Life behind bars, or tortured to death by a serial killer?
It’s no contest at all.
“Fine,” I say. “You save him, you keep him.”
I comfort myself with the hope that he can break out of jail.
“I can’t make any promises about you, either. I don’t know how this is going to play out.”
I feel remarkably calm as I say, “I thought I wasn’t going to face any charges.”
“We just lost two agents. I can’t promise anything at this point.”
I hold my breath.
Save Grant, and maybe sign away my freedom forever?
Or stay in France and hope the FBI can do the job?
Again, no contest.
“…alright. Whatever happens to me, I’m fine with it. Just help us go after Grant, and make sure that his friends walk away after all this is over.”
“Eve – we can’t just be transporting French nationals – ”
“Jesus Christ, Mailin – do you want the guy who killed your friends, or not?” I shout.
Silence.
“Okay… meet us as at Charles De Gaulle Airport as soon as possible. Call me when you get there, and I’ll tell you where to go.”
75
The first thing I do is go shower the Seine River out of my hair.
My new clothes are waiting for me outside the bathroom door when I’m finished. As ordered, they’re comfortable: jeans, tennis shoes, and a selection of blouses and t-shirts. I go with a silk top that straddles the line between pretty and casual.
Before we leave for the airport, Dominique brings up a very good objection. “I do not think we can trust your friend.”
I recall the base of the Eiffel Tower and the fifteen French plainclothes cops. She has a point.
“Mailin and Duplass want my help,” I say. “There’s no way they can trace Grant – and get Epicurus – without the tracking info, and I won’t give it to them unless they leave you guys alone.”
“I think we know that is not accurate,” JP says. “If they only give you one choice, you will do everything you can to help Grant. Even if that includes letting them arrest us.”
“I won’t let that happen.”
“I do not say that you will intend to let it happen, but – ”
“I won’t let that happen,” I repeat more forcefully.
“How?”
I think for a second, then look at Marcel. “Are all of your restaurant employees… um… do they have records?” I ask diplomatically.
He smiles. “You mean, are they criminals.”
“Well – ”
“No. I keep my restaurant workers separate from my other… ‘employees.’”
“Can we take two people with no criminal records to the plane with us? JP and Dominique can hang back in another car while I see if the FBI arrests your two restaurant workers. If they do, they’ll find out your guys have no records and they can’t hold them. If they don’t arrest them, then JP and Dominique can show up safely.”
“I cannot give you restaurant workers, because they will lead your FBI back to me – but I can get two individuals with no records, as you request,” Marcel agrees. “And a car with no connection to me, as well.”
“Great,” I say, then turn to JP and Dominique. “What about that?”
“Not bad,” JP admits.
“The problem is not just when we go to the plane,” Dominique says. “The problem is when we finish. That is when they will arrest us and give us to the French authorities.”
“That I have no control over,” I say. “I’ll do my absolute best to make sure they don’t, but… you know and I know I can’t promise anything 100%.”
She takes a moment, then nods. “Okay. I will… how do you say?” she asks JP, then spouts off something in French.
“I will take my chances,” he translates.
“Yes. I will take my chances.” She hesitates, then adds, “I do not trust them… but I trust you. And I will do anything to save Grant.”
“Thank you,” I say, and for the first time since I’ve met her, I feel warmly towards Dominique.
The last thing I do before we leave is give Marcel a slip of paper with a bank account number in the Caymans, and a username and password.
“That’s for Pierre and the boat,” I say. “It’ll more than cover it.”
“Thank you,” Marcel says.
“And thank you for all your help. Are you, uh, okay with your payment? Considering everything you’ve done for us?”
“More than okay,” he assures me. “Thank you for asking.”
“Do you need me to pay you for the two guys going to the airport?”
He waves a hand. “No, I will attend to that. I am sorry I cannot go with you, but my own past would be enough to raise many suspicions if they give me to the police.”
“I understand.” I hold out my hand. “Thank you for everything.”
He gives me a bear hug instead. “Goodbye, and good luck.”
I try to remember how to say ‘goodbye’ in French. The only things I know are au revoir, mon hyprocrite lecteur from Epicurus’s letter, and adieu from what Dominique said: he tells me he loves me en français…but he tells me adieu in English.
Not that quoting Dominique is exactly comfortable, but I don’t even want to think of Epicurus. So I say, “Adieu.”
“No,” Marcel corrects me. “Au revoir. Au revoir means ‘until we see each other again.’ Adieu means until we see God. So… au revoir, Eve.”
“Au revoir, Marcel.”
Until we see each other again… or until we see God.
Regarding Grant, I fervently pray it’s the former, and not the latter.
76
Ten minutes later I’m in a car with two strangers. I’m alone in the back, ‘Driving Miss Daisy’ style.
The two guys both look decidedly nervous. I’m guessing that Marcel or somebody told them what might happen.
“It’s going to be okay,” I assure them.
The guy in the passenger seat looks back and smiles weakly. “Euh… je ne parle pas anglais.”
I look at the driver. “Do you speak English?”
