Once She Knew

by Sheila Connolly

  “Oh, of course, you don’t know them, do you?” Annabeth said, and Claire heard a hint of sarcasm in her voice. “This is Leah Parker. She’s the conference coordinator for the U.N. event that is going to start in—my goodness, about six hours. And this is Claire Hastings. Does that name mean anything to you?”

  Philippe’s gaze came to rest on Claire. She raised her chin and met his look squarely. “I’m afraid I am at a loss . . .” he said, spreading his hands in a graceful Gallic gesture.

  Claire fought to keep her voice steady. “I’m the woman who was supposedly kidnapped by Jonathan Daulton, who was staying at Annabeth’s home in Maine when FBI agents arrived there looking for a computer and whoever had used it. One agent died, and Jonathan has been on the run ever since.” Claire swallowed. “We believe the FBI was acting upon information about access to suspected terrorist websites. We think that trail leads to you.” Claire could tell that the arrow found its mark: there was a brief flare of anger in Philippe’s eyes, quickly stifled.

  He responded in a level voice, tinged with sarcasm, “Ah, I believe I have heard news reports of this kidnapping event. But yet, here you are, unharmed. Comme c’est curieux. And where, pray tell, is this Mr. Daulton?”

  “We were about to ask you that.”

  Philippe dodged Claire’s question. Instead he turned to Annabeth. “Annabeth, have you gone mad? You bring these people here, in the middle of the night? Could it not wait until a better time? You have an important day ahead of you.”

  Annabeth’s chin came up. “No, Philippe, I think I’ve gone sane. These women have given me evidence that suggests that you are not who you led me to believe, and that you are planning an illegal act that would have major consequences. To put it in a nutshell, you are planning an attack on the First Lady at the conference tomorrow—today. Can you deny that?”

  Claire held her breath, wondering how Philippe was going to play this. And wondering how much time had passed, and how soon the FBI might arrive. Philippe’s eyes swept over the three of them, and he managed to maintain an even tone, although the expression in his eyes betrayed him. He addressed Annabeth again, forcing a laugh. “Do you know how absurd that sounds? Do you truly believe that I am a terrorist?”

  Annabeth wavered. “Philippe, I don’t want to, but Claire has presented a fairly compelling case.”

  His smile disappeared. “And you choose to believe her wild stories rather than me? How well do you know Ms. Hastings?”

  “We’ve only just met, but I know her by reputation, and I don’t believe she’d make up anything so unlikely. Please, Philippe, tell me why I shouldn’t believe her.”

  Philippe drew himself up and seemed to pull away from Annabeth. “If you think I need to explain myself, then I have seriously misjudged our relationship. Please leave now, and take these . . . people with you.”

  Annabeth took a tentative step forward, her hand outstretched. “Philippe,” she began—but she was interrupted by a voice from the other side of the room.

  “Philippe? What’s going on? I heard voices . . .” And someone stepped into the room, wearing a man’s shirt that did little to conceal the lacy bra and thong beneath.

  It was Susie.

  A small part of Claire’s mind was amused as she watched the abrupt changes of expression on everyone else’s face: Philippe glowered at Susie, Annabeth gasped, and Leah grinned. Susie simply looked confused. Claire remained wary, trying to work out what Susie’s presence meant while trying to keep an eye on everyone else.

  “Suzanne,” Philippe began, in a menacing voice, but he was drowned out by Annabeth.

  “Susie, what are you doing here?”

  Sweet little Susie didn’t look so sweet anymore, but she did look smug. “What do you think, Annabeth? I’ve been sleeping with your boyfriend.”

  “What?” Annabeth sputtered. “When . . . ? How . . . ?”

  Susie sauntered into the room, making no effort to cover herself, apparently intent on reaching Philippe’s side. His sharp glance stopped her halfway there. “Months,” she said, her eyes never leaving Philippe. “You think your students didn’t know about him? He’s kind of hard to miss. And he introduced himself to me, not the other way around. We’ve been together for a while now.”

  “At Greenferne?” Annabeth said, still having trouble processing this news.

