Rex Dalton Thriller series Boxset 2

by J C Ryan

  “So, that leaves four, and I think with the two of us listening to the communications now, we’ll pick her trail up sooner. I’ve set up a spare monitor and headphones for you in the office, where you can plug in your laptop, and I’ll work here in the kitchen.”

  “Sounds good,” he affirmed. “Have a pastry.”

  She grinned at him. “It’s always about food with you, isn’t it Ruan?”

  “My motto is eat and sleep when you have a chance, because you don’t know when you’ll have time for it again.” He didn’t tell her that it was a motto drilled into him during his Delta Force and CRC training.

  “And to be honest, I think that’s Digger’s motto, too. Although, Digger seems to be hungry all the time. Did you look at him after he had half of that chicken just now? Don’t you think that look on his face said, ‘So, when am I going to get something to eat in this place?’”

  Rehka laughed. “Yes, that’s exactly what it looked like.”

  Rex looked at his dog, who’d made himself comfortable and was now sleeping in the center of the room. His ears twitched now and then. Rex had no doubt he’d heard his name, even while he slept, and was alert to hear more, especially when it had anything to do with food.

  Rex collected the dishes, carried them over to the sink, washed them, and placed them in the drip tray, then turned to Rehka and said, “Shall we get to work?”

  She led him to the spare bedroom she’d converted to an office space and showed him where she’d prepared the spot for his laptop. Since they were monitoring all real-time communications and listening to recordings from two yachts each, they got busy and didn’t speak until Rex declared break time.

  Rehka made sure the recorders were operational before they took Digger out for a run at a nearby park while they stretched their legs.

  It was late in the afternoon when Rehka shouted, “Got it!”

  Rex ripped the headphones from his ears and waited for her to elaborate.

  “Someone on this one, the mega-yacht “Java Princess”, had been googling Margot Lemaire. I’d bet that’s someone trying to determine what’s been reported about her disappearance.”

  “Yep, you could be right,” he said. “Give me the details, and I’ll check the yacht’s bearing. You keep analyzing the Internet searches coming from that yacht.”

  Rekha gave him the information he wanted, and they both listened and watched intently for anything else. Hours later, after a delivery dinner they both ate while maintaining their watch, Rex determined the yacht was changing directions as it prepared to pass between Papua New Guinea and the northernmost tip of Queensland, Australia.

  “Looks like they’re headed in the direction of Indonesia for now,” he guessed.

  “That’s going to take a while. Let me pull up the specs for the Java Princess,” she answered,

  A moment later, she had them. “Cruising speed is fourteen knots, maximum twenty-two.”

  “I don’t think they’ll be going at the maximum.” He compared a few of the GPS coordinates they’d collected, did a quick calculation in his head and said, “They’re averaging sixteen. Yes, that’s going to take a while to get to Indonesia. I think we can afford to take a break, have some dinner, and pick them up in the morning.”

  Digger, who’d spent most of the afternoon sleeping, sprang to his feet. The words dinner, breakfast, lunch, food, eat, and such would do it every time—without fail.

  Chapter 26

  Arafura Sea, north of Darwin, Australia.

  MARGOT TOOK ADVANTAGE of the king-sized lounge on the open deck aft for the first several days of the trip. The weather was great, the sea was calm, and she lay there in the early morning until time for lunch, and then again after the sun had descended far enough not to bake her. To keep herself busy, sometimes she read on an eReader with thousands of books on it, provided by Henri, sometimes she slept, or stared out at the endless sea or distant landforms. She’d never been indolent, and this felt like complete luxury, to just drift through the days with no duties pressing on her.

  The captain had told her it would take almost twelve full days to reach Singapore, unless she was in a hurry. If necessary, the yacht could do it in eight or nine, but running her at top speed was hard on the engines, and they’d have to refuel somewhere, probably somewhere in Indonesia.

  “You won’t have to leave your cabin there,” he assured her.

  “It’s all right. I’m in no hurry.”

  “We can of course stop whenever and wherever you’d like if you want to dive some coral reefs or swim,” the captain added.

  Margot shuddered. “No thank you. I have no desire to swim in the sea.”

  That had been nearly a week ago, and Margot was now brown as a berry and thankfully didn’t suffer any sea sickness. Only occasionally was she plagued by morning sickness, and it was getting less and less frequent. In fact, she felt healthier and happier than she had in years.

  Being pregnant agreed with her, it seemed.

  She had fully accepted that she would raise her baby out of the public eye and on her own, though she hadn’t ruled out the possibility that there could be a stepfather for the child in the future. She was sure it was a girl, though she couldn’t have said why she felt it.

  There was however something that bothered her. Up till now, her criminal record existed only in her mind. It would never have come to the attention of the police. Jaywalking, drinking a bit too much when she was a student, parking in the wrong space or for too long were not on the police radar and would not give her a criminal record. But now, within a bit more than a week, she had already committed one serious offense by leaving Vanuatu without going through customs, and that was minor compared to the string of crimes she was planning to commit next. Meeting with some unsavory character in Singapore to collect her new but forged passport and using that to enter Vietnam under a false name—she didn’t want to count how many laws she would’ve broken and still intended to break by the time she left Vietnam after the baby’s birth.

  Her brother had said the captain would bring the fellow to the yacht to deliver the goods. Henri had been most kind and quite discreet, never mentioning her delicate condition, if he knew about it, sharing his table with her graciously, and always striving to entertain and keep her from being too bored.

