local restaurant, she took in the aroma of the food being served. As she was about to enter, her cell phone rang. Not recognizing the number, she cautiously answered the call. “Hello?”
“Geneviève? It’s Francine LeBeau,” the forensic technician said. “I hate bothering you, but I didn’t know who else to turn to.” There was a tone of panic in her voice. “I was supposed to meet a friend near the mall off of Avenue Rellys and she didn’t show up.”
“Is it uncommon for your friend to be late?”
“Yes. She’s very particular about meeting at a specific place and time,” Francine said. “I’m worried, Geneviève,” she whispered, the growing concern clear in her voice.
“Can’t you call her to see why she’s running late?”
“She doesn’t carry a cell phone,” the technician said.
“Where are you at the moment?” Geneviève asked, looking at her watch.
“I’m just outside the coffee shop on the south end of the mall.”
“See if you can contact Nicolas and I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes or so,” the detective said, walking towards a row of waiting taxis.
“Ok, please hurry,” Francine said, ending the call.
Striding to the first taxi, Geneviève opened the door and slid behind the driver, announcing her destination. “Oui, mademoiselle,” came his response putting the car in motion.
While navigating the boulevard, Geneviève made a call to Claude.
“Good evening, Geneviève,” the senior detective said.
“Claude, I just had a call from Francine LeBeau,” she said. “It sounds like she might be in some sort of trouble. Can you meet me at the mall off of Avenue Rellys?”
“I’m not any condition to drive,” he said, alluding to his drinking. “Have you tried calling Nicolas or Guy?”
“I told Francine to call Nicolas,” she said, watching the driver navigate around a caravan of tourist buses. “Claude, she was talking as if she were in a panic, almost. It didn’t sound right, you know?”
“I’ll call the local office for a patrol to meet you at the mall,” Claude said. “Let me know how things are as soon as you can.” He hung up on her, then dialed the police dispatcher.
Moments after her partner finished talking, the taxi pulled up to the sprawling mall, its array of neon lights flickering in the evening. “That’ll be eight euros, if you please,” the driver said, looking back at Geneviève.
Pulling a ten euro note from her wallet, she handed the money over as she exited the car, “Merci,” she muttered, making her way towards the entrance. Walking into the expansive atrium-like interior, she soon caught sight of her friend. “Francine!” she exclaimed, waving her hand to get her attention.
“Thank God you’re here,” the woman said. “Nicolas is on his way too. Patrice is never late like this.”
“Where were you to meet her?”
“On the other side of the roundabout behind the mall, near the bus stop.”
Geneviève looked at the young woman with a quizzical expression on her face. “Why are you meeting there?”
“She’s part of a commune,” Francine lied. “She doesn’t like being seen in public, you know crowds and such. Especially if she hasn’t had a chance wash up or change her clothes.”
“So, she’s homeless? Is that what you’re trying to tell me Francine?”
The forensic technician looked aside before answering. “Yes. I mean, she promised me not to divulge how she lives or where. Every few weeks I bring her a couple pairs of clean pants and tops, some snacks. I’m just helping while she gets herself settled.”
“How long has she been on the street?”
“About three months now,” Francine said. Looking passed Geneviève, she noticed Nicolas walking towards them. “Over here, Nic,” she said with a wave.
“Hey Geneviève, Francine; what’s going on?” Nicolas asked, joining the two women.
“My friend was supposed to me and she hasn’t shown up.”
“This is why you didn’t want to go out tonight?” Berger asked.
“Meeting Patrice had nothing to do with not seeing you tonight, Nic,” Francine said, a touch of defiance in her voice. “We had this planned for the last three weeks; I just remembered when you asked about dinner, that’s all.”
“Let’s solve one problem at a time, shall we?” Geneviève offered, getting the couple to focus on the missing friend. “First off, what does she look like?”
“Oh, maybe five and a half foot tall,” Francine replied. “Wavy brown hair, brown eyes and average complexion I suppose.” She struggled to contain her emotions while she described her friend.
“Do you have a picture of her by chance?” Berger asked.