  “Sure. And here in New York. You never knew, did you?” Susie smiled at Philippe, but then faltered at the harsh expression on his face. “Philippe?”

  Claire could almost feel sorry for him, trapped between two lovers. Almost, but not quite, because if what she suspected was true, the plot had just thickened considerably. If Philippe was sleeping with both Annabeth and Susie, did they both fit somewhere in his plan to disrupt the conference? Or was one for business and one for pleasure?

  “Suzanne, this does not concern you,” Philippe said sternly. “Please return to the bedroom and let me deal with these women. I’ll explain later.”

  Good try, Philippe, but Susie isn’t buying this, Claire thought, watching Susie’s face.

  Susie all but stamped her foot, pink toenails and all. “Philippe, why is Annabeth here?”

  “Is she part of your little scheme too, Philippe?” Annabeth said, her composure regained. “I can handle your activities on the side, but I won’t believe that you’ve told her anything important. She has the intellect of a turtle, so I have to assume that either she’s great in bed or she’s a pawn in your game. Or another pawn, if I accept that you’ve been using me too. Well? Are you going to tell us what your plot is? Or was? Because we’re expecting more company any minute now—the FBI. And I’m pretty sure they’ll put a crimp in your plans.”

  At the mention of the FBI, Philippe’s face darkened. Claire could almost see the gears turning in his head as he tried to figure out how to salvage an increasingly hopeless situation. Although, Claire had to admit, he might still be able to put a different spin on the scene—Annabeth the rejected lover arrives with two friends to confront the man who spurned her, who had moved on to a younger, fresher body—namely, Susie. Surely the FBI would see through that, if that was the way he chose to spin it?

  “Philippe,” Susie said plaintively, “what is she talking about?”

  He ignored her question, focused on Annabeth. “Are you sure you wish to expose your foolishness to the FBI, Annabeth?” Philippe said, confirming Claire’s suspicions. “Whatever relationship we had is over, and I have found someone else. I suggest that you gather up your friends here and leave my home.”

  Annabeth stood her ground, and Claire cheered silently. “Not so fast, Philippe. There are a few other things that we need to clear up, and then I’ll be happy to tell the FBI everything I know.”

  “You know nothing!” Philippe burst out, clearly angry now. “You are gullible, and desperate, and pathetic. Suzanne may be less intelligent, but she is at least more appealing.”

  Annabeth nodded, more to herself than to him. “So I can assume you haven’t told her about your plan to disrupt the conference at the U.N.?”

  Suzie suddenly looked frightened. “What?”

  Claire was tired of watching and thought it was time she jumped in. “Susie, your lover here has been planning some sort of attack on the conference, maybe even the First Lady herself. It looks like he’s been using both you and Annabeth to gain access, or at least to gather information that he can use. Did he bother to tell you that?”

  But Claire realized that she had been so caught up in the chase that she had never considered how Philippe had planned to bring a weapon into a security-manic conference, or even what that weapon might be. Did Susie fit somewhere in the picture?

  Philippe made a huffing sound that in a less elegant figure might have been a snort. “You are clearly mad. I’m sure that so-called journalist you’ve been keeping company with has concocted the whole story to garner publicity for himself, and he has somehow convinced you as well. You forget that it was he who shot the agent.”<
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  So he was trying to turn the tables? “That’s not what he’s told me—he said little Susie here pulled the trigger. And if he’s the one who shot the agent, then why did your goons snatch Jonathan Daulton off the street just a few hours ago?”

  “My ‘goons’?” he asked, arching an elegant brow.

  “Yes, your goons. Flunkies. Henchmen. Call them whatever you want, but the car those thugs stuffed him into had Egyptian embassy plates. Funny, isn’t that where you work? Leah and I both saw it happen. We’ve told Annabeth all about it. So I think you can kiss your plan good-bye, Philippe. It’s not so secret anymore.”

  “Pah!” Philippe’s voice dripped derision. “You think you have any hope of stopping this?” Susie was staring at him as if he had suddenly grown horns.

