“Wait, that’s not the only reason I called,” Jean-Philippe said. “We also heard the Russians use the term Ruby Red. Do you have any COMINT on that name?”
Michael froze at the mention of Louise’s code name. Now the heat was on. “I’ll catch the next flight.” Michael’s spring-into-action mode was in the red zone. He was about to hang up, when he remembered something. “Are you still there?”
“Yes?”
“Louise just called to say she is following a lead, leaving tomorrow for Paris then Brussels. Should I tell her to back off?”
Jean-Philippe was momentarily paralyzed, first hearing Louise’s name, and then realizing he had to make a call on her safety. “No, let her go. She may disrupt our investigation. But trying to stop her might be even worse.”
T W E N T Y – E I G H T
January 10, 2002
Bam! Blinding red and white stars burst in the blackness, then pain. Her head throbbed. She winced in anticipation of the next blow, but it didn’t come. Only the ache at the point of impact remained, slowly spreading over her brain until it reached the nape of her neck. She tried to open her eyes to make out her surroundings, which appeared to be a dungeon. Hands tied above her head, the weight of her body creating a searing pain in her right shoulder.
“Karen.” The voice was quiet, gentle, kind, concerned, and seemed out of place. “Karen!” The voice was more urgent. Louise moved her legs, trying to stand to relieve some of the pressure on her arms, but she was paralyzed. She pushed as hard as she could, causing her body to jerk, waking her. Pain shot through her shoulder, her arm was excruciatingly numb and tingled. The nightmare faded and a wave of relief washed over her. She sat up, shaking her right arm to get the circulation flowing, after the dead weight of her body, lying on it for hours, had cut it off. Burgundy had not been good for her dream state or for her liver.
“Karen, le petit déjeuner est prêt.” It was Matthieu calling her to breakfast.
“Water,” Louise said to herself. She walked to the little fridge and took out a bottle of Evian, filled a large glass, and drank the whole thing.
She went to the door and opened, groggily waving for Matthieu to enter. He did so reluctantly, noticing her state, not sure she realized what she was doing.
“Ça va? Tu as la gueule de bois?” he asked.
“J’ai la tête comme une citrouille,” Louise said, bemoaning her hangover symptoms: a mouth as dry as wood and a head like a pumpkin. The French often compared the head to spherical vegetables. A pumpkin in this case not only for the shape but also to express the size of the head feeling swollen. She’d been spending enough nights at the bars in France to know the expression well.
“Drink water,” Matthieu advised.
Louise showed him how much of the Evian she already had drunk. Instead of pouring more water into the glass she drank straight from the bottle. Matthieu went to the bathroom and found some aspirin. He handed her three.
“Tiens.”
Louise looked at the tablets. “Just two,” she said.
“No, take three,” he urged. She didn’t argue and swallowed all three with another swig of water. Matthieu, ever a gentleman, politely moved to the door. “I’ll let you get dressed.”
“Wait,” Louise said, dismissing his prudishness. She grabbed fresh lingerie from the drawer and went to the bathroom. “Today, I’ll follow you to Auxerre,” she said through the closed door. “Then I’ll continue on to Brussels.”
She came out wearing the fresh underwear, ignoring Matthieu’s attempting-not-to-look eyes, and proceeded to dress and pack a bag. She was on a mission, despite the hangover. “We’ll have to save Vézelay for another time. I need your help in case something goes wrong in Auxerre.”
“What are you up to?” His gaze focused, staring directly at various dressed and undressed states of her taut yet supple curves.
“We’ll talk over breakfast.” They walked to the main house, Louise still wobbly, held onto Matthieu’s arm.
“Bonjour!” they all said.
“Bien dormi?” Magali asked, looking skeptically at Louise.
“Café,” Matthieu suggested.
“Oui, s’il vous plaît,” Louise said, holding her hands like a bowl to indicate a big one.
