‘So, apart from that? And please don’t tell me she’s a Paris - you know, just famous for being of famous stock.’
‘No. Sophie’s an entertainer in her own right. She’s acted on Home and Away and stuff like that, she’s a singer, with at least two top-ten singles, and she’s written a novel, about a couple of chicks backpacking to Tibet.’ Oliver said all this as though it was a good thing.
Gideon faced him. ‘Despite your amusement at the gap in my knowledge, I don’t feel deprived for not knowing this any sooner than - well, now. That you know it all, however, is a worry.’
‘But it’s his job to be a know-it-all,’ Ryder said.
‘Oh ha. Do you want the know-it-all to organise an interview between Sophie and your Alan, or should I just go home now?’ Oliver was almost purring in anticipation.
Gideon resisted an urge to pat him on the head.
Chapter Thirty
The Hotel Windsor, Melbourne
Friday 2 pm
Jana headed through the lobby of Melbourne’s ‘grand old dame’ into the hotel’s signature restaurant, 111 Spring Street, where she was to meet the incomparable Ruth Jardine for afternoon tea. After calling the Sydney telephone number on the letter from the Helix Foundation, she’d been informed that Ms Jardine was ‘not in town at the moment’. When the personal secretary had ascertained who and where Jana was, however, her tone changed to friendly enthusiasm. It seemed Ms Jardine was not in town because she was in Melbourne and staying at the Windsor, where she’d be for only one more day. The secretary felt certain that Ms Jardine would make time to see her.
How very strange indeed. Here she was, the soon to be unemployed Dr Jana Rossi made to feel, bizarrely, as though she was the important one in this equation. Ruth Jardine was one of Jana’s heroes - hell, the woman was a national treasure - but had said she was ‘thrilled’ to take tea with a stranger.
Jana saw her host at a window table on the far side of the elegant Victorian era dining room. Ruth Jardine was a striking-looking woman in her early 60s, handsome rather than beautiful, with strong features, thick straightish collar-length auburn hair. As Jana got close enough to make her presence known she saw piercing, astute and very green eyes that seemed to quickly sum up her appearance.
Ruth Jardine towered over Jana as she stood to shake hands, and then waved her to the opposite chair. Jana sat, glancing out across Spring Street to Parliament House and the Treasury Gardens.
‘It is truly an honour to meet you, Ms Jardine.’
‘Oh tosh, child; and for heavens sake, call me Ruth.’
Jana was immediately captivated and, for once, not at all disappointed in meeting the flesh and blood version of someone she’d long admired. Jana had expected the CEO of Jardine-Rankin and the Helix Foundation to be aloof and business-like so that, at best, she might have merely liked the woman. But, in an instant, Jana’s previous respect mingled with a lot of ‘like’ and then, unexpectedly, morphed into wishing Ruth Jardine was family.
They launched into getting to know each other talk over coffee and the Windsor’s famous raisin and vanilla scones. Ruth got right to the point by making sure Jana had survived her hostage experience unharmed and was in fact up to this meeting.
Jana reassured her that she was, then found herself recounting the whole ordeal, though without names; including her near miss with the now-dead rebel. It was the first time she’d spoken of it to anyone other than Gideon and, in the debrief, with Agent Brand.
‘That must have been terrifying,’ Ruth said. ‘Thank goodness that soldier was there to protect you. He must have been a good shot.’
‘It was a she actually,’ Jana said, spreading extra King Island double cream on her second scone.
‘Really? How wonderful. I mean, well I’m sure you know what I mean.’
‘Oh I do, believe me. And she was amazing.’
‘Just in case you’re wondering, I want you to know dear that it was not news of this experience that brought you to my attention. I had heard on the grapevine that you were looking for a new position and I was hoping to get in on the ground floor. We usually use an agency, Barnum and Murch.’
‘I got a letter from them too,’ Jana said.
‘Ah, well that was probably sent on our behalf. But then, when the news broke about you all being taken hostage, I felt I wanted to contact you personally.’ When Jana frowned in confusion, Ruth smiled and said, ‘I never doubted that you’d all be set free, dear. The alternative would have been too awful. I’m a great believer in positive thinking.’