  “I certainly intend to try.” Annabeth returned his challenge. “With help from my friends here. Susan, you had better choose which side you’re on, because I have a feeling things are going to get ugly very fast.”

  “Annabeth, you are a greater fool than I believed,” Philippe said. “We have been planning this for months, and everything is in place. How is it you intend to stop me? You . . . women?” The way he spat out the last word left no doubt about his contempt.

  Oh my God, we were right! Where is the bleeping FBI? Claire wondered desperately. They had to stall, to buy time. Claire willed the others to remember that. “Other people know what’s going on—you can’t cover this up now, and you certainly can’t go through with it, whatever it is.” Claire could see the growing rage in Philippe’s stare.

  Still, he laughed. “Ah, of course, no doubt you have talked to the authorities, and they welcomed your information with great joy. And they will come sweeping in here to rescue you at the last possible moment, hein? I’m afraid that I am not convinced.” At his cue, Susie wrinkled her brow and glared at them. Just how much did she know?

  “You really do think we are stupid, don’t you?” Claire parried. “Is it something about us in particular, or do you despise all women?” Maybe baiting him would help; maybe in his current keyed-up state he would snap back at her and show his true colors. Susie seemed frozen in place, at a loss to follow the conversation.

  “I do not despise women,” Philippe said. “I merely acknowledge their usefulness—and their limitations. You may send us off to war, and welcome us home again with open arms—and open legs. But it is the men who fight the battles.” Philippe’s smile was gone.

  Susie looked shocked, as though someone had dumped cold water over her head. “Philippe, you can’t mean that.”

  Annabeth took back the reins. “My, Philippe, that’s a bit crude. So I was nothing more than a diversion, a pleasant distraction while you went about your business? Ah, but I had all that useful information you weaseled out of me, about schedules and security and such.” Annabeth had apparently gotten Claire’s message, and had joined her in taking jabs at her erstwhile lover. “Tell me, if we women are so beneath your notice, so useless and ineffectual, why bother to attack a U.N. conference devoted to women?”

  Philippe couldn’t resist the chance to lecture. “This conference will serve no practical purpose. All the meetings on the planet will not change the fundamental nature of the world, a world in which women are inherently inferior beings. But our act will be an effective statement. This will be a double coup: we disrupt your silly conference, and we assail your president at his weakest point—through his wife. And this act will strike at the heart of your complacent citizenry. You make it too easy.”

  Claire broke in. “If this was such a simple plan, then what went wrong? Why did that agent die in Maine, which is what brought us here?”

  A flash of doubt. “That was unforeseen. I have no idea what the FBI was doing there. I have been very circumspect.”

  For the first time Leah spoke. “I’ll make a guess: there have been pretty heavy security checks on anybody associated with this conference. I’ll bet they turned up something that made them suspicious when they checked Annabeth’s home computer. Am I right?”

  Philippe looked first at Annabeth. “But you were away from your home, were you not? Then, who?” After a long moment, all eyes turned to Susie.

  “But I was careful not to . . .” Susie began.

  Philippe turned quickly toward her, and she shrank into herself. “Did you use the computer at the house, Suzanne?”

  “Well, yeah, sure. I mean, I was house-sitting, and it had a bigger monitor than my laptop . . . she didn’t even use a password!”

  “And did you access any sites that might excite the curiosity of the authorities?” Philippe demanded, his voice low but menacing.

  “Uh, maybe?” Now Susie looked like a guilty child, despite the would-be erotic trappings. “I wanted to find out more about you, Philippe—that’s all. I mean, I Googled you and just kept browsing, and maybe I ended up on some weird websites. How was I supposed to know anybody would be watching?”

  “And that’s why you shot the agent?” Annabeth exclaimed, incredulous.

  “I thought they were looking for Philippe!” Suzie all but shrieked. “When they said ‘computer’ I panicked. I was listening from the stairs, and when I heard that, I got your gun, and then things got crazy.”

  So Jonathan had told the truth. “You shot a man dead,” Claire said bluntly. “What were you planning to tell the authorities?”