“Euh…” He puts his forefinger and thumb about a centimeter apart, like he’s pinching something in the air. “A leetle.”
Great.
I settle back and take stock of what I brought with me. There’s the new laptop; the backpack with the cash, GPS trackers, handgun, super glue, and various credit cards; and the burner cell phone Marcel gave me.
Not a whole lot to work with when you’re going up against a psychopath. Especially when you’re trying to save the love of your life.
I start seeing signs for ‘Charles de Gaulle,’ so I call Mailin on the cell phone. “Okay, we’re close. Where do we go?”
“You’re actually going to a nearby airfield for private planes – Aéroport de Paris, Le Bourget,” Mailin instructs me, saying the French words with a pretty impressive accent. “Tell your driver that.”
“Hey, we’re going to the air-o-poor duh Pair-ee… uh… what was that again?” I ask Mailin.
“Le Bourget.”
“Luh Bor-zhay,” I repeat to the driver. “Do you know that?”
“Ah, oui, oui,” the guy says, and switches lanes.
“Your French is impeccable,” Mailin teases me.
“Yeah, yeah. Look, I’m holding you to your word on my friends.”
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“Before they were ‘Grant’s friends.’ Now they’re yours.”
Huh. Slip of the tongue.
“Did they get a promotion?”
“Sure, whatever. Now promise me.”
“I promise.”
“What about Duplass?”
“He’s given his word, as well.”
“Yeah, we know what that’s worth,” I say dourly.
“We lost two agents today, Eve. He wants to get whoever’s behind this, no matter what.”
> “I’m trusting you, Mailin.”
“I know. Don’t worry, we’re going to get Grant back.”
I swallow hard.
God, I hope that’s true.
“At the Bourget gate, tell them you’re with the FBI. They’ll let you through and direct you. We’re at Hangar 5.”
“Okay.”
“See you soon.”
I immediately call JP and Dominique and let them know the plan.
Now we’ll see just how much I actually can trust my own government, regardless of what Mailin says.
77
The guard lets us through, and we drive to Hanger 5 where a small jet is waiting for us. Mailin and Duplass are standing outside. Mailin’s right arm is in a sling, and one of Duplass’s forearms is bandaged. Though his ever-present Bluetooth earpiece is still in place.
Both of them are without jackets and ties, and they’re wearing different shirts from earlier. Maybe to get rid of any bloodstains.
As the car slows down, I catch sight of airport workers carrying something aboard the plane. It appears to be a black body bag.
Jesus.
The car stops.
“Wait in the car,” I say to the French guys. “Understand?”
“Oui,” the driver nods.
As I get out, Mailin greets me somberly. “Hey Eve.”
“Mailin,” I reply – but I stay by the car with the door open.
Duplass waits, then barks, “Well? Are you coming or not?”
“I need your word that my friends won’t be turned over to the French authorities. Now or after all this is over.”
Duplass’s face crinkles with rage. “Agent Walker already told you – ”
“I want to hear it from you.”
He huffs indignantly. “No, we’re not going to turn over your fellow criminals to the French cops. Are you satisfied now?”
I look around. I don’t see anywhere 15 plainclothes cops could be hiding… although they could be onboard, I suppose…
“I need to look inside the plane,” I say.
“Fine. We’re getting on right now.”
“No, I need to look inside before my friends come with me.”
Duplass is about to lose it. “I have two dead men aboard that plane, Saunders – I do not need this bullshit from you right now – ”
“Then you shouldn’t have tried to double-cross me at the Eiffel Tower.”
Duplass is almost foaming at the mouth when Mailin intercedes. “Go on, go and look,” he tells me as he takes his boss aside.
“Wait here,” I tell the French guys. I take the laptop and backpack and check aboard the jet.
No cops. Just a pilot and a co-pilot going through their pre-flight check.
I call JP and Dominique with the cell. “Alright, it’s clear. Come on.”
Then I exit the plane and walk back to the car.
“Well?” Duplass asks sarcastically. “Is everything to your liking?”
“Yes,” I say, then lean down and address the French guys. “Okay, you can go. Thanks.”
They wave and drive off.
Duplass watches in utter shock. “What the hell?! I thought you said – ”
Three seconds later, another car drives up and JP and Dominique get out. Their driver immediately takes off and follows my two companions off the airfield.
“Oh,” Duplass says, his voice dripping with distaste as he realizes the precautions I took.
Then he gets a second look at Dominique.
“Oh,” Duplass says, his voice noticeably perking up.
I’ve been around her enough to become inured to her looks, so I tend to forget how stunningly beautiful she is. Even Mailin does a double take.
“These are my friends,” I say pointedly to Mailin, emphasizing ‘my friends.’
Mailin smiles. “I see.”
Duplass steps forward to Dominique. He hides his assholery behind a veneer of creepiness as he takes her hand and says smarmily, “Enchanté, mademoiselle. And you are – ?”
Points for Dominique: she grits her teeth and lets him do it. She even flashes him an Oh, aren’t you so charming smile.