‘All we had on Laui Island was wishful thinking. Anything positive was in very short supply. So thank you, for your thinking Ruth. Along with that of our various friends and families, it must have spun out and infected the right people, who then sent the best people to come and get us. I’m convinced that Mila Ifran did not intend to harm us, but his recruits were young and jumpy.’
Ruth smiled. ‘And I gather, from your presence here, that you are in fact looking for a new job.’
It was Jana’s turn to smile. ‘Yes. But it’s also true that I would’ve come along here today simply to meet you.’
Ruth patted Jana’s hand. ‘Good. I have a position as a sort of forward scout for our international projects.’
Jana raised an eyebrow. ‘A scout?’
‘Yes, scout, spokeswoman, investigator, mediator, negotiator, project initiator, all-round…’
‘Mouth?’ Jana suggested.
‘Indeed,’ Ruth said, and both women laughed.
Hotel Meurice, Paris
Friday 9 am
‘Nate.’ The SecDef’s Chief of Staff put a hand on his boss’ shoulder. ‘Nate?’
‘What? Oh, Harry. Any news?’ Van Louden turned from the open window where he’d put a chair so he could tune out and stare out at the city. He’d been to Paris many times, for pleasure and work, and despite finding the French mostly arrogant and frustrating, he loved their beautiful city.
‘No, but I thought you could do with some breakfast. It’s just being laid out,’ Corbin said.
‘Thank you my friend, I’ll be there in a moment.’ Van Louden was about to get up when an odd thought made him turn back to the window. He realised he’d been deliberating so intently on the previous day’s god-awful expedition, that he hadn’t actually registered anything outside of himself; and for all the attention his brain had paid to the view, he could have just spent an hour staring at the Great Wall of China or Mt Rushmore.
But he’d been busy. His mind’s eye had been in Bettembourg, looking again at the rows of body bags, groups of distraught relatives, arrays of mangled luggage. He beheld again too many forever silent bodies, too many totally unrecognisable corpses, and four familiar but lifeless faces.
Van Louden, Corbin, and the fathers of Justin’s three best friends had been flown by helicopter to Bettembourg. It had taken an age for them even to summon the courage to check, one by one, the most likely of the deceased; arranged by age and sex. Then they had to progress to the still-unidentified body parts in their black-zipped bags. It took an hour, each successive corpse harder to deal with than the one before.
In the end, Justin, his friends Evan and Luke, and his stepmother Cassandra Grafton-West still remained unaccounted for. The bodies of Cassie’s cousin Julia, Justin’s other friend Miles, and the two bodyguards who’d taken the train with them, were officially identified, tagged and the paperwork completed to have them sent home.
Sample DNA was taken from van Louden and two of the fathers to assist in determining the identity of the visually unidentifiable. The men had then returned to Paris where those that still needed to, remained to await news of the missing four.
Van Louden shook his head to stop his mind from dragging him back to those bags of death for another replay, and then strode across the suite to the large table that had been set with breakfast. He wasn’t hungry but some strong coffee and any kind of distraction was better than what was inside his own head.
The youngest of his sister Abigail’s children, Hilary was in her mid-thirties. She’d spent hours last night swinging between disbelieving relief that she’d not taken the train, and guilt that she was alive because she hadn’t.
An adventure had been the reason for the rest of the group not taking the limo. That’s all there was to it. A desire to do something on their holiday in the same way ordinary people did. Nathanial van Louden still seethed with the stupidity of it all. There’s nothing like dying like ordinary people.
He gave his niece a warm hug and held a chair out for her, then sat down opposite between Harry Corbin and Peter Shaw.
‘The French spy will be here soon,’ Shaw said. ‘He apparently has some questions.’
‘Does he now?’ van Louden said, reaching for a croissant for no other reason than it was there. ‘Did you manage to get some sleep Hilary?’
‘Yes Uncle Nate. But only because the doctor gave me some very nice pills.’