Magali placed the bowl of coffee in front of Louise. “Lait?” she asked. Louise shook her head yes, and Magali poured the warm foamy milk. It was good to be at her breakfast table. “Sucre?” Louise nodded again sleepily.
“Karen fait dodo,” Luke said, ever observant.
Louise drank sleepily at first. Then the coffee seemed to transform her instantly. Her eyes popped open and she looked at Luke in an almost cartoonish way. “Much better!” Luke giggled.
“We haven’t seen you in a couple of days,” Magali said.
“Vous nous avez manquée!” Luke said.
“I missed you too!” Louise replied. “I’ve been very busy working. But I’ll be back again soon.”
“Are you going away?” Magali asked.
“Just for the weekend to visit some friends. Matthieu is going to take me on a tour of Auxerre, then I have to stop in Paris and Brussels.”
“Matthieu is going the whole weekend too?” Magali asked, with a pronounced enthusiasm.
“He’s just accompanying me to Auxerre,” Louise replied, before Matthieu had the chance. “We’ll take two cars so I can continue on to Paris.”
“Ça marche pour moi,” he said. “I have an appointment in Auxerre then have to get back here.”
“An appointment?” Magali asked.
“Oui, I am taking some samples of the vine fungi to a botanist in Auxerre.”
“Oh, good idea,” Magali said.
“That is a good idea,” Louise agreed. She finished yet another Magali’s Café breakfast and put her dishes in the sink. “Let me go back to the cottage to make a call and finish packing. Matthieu, will you be able to leave in about half an hour?”
“I’m ready when you are.”
“Bonne journée,” Louise said, giving Luke and Magali cheek kisses.
Louise finished packing the essentials in her overnight bag. The weather was still cold enough for the leather bomber jacket and boots, which was a nice change from tropical attire. But she’d also been away long enough to look forward to her kaftan and flip-flops as soon as this was all over. She threw her bag into the Peugeot just as Matthieu pulled up in his Mini Moke and rolled down his window.
“Let’s meet at the Auxerre Crédit Agricole on Rue du Temple,” Louise said. “Do you know that one?”
“Yes, it’s the main branch,” he said. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Not really. But I have a plan.”
They took off and Louise blasted French pop tunes. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, she thought. In an hour and a half, she pulled into the parking lot at 80 Bis Rue du Temple in Auxerre. From under her black turtleneck, she pulled out the necklace that held a diamond ring, Jean-Philippe’s family heirloom. She removed it from the chain and put it on the ring finger of her left hand, then rifled through her purse for a piece of paper and pen. She wrote something down and waited until the Mini Moke pulled up. They got out and Louise put her arm around his waist as they walked toward the bank.
“Just follow my lead,” she said.
As they entered, Louise pulled him closer to leave no doubt that they were romantically attached. The curvature of her body, which he had still been thinking about, fit perfectly against his thigh. He went with it. Louise checked out the two different tellers, one working diligently and the other chattering with another employee. Louise approached the one who was busy working.
“Bonjour,” the teller said.
“Bonjour, we have an appointment with Yves Renard,” Louise said in fluent French.
The teller smiled and politely replied in French, “I’m sorry, there is no Yves Renard here.”
Louise took the piece of paper she had written on out of her purse and read it aloud, “
Yves Renard, account manager.” She flipped the note around to show her. “I was told that Monsieur Renard used to work in Brussels and could help me set up a Belgian bank account. I’ll be working there this summer and need an account for my paycheck.”
“Do you already have an account with Crédit Agricole?” the teller asked.
“Yes.”
“You can use your French Crédit Agricole account in Brussels.”
“Are you sure? We’re getting married in Brussels this summer, so we need everything sorted out before I leave.” Louise hugged Matthieu, flashing the ring. He looked down at her affectionately, then kissed her a little longer than she expected.
The teller appeared rattled that the inquiry was beyond her depth of knowledge, but she was determined to solve the problem.
“We have another account manager from Brussels who might be able to help you,” she said. “I’ll get him for you.”