“Sure,” Francine said, pulling out her phone. Scrolling through the gallery, she soon came upon a series of her and her friend. “Here you go - she’s on the left,” she said, handing the phone to the two detectives.
Geneviève and Nicolas squeezed together to view the images on Francine’s phone.
“I’ve seen this woman before,” Geneviève said, looking at Francine.
“Oh really? Where?” Francine asked, feigning a look of surprise.
“Yeah, where?” Nicolas asked.
“She was sitting in Annex Three where Captain Soucy and his Gang Enforcement officers gather,” Geneviève said. “She mentioned she had two weeks before being reassigned oddly enough.” As the two detectives stood looking at Francine, two patrol officers walked up and introduced themselves while asking for identification.
“Captain Lemieux asked we aid you,” the first officer said, handing back their IDs to each of the officers. “He mentioned we’re trying to find a single woman, is that correct?”
“She’s actually…” Nicolas said before being stopped by Geneviève.
“Officer, she’s homeless and was befriended by Miss LeBeau,” Geneviève said. “Her health is questionable and we want to make sure she’s able to make it through the rest of the summer.”
“Where were you supposed to meet?” the second officer asked, looking at Francine.
“Near the traffic circle, behind the bus stop,” Francine said.
“Then I recommend we start there,” the first officer replied, heading towards the exit.
After making their way through the expansive parking lot, the four officers and Francine soon walked along a dirt path towards the kiosk for the local bus service. Stepping to the right and into some brush, Francine pointed out a clearing in the grass. “This is where we would meet,” she explained, turning towards the officers.
The two patrol officers shone their flashlights towards the bare patch amongst the bushes. As they swept the field, Geneviève noticed a small envelope caught in the brush at knee level to where they stood. “Shine your light over there,” she directed one officer.
Swinging the light back, they all saw what she had spotted.
“Do you have gloves?” Nicolas asked, turning to Francine.
“Yeah, here are some,” the technician said, pulling a pair of surgical gloves from her purse. Turning to the patrol officers she shrugged. “Can’t leave home without them you know,” she said, forcing a laugh.
Pulling the gloves on, Nicolas reached into the brush and pulled the envelope free. Turning it over, he found nothing written on the outside, but could feel there was something inside the envelope.
Sliding
the flap out, he pulled the single folded piece of paper out, along with a single photo of a woman. Spreading it open for the both of them to read, each of them took turns glancing at the image. On one side they found writing in Arabic script, flipping it over, they saw what appeared to be the same message written in French.
As the two officers read the note, they exchanged glances. “Are you reading what I am?” Nicolas asked.
“It’s a ransom note,” Geneviève said. “It suggests the Maghrebi gang in this part of town have added kidnapping to go along with their extortion and drug selling activities. Because now, if we are to take this seriously, they’ve abducted Officer Patrice Galant.”
“What are you saying?” Francine asked
“We’re looking at a note and photographic evidence that she might have been kidnapped,” Nicolas said. “This is now a crime scene. Officer, contact your station and let’s get more officers out here to search. One of our own is missing.”
*** THE END ***
Discover other titles by Anthony J. Harrison:
(all titles are available at most online retail outlets)
The Irishman’s Deception – A Conor McDermott Novel
Betrayed by a Scot – A Conor McDermott Novel
Suspicious by Design – A Geneviève Benoit Novel
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Anthony
Acknowledgements
First and foremost, I’d like to thank my wife, Mary, for letting me scratch this itch called writing and for supporting me with her comments and encouragement, even after I locked myself away for hours at a time. Also, a big thank you to my daughter’s Rebekah and Jennifer for letting ‘Dad’ to his thing without the need to keep asking “why’d you write that?”
Next, to my good friend and co-worker, Doretta Burgess, for providing the first level of sanity checks, grammar checks and being that punctuation pundit on all the many pages of my random thoughts and ramblings. Also, to the members of the Ventura Fiction Writers Group; Dru, Wendy, and Ron for helping me understand the difference between ‘showing’ and ‘telling’ in my writing and Robin for encouraging me to ‘just keep writing’.
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