A few minutes later Agent Boulier was shown into the suite. He accepted coffee and a seat at their breakfast table and then without further niceties opened a file of printed pages and photographs. He turned the top photo over and around.
Corbin and van Louden leant forward to better see the sultry-looking redhead, pursing her lips at whoever had taken the picture. In her early forties or, this being the nation of Catherine Deneuve, maybe even in her late 50s, the woman was very sexy indeed in a glamorous well-rounded older woman kind of way. They pushed the photo across the table to Hilary and Shaw and looked questioningly at the Frenchman.
‘You do not know this woman?’ Boulier asked.
‘No. Should we?’ van Louden answered for both of them. He figured if he didn’t, Harry wouldn’t.
‘I do,’ Hilary announced, a little taken aback when everyone turned to face her in surprise.
‘You do? Who is she?’ van Louden asked, at the same time as Boulier said, ‘From where do you know this woman?’
Hilary raised her hands. ‘It’s Ilia, Madame de Chevalier, the French Trade Minister’s wife.’
‘The French Trade Minister?’ Boulier said. His expression might almost have qualified as intrigued, had he not been so self-controlled. ‘She is a French woman?’
‘No, she’s Spanish, her husband is the French Trade Minister,’ Hilary shrugged. ‘We met her at our hotel in Luxembourg.’
‘She was staying there?’ Boulier queried.
Hilary shook her head. ‘She was taking lunch there one day. We all got to talking. We did a bit of sightseeing together.’
‘Did you meet her husband, the French Minister of Trade?’
Hilary looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘No, I don’t believe we did. One afternoon we met a cousin of hers, but not her husband.’
‘What’s all this got to do with anything?’ van Louden asked.
The Frenchman turned the next photo over. It showed the same woman, Ilia de Chevalier, and Justin. It was also obvious, from the angle, that Justin had taken the picture at arm’s length. Agent Boulier simply raised an eyebrow.
Corbin eyed him suspiciously. ‘Where did get these pictures?’
‘From the mobile phone of Monsieur van Louden’s nephew.’
‘From Justin’s cell phone?’ van Louden said. ‘The one you found in the train wreck?’
‘You seem to be overly concerned about them,’ Shaw said.
‘Oui, you could say that,’ Boulier nodded.
‘I don’t know why,’ Hilary said, taking a closer look at the second photo. ‘There’s nothing strange about them. Ilia wanted to visit some more tourist sights, so Cassie talked Justin into accompanying her to the places we’d already seen.’
‘Cassie?’ Boulier asked.
‘Cassandra, Justin’s stepmother,’ Corbin explained.
Agent Boulier fiddled thoughtfully with the corner of the next photo. ‘Did Madame Grafton-West have much trouble talking the young man into this extra sightseeing?’
‘Why? What the hell is this about, man?’ van Louden demanded. Boulier revealed the next photo - of a naked and sleeping Madame Ilia de Chevalier.
‘This was also taken from the mobile phone of Justin West.’
Nathanial van Louden’s first thought was, woo-ha, good for you, Justin; his second, was that his sister Abigail, Justin’s grandmother, must never get wind of this; and his third was to wonder why this bothered the French spook so much.
Hilary smiled. ‘Oh dear, for goodness sake, don’t tell mother.’
‘What’s really going on here, Agent Boulier?’ Corbin asked. ‘Why do you care about whatever was going on between Justin and this woman? Oh hang on, I get it. You’re hoping to prevent a political scandal because of the woman’s husband. Am I right?’
Boulier gave a short laugh. ‘Monsieur, this is France. We do not do sex scandals.’
‘Well what then?’
‘The French Trade Minister is a woman.’
There was silence around the table until Hilary said, with a frown, ‘Are you saying Ilia was um bi-sexual or something?’
This time Boulier did look surprised. ‘Quite possibly, mademoiselle, but why do you ask that?’
‘Well you said the Minister was a woman, so I um, I don’t know what I thought now.’
‘Ah, I understand, Mademoiselle. What I meant was that the French Trade Minister is a woman. She has a husband and two children. For the last two weeks she and her family have been touring Spain, Italy and Greece.’