Before she can answer, though, I snap, “JP and Dominique. No last names.”
JP grins at my private joke.
“Of course,” Duplass says, annoyed at being interrupted in his courtship. Still, he waves his arm in front of Dominique like he’s whisking her onto a fairytale carriage. “Well… let’s get aboard, shall we? We leave in just a few minutes.”
78
The first thing I do is plug into the plane’s onboard internet connection and check out Grant’s position.
His plane is now over the Atlantic, about four hundred miles off the coast of England.
Mailin and Duplass both look at the screen over my shoulder. JP and Dominique keep their distance; they’re apparently a little freaked out being this close to the FBI.
“Once we take off, can we get closer to Grant’s plane?” I ask. “Fly faster than they are, but not get so close they know we’re following them?”
“Probably. I’ll let the pilot know what we want,” Duplass says. “Where are they headed?”
“No idea, but the two best candidates are New York and LA. Epicurus was active in both those cities. What’s the range of this plane?”
“We can make it to LA, but after that we’ll have to refuel.”
“The good news is, they’re going to have to, too,” Mailin says. “Nothing smaller than a jet liner can go much further than 8000 miles, and it’s almost 6000 to LA.”
Duplass points at the screen. “You’re absolutely sure this is accurate?” he asks me.
“Yes.”
“I mean, you’re sure it’s him on that plane?”
“He swallowed the tracker. I saw him do it.”
“Yes, but what if they removed it and he’s still back in France?”
I’d actually considered that, briefly – back when I first looked at the screen and thought they might have cut the GPS tracker out of him.
It was an idea I’d quickly forced out of my head, but now Duplass was forcing me to confront it again.
“It’s possible,” I admit, “but it seems like an awful long way to go to throw us off track.”
“You claim this guy left $500 million in stolen paintings behind to frame your boyfriend,” Duplass sneers, “but you think putting a GPS chip on a plane is out of the question?”
Damn it.
Walked right into that one.
I try to recover. “It’s possible – but from what we know about Epicurus, he doesn’t like to show up himself at these attacks. He always seems to be operating from a remote location. He’s sees himself as the chess master, not one of the pieces on the board. So it makes sense that he wants to get Grant back on his own territory.” I pause, then decide to be completely honest. “Plus, if they are staying in France, I have no idea where they would be or how I could track that.”
“So this is our only shot, basically,” Mailin says.
I can feel my insides curdling with fear. “This is our only shot.”
“Can you hack their plane?” Duplass asks.
Mailin and I look at each other. I hadn’t thought of that.
What little hope I had about the GPS tracker begins to increase.
“It’s a possibility,” I say with growing excitement. “If they have a continuous internet connection, I can triangulate their satellite feed because I know their position from the GPS tracker.”
Mailin immediately dampens my mood.
“But… to do that you’d have to hack a number of satellites and communications networks,” he reminds me. “Which would be highly illegal.”
SHIT.
I forgot I was sitting here with the FBI looking over my shoulder. We’re going to have to go through judges, and court orders, and warrants – all of which will take days, if not weeks.
Any possibility of hacking the plane is over before it began.
But then Duplass, strangely enough, kind of gives me an out.
“When did you ever let the legality of a situation stop you?” he says sarcastically.
I look him dead in the eye. “Let me get this straight: you’re willing to let me break the law in order to find Epicurus?”
Duplass walks across the aisle and plops down catty-corner to me in one of the jet’s leather seats. From that angle, he can’t see my screen. “I’m sitting over here. I have absolutely no idea what you’re doing over there, because I’m not a hacker.”
Huh.
Maybe I misjudged this guy.
“What about Mailin?” I ask. “Is he going to sit over there with you, or can he help me out?”
Duplass looks at Mailin. “I would highly advise against it. Anything you do, you do on your own. It’s on your head.”
“But you just said – ”
“Eve,” Mailin warns me quietly.
“I didn’t do anything but state the facts,” Duplass says. “I’m not a hacker. I have no idea what you’re doing on that laptop.”
Now I understand. “So if we catch Epicurus, you get all the glory. But if things go sideways and you need a scapegoat, you’re going to hang me out to dry, and you’ll sure as hell throw Mailin under the bus.”
“Eve,” Mailin says more urgently.
Duplass doesn’t speak, but his tight little smile says it all.
No, I didn’t misjudge this asshole at all.
JP and Dominique exchange looks like, Is it too late to back out?
“I’m going to... ‘monitor’ the situation,” Mailin tells his boss.
“Mailin, no. I can do this on my own.”
“You probably can. But two heads are always better than one.”
“That’s nice, Mailin, but – ”
“It’s been years and years since you’ve hacked any websites,” Mailin says. “You could use somebody who’s been hacking recently.”
I scrunch up my face. I want to say, What? No, I’ve been –
But then I realize what he’s doing.
He’s lying to protect me from his boss.
Whether Duplass buys it, though, is another matter.
The Billionaire's Redemption (The Billionaire's Kiss, Book Five): (A Billionaire Alpha Romance) Page 21