  Suzie turned on her. “Jonathan lit out of there like his pants were on fire. I figured it would be easy enough to point the finger at him, because he was staying there too. The only guy who had seen what happened was dead on the floor. Jonathan could have been the one who looked at the computer. And who’s the big bad FBI going to believe—cute little me or a has-been journalist? They swallowed everything I told them.”

  “Quick thinking. Maybe you aren’t as stupid as I thought,” Annabeth said wryly. Then she turned to Philippe. “So what now? Let me see . . . You could try to talk your way out of this when the FBI arrives, and I’m sure Suzie can be persuaded to stick to her original story—she’s turned out to be quite the little actress. Or you could kill us all and stuff us in the closet—no, that’s too obvious. The FBI would look there. How about tossing us down the elevator shaft? I’m sure you’ll come up with something. Or maybe the FBI will believe us and haul your sorry ass off to jail.”

  Philippe was not moved by Annabeth’s effort at sarcasm. “Unlikely. Will they believe a respected diplomat with a blameless record, or a professor at a third-rate college and a stupid student, and a woman who the FBI believes has been kidnapped? Who has now forced herself into my home and threatened me? It would be easy to convince the authorities that Miss Hastings is trying to concoct a cover story for her own irrational behavior.”

  “Hey, what about me?” Leah asked indignantly. “How are you going to explain me, huh? My old pal Claire showed up and convinced me about her whacked-out kidnapping story, so I—a respected member of the U.N. staff, who has been vetted up one side and down the other by every security authority that matters—volunteered to come along and slander you? Face it, Philippe, you’re outnumbered.”

  He wasn’t buying it. “Ladies, I think your call to the FBI was no more than a feeble ruse. They have not arrived, nor do I believe they will. Much as I regret terminating this delightful discourse, it appears that I must insist that you remain here for the next few hours, after which you will be free to go.”

  Leah burst out laughing. “Hold it, pal. I’ve got a conference to run. They’re going to be looking for me and for Annabeth in a couple of hours. We don’t show up, what’s that going to do to your nice neat plans? By the way, what were you planning to use? Explosives? Poison gas? Something exotic? And how did you plan to smuggle it into the event? You know that security is crawling all over the place.”

  Philippe’s expression suggested that he wasn’t very concerned about Leah’s comments. He pressed on. “It is of little importance.”

  He still hadn’t said anything about his weapo
n or his method of delivery, Claire realized. Were there other people involved? Did he have contacts inside the U.N. itself? No—then he would not have needed Annabeth or Susie. Claire could see that Annabeth could have been of use, but Susie?

  “What are you going to do with us, Philippe?” Annabeth asked.

  “I will see to it that you are secured here, so that you may not interfere further. I don’t plan to return to this place, but eventually you will be discovered. And by the time you are found, I will have disappeared. Perhaps you have succeeded in derailing this event, but there will be other opportunities.”

  “Oh, that makes me feel so much better,” Annabeth replied. “Thank you so much for letting us live. What about you, Susie? Is he leaving you behind too? Maybe we can have a crash course on contemporary feminist thought while we’re all locked in a closet together.”

  Susie looked up at her lover anxiously. “But what about the conference, Philippe? I’m going to miss it?”

  “Regrettably, yes.”

  Now Susie was pouting, having somehow missed the part that Philippe might have wanted to kill her. But . . . Claire thought furiously. Had his plan been to put Susie face-to-face with the First Lady? And then what?

  “Oh, come on,” Claire said in exasperation. “Are we supposed to line up and meekly march into your closet? There are three of us, and one of you.”

  “Ah, but you see, I have a gun.” He slid a small black revolver from his pocket.

  Oh. That did make a difference. “You can’t shoot us. The neighbors will hear,” Claire protested.

  “Unlikely. These older structures were well built, and it is a very small pistol, although the damage it can inflict is more than adequate.”

  How much time had passed? Claire didn’t dare look at her watch. When was the damn FBI going to come bursting in and save them? “What did you do with Jonathan Daulton?” she shot back to divert him. Maybe Philippe would like to show off his body-dumping expertise.

  “That is no concern of yours. His presence in this was merely an unfortunate coincidence.”