Again there was silence, with Hilary naturally looking more puzzled than anyone. ‘So who…?’
‘I am afraid that you were all duped by this woman. Her real name is Ilia Dushenko and she has been affiliated with various European terrorist groups over the last two decades.
‘There’s a good chance that it was she who claimed the train bomb in the name of the Brigade d’Etoile d’Euro.’
Van Louden’s skin turned cold and clammy. He opened his mouth but not even the, oh my God! he was thinking would pass his lips.
‘Dushenko is half Russian, half Spanish. Her modus operandi is to seduce an accomplice who unwittingly becomes the carrier of either an explosive device or the trigger mechanism for a bomb that is already in place.’
‘And you think she seduced Justin?’ Even Corbin could barely speak.
‘We think that Justin West may have been carrying the triggering mechanism for the bomb that destroyed the train from Luxembourg.’
What little colour there was in Hilary’s face, drained in a second. ‘I’m going to be sick,’ she said, before sprinting for the bathroom.
‘Do you,’ van Louden took a breath. ‘Do you think this woman,’ he waved the photo, ‘knew who Justin was? I mean do you think this - my God - this terrorist selected him on purpose?’
‘I am afraid that is most probable,’ Boulier nodded.
‘There’s more, isn’t there?’ Corbin said.
‘I am afraid there is, Monsieur.’
Van Louden sat back in his chair, his face aghast. ‘Could it get any worse?’
Agent Boulier shrugged. ‘Worse yes;’ and also very strange,’ he said.
‘I’ve had enough strange for today,’ van Louden said.
Boulier looked apologetic. ‘We have fresh intelligence that verifies that the Brigade d’Etoile d’Euro is a non-Islamic group. But - and this is most peculiar - we believe that it is, nonetheless, affiliated with Atarsa Kára.’
‘Oh shit,’ Corbin said. ‘That is weird.’
‘That’s a fucking understatement,’ van Louden said.
Chapter Thirty-One
Houston, Texas
Saturday 9 am
Nathan West sipped the coffee Angela had just poured for them and glanced across at his mother who, despite everything that had happen
ed and all they had learned in the last four days, still managed to look like a perfect porcelain doll. He knew her heart was breaking, just like his. He knew that if she could, she’d scream, just like he would. Yet grief was not reflected in her dress, her demeanour, or her sense of hospitality. She had dealt with all the visitors and their condolences, while he had hidden away in the study; she and Aunt Edwina had taken all the phone calls when he’d been unable to speak, and had sat beside his chair or by his bed when he needed comfort.
Despite her own strong and usually vocal faith, she’d also known not to console him with any notion of this being God’s will. She knew her son had given up on the Lord when His will had made a truck driver fall asleep at the wheel, taking his first wife, his baby daughter, and his own legs. She had tried her hardest over the last decade to coax him back into the fold but, after this latest tragedy, even she thought he’d now be lost forever.
Nathan West had no time at all for God and his mysterious ways. He knew, without doubt, that all the joys and tragedies of life were man-made.
‘Nathan, would you like scrambled eggs?’
‘Just a little on toast, thank you Aunt Edwina,’ Nathan smiled bleakly at his mother’s younger sister. She was Uncle Nathanial’s twin but, thankfully, looked more like their mother. Uncle Nate van Louden was an imposing man, big in stature, voice and personality, and no woman would want to match him, except perhaps in personality - and only then if they too wanted to enter politics and rule the world.
Sheba and Solo, the two Pharaoh Hounds who’d been lying under the table, suddenly howled. They waited for Nathan’s go signal before tearing off to investigate who was coming up the long driveway.
‘Oh dear,’ Abigail said. ‘I really thought breakfast on the porch would be visitor free.’
‘It’s okay Mother, I think I can cope this morning,’ Nathan said. ‘Oh no, on second thoughts.’
The dogs, still barking, escorted a too-familiar High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle around the last bend in the tree-lined driveway. Nathan usually laughed when he saw the ridiculous contraption - driven as it was by the state’s most conceited and verbose man - but not today.
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