“Wonderful, thanks.”
Louise turned to Matthieu. “You take direction well.”
“I like the direction this is going.” His eyes were green-grey now. She could almost hear his thoughts and steadied herself.
“Bonjour,” said a middle-aged man, neatly dressed in a dark suit and purple Hermès cravate. “I’m Charles Ausseil. I understand you are inquiring about an account in Belgium?”
“Yes,” Louise replied. “However, your colleague pointed out that if I already have an account with Crédit Agricole here in France, I could use the same one in Belgium. Is that correct?”
“Of course. The Carte Bleue works at most ATMs around the world. You can use it to withdraw cash and make deposits at the ATM. You can also make purchases, just like you would with a credit card.”
“Oh, that’s great!” Louise said.
Ausseil typed on the computer. “If you like, I can see what kind of account you have. What is your account number?” Louise handed him her checkbook and he looked up her account. “You have a premium checking account so there should be no problem.”
“So, I don’t need to open a separate account in Belgium?”
“It’s really not necessary,” Ausseil assured her. “If you need any assistance while you’re in Brussels, I can refer you to one of the account managers there.” He wrote a name on the back of one of his business cards and handed it to her.
“Perfect!” Louise took the card, mission accomplished.
“Show him my card and let him know I referred you.”
“Thank you so much,” Louise said, shaking his hand.
“You’re welcome. Bonne journée.”
They walked outside, and Louise put Ausseil’s card in her wallet. Matthieu opened her car door for her.
“What are you up to?” he asked.
“Just a little investigating. Shall we go see the botanist?”
“Sure.” Matthieu went to his car. “The botanist is at the University of Burgundy, Auxerre campus. Follow me.”
They drove to the campus located on the banks of the Yonne River. They parked and Matthieu took a small cooler from the back seat and they entered the building.
“When I was an archeologist in residence here, I became friends with a colleague who is a Paleoethnobotanist. He studied everything from fossilized to living algae, fungi, lichens, mosses, ferns, conifers, and flowering plants. Then he started specializing in vine sciences and has a lab here.”
“Naturally.”
“Yes, it is a growing business in Burgundy and getting quite competitive.” They passed several laboratories and continued out through another door.
“He wasn’t in the lab?” Louise asked.
“His lab is not inside.” They went down a path and reached a greenhouse. He held the door for her, and they entered.
“Matthieu!” A jovial man in a white lab coat greeted them.
“Bruno!” They gave each other cheek kisses. Matthieu seemed emotional. “It’s great to see you, mon ami.”
“It has been too long,” Bruno said. His attention turned to Louise. “Bonjour.” They exchanged cheek kisses as well.
“This is Karen Baker,” Matthieu said. “She is our guest staying in the gîte.”
“Lucky you,” Bruno said.
“Yes, I’m very lucky,” Louise said.
“I was talking to Matthieu,” Bruno said. “But, yes you’re lucky too. You have wonderful hosts.” Bruno’s ever-shifting attention turned to Matthieu’s small container. “Les voilà!” he said, taking the cooler and placing it on a lab table among some potted plants. He opened it and took out one of the samples. “Let’s have a look at this fungus. How can you tell if a mushroom is deadly?”
Matthieu and Louise shook their heads.
“By the autopsy!” They laughed, more at his delivery than at the old joke. “Excellent work getting these samples, Matthieu.”
“Well, I used to be a scientist,” Matthieu quipped. “Which has come in very handy in my viticulture work.”
“No joke. Samples must be selected and collected properly to minimize the chances for false-negative results,” Bruno said. “Sampling particular sections of the vine at certain times of the year can greatly increase the reliability of disease testing.” He picked up one of the shoots and pointed at the tips. “For example, to test vines for grapevine fanleaf virus, shoot tips should be collected for testing no later than the spring. That virus is heat sensitive, and its concentration in vines becomes very low during summer, making detection less reliable.”
“Hence the carrying cooler?” Louise noted.
“Exactly,” Bruno said. “Proper handling and transportation of samples is important. In general, samples should be delivered to the testing lab as soon as possible. If the samples have been exposed to excessive heat or drying, or if they are stored for too long, it will not be possible to get reliable results.”
“I just collected these this morning,” Matthieu said.
“Perfect.” Bruno went over to a high-powered microscope and briefly examined the sample. “It looks active and should test very accurately. Biological indexing is a valuable test, particularly for viruses. These tests require greenhouses or field plantings, which are rarely offered by commercial labs and are more often found at research institutions.” Bruno smiled proudly. “That makes us very special.”
Louise and Matthieu watched as he took an extract of the test vine fungus and rubbed it onto leaves of another plant growing in the greenhouse. “Some grapevine diseases can be identified easily in the field by visible signs of the pathogen. For example, the appearance of the powdery mildew fungus on the surface of infected leaves and fruit is quite characteristic, which is what Matthieu has here. Some diseases, such as crown gall, are characterized by abnormal plant growth.”
Bruno pointed to the leaf that he rubbed the fungus on. “A few diseases are identifiable only through controlled inoculations of healthy indicator plants. Within several weeks, if a virus is present, it will move from the fungus buds to the indicator plant, causing infection and diagnostic disease symptoms. Although these tests are labor intensive and time consuming, they are very useful if the grapevines are valuable and a high level of confidence in the diagnosis is needed.”
“It’s good maintenance to have the grapevines tested regularly, which I do,” Matthieu told Louise. “That makes it even more suspicious that the inspector would find this fungus. Bruno will help me figure out if the virus was intentionally planted and the best way to treat the plant.”
“Plus, it is an opportunity for me to write new academic studies,” said Bruno. “Publish or perish!” His attention was again drawn away as he brought a specimen over to the microscope.
“Well, thank you for the fascinating tour of your lab,” Louise said. “Can I buy you both lunch?” Bruno was completely consumed by his new project.
“Bruno?” Matthieu asked.
“Oh, sorry, I was distracted. This is a very interesting case and might affect other plants, so time is of the essence.” He stopped working to shake
Matthieu’s hand and give Louise cheek kisses. “Thank you for the offer of lunch. Next time?”
“Of course, I look forward to it.”
“Matthieu, I might have something for you sooner than later,” Bruno said. “I’ll give you a call, mon pote.”
“See you soon, my friend,” Matthieu said.
As they walked back to their cars, Matthieu made a recommendation for lunch. “There’s a little café just up the river,” he said. “Follow me.”
They crossed the bridge over the Yonne and parked on rue Saint-Pèlerin. Louise opened her car door just as a black sedan drove by. The driver caught her eye.
“What the hell?” Louise said, taking a good look at the car and making a note of his license plate.
“What is it?”
“Nothing, just a feeling.”
They entered a cozy restaurant with a giant brick wood-burning oven behind a polished copper-topped counter over which hung shiny copper kettles. Antique paddles adorned white stucco walls, under the exposed-beam ceilings. Given that they were still in Burgundy, Louise assumed the cuisine would be as charming as the décor.
“Bonjour, messieurs-dames,” the owner sing-songed. She filled their water glasses and left a basket of sliced baguette and two menus on the table. When she returned, Louise ordered the salad with warm goat cheese toasted in the wood-burning oven. Matthieu ordered the côte de boeuf with fried potatoes. Louise picked at a slice of baguette and was lost in thought.
“Is something wrong?” Matthieu asked.
“I’m just trying to remember where I saw that man before.”
“What man?”
“Do you ever get that strange feeling that you’re imagining or seeing things?”
“Around here? All the time. There’s a lot of ancient history and strange energies. Speaking of which, Karen, why did you ask the banker about Belgium?”
A tinge of guilt came over Louise, hearing her false identity uttered by a man that she felt so close to now. “Your account manager in Beaune worked in Belgium before.”
“How do you know that?”
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