  Some of the time she spent doing research, thanks to the tablet PC with a satellite Internet connection her brother had the captain provide for her as part of the service. She was somewhat horrified by the descriptions of how her body was going to change in the fourth month of pregnancy, and she was thankful she hadn’t had any of those symptoms yet, except her bikini tops seemed to be shrinking. After she caught the first mate staring at her, she began wearing her cover-up whenever she moved from her sunning bed to the interior of the yacht. She hadn’t felt the baby move yet but was reassured that it was perfectly normal for a first-time mother not to feel any movement for another month or even two.

  She supposed she’d soon start ‘showing’, though for now her belly was almost as flat as ever. Over the next week, however, it developed a slight curve and the bikinis were now positively obscene. She gave up sunbathing and did her reading in the spacious and lavish lounge of the yacht.

  She’d grown accustomed to the luxury in her stateroom. She had the master, the captain explained. He had one of the other king staterooms, and the first mate was belowdecks in a very nice stateroom of his own.

  The first time she’d taken a shower, she was almost baffled by the complex set of controls. But she quickly got used to it, and by now, she was enamored of the variety they afforded and vowed she’d have a shower just like it when she set up a home for her and her baby.

  Margot often thought about Ida and Rowan and couldn’t help but feeling ashamed about how she deceived them. She and Ida got on well, but admittedly she felt a lot more endearing toward Rowan and of course Digger. It was so much fun until she discovered her pregnancy. But even then, when she was miserable, Rowan and D
igger always cheered her up. He was such a gentleman. She was really going to miss the two of them, not Ida so much.

  Not long after they’d met, she got the distinct impression that Rowan Donnelly was not a history teacher, and there were times when she wanted to confront him with that but held back when she realized she was also not who she said she was.

  Since she got on the yacht, there were many days that she wondered if she should not have taken him into her confidence and asked him to help her. She didn’t have to tell him everything. He had been so caring when he’d realized something was wrong with her, she was almost sure he would’ve gone out of his way to help her.

  Can’t turn back the clock now. Can I?

  Chapter 27

  Paris, France

  THE PRIME MINISTER, Lucien Laurent, was getting ready for bed. His wife had gone to bed early and was already asleep. His heart was heavy with grief for his family friend Margot Lemaire, and he’d stayed up later than he normally did. Then he heard his doorbell ring. He paused as he heard the in-house security guard making his way to the front door. A few minutes later, a light knock at his bedroom door summoned him in his pajamas and robe to accept the package held out to him.

  “Who delivered this?” he asked, now holding the package gingerly.

  “One of the security detail outside, sir” he said.

  The Prime Minister suppressed his irritable reaction. “He didn’t stay to explain?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  His security team would not have wanted him to handle a package and certainly not to open it without precautions being taken. He was confident they had done what was necessary to insure it wasn’t dangerous.

  He opened the package and read the note of explanation addressed to him.

  “Merde!”

  The Prime Minister had turned pale. His hands were shaking as he walked to his study, closed the door behind him, and sat down behind the oak desk. He seized the decanter of cognac on the credenza behind him and read the note again.

  He’d made no mistake the first time. The unknown sender of the package had made a serious threat against the government of France, not to mention the threat to his old friend’s daughter.

  Monsieur Prime Minister, your loyalty to your friend, President Aguillard, is admirable but misguided. Enclosed is proof that he is a philanderer, contrary to his public façade. We have chosen you, as a family friend of the woman he has impregnated, to confront him with this knowledge and challenge him to save his Presidency by complying with our demands.

  Margot Lemaire is alive. We know her whereabouts. We assure you no harm will come to her unless President Aguillard fails to meet the terms of our demands.

  We know you hold sway over the President and that you are a reasonable man. It is our expectation that you will use your influence to encourage the President to do the right thing and not embarrass France and the EU.

  The clock is ticking.

  The second reading sent his anxiety up another notch. He pushed the flash drive that came with the package into the USB port of his laptop.

  He began with the Word file. It was named ‘The Aguillard-Lemaire Affair.docx’.

  MR. PRESIDENT YOUR PREDECESSOR REFUSED TO SIGN THE PROPOSED GAS PIPELINE AGREEMENT. DESPITE THE FACT THAT YOU HAVE SAID YOU WOULD CONTINUE HIS POLICIES, WE LIKED YOU RIGHT FROM THE BEGINNING AND SUPPORTED YOUR CAMPAIGN IN ANY WAY WE COULD. YOU CAN THANK US FOR GETTING YOU ELECTED.

  THEREFORE, WE ARE SURE, OUT OF GRATITUDE FOR OUR HELP, YOU WOULD WANT TO SIGN THE OIL PIPELINE AGREEMENT. OF COURSE, IF YOU DON’T WANT TO DO SO THAT’S YOUR PREROGATIVE.

  HOWEVER, WE WOULD LIKE YOU TO SERIOUSLY CONSIDER DOING SO, AS WE HAVE CERTAIN INFORMATION ABOUT YOUR PECCADILLOS, WHICH IF WE RELEASE IT, WILL DESTROY YOUR REPUTATION, YOUR MARRIAGE, YOUR PARTY, AND YOUR COUNTRY. JUST LOOK AT AND LISTEN TO THE REST OF THE FILES ON THE FLASHDRIVE THAT CAME WITH THIS LETTER. WE ARE CONFIDENT THAT YOU WILL MAKE THE RIGHT DECISION FOR YOUR REPUTATION, YOUR MARRIAGE, YOUR PARTY, AND YOUR COUNTRY.

  “How curious,” the Prime Minister remarked aloud. The threats to the President were much more subtle than in the note addressed to him. It appeared he’d been elected to deliver the worst of them. The next file was the image, named ‘Bloodtests-Don’t-Lie.jpeg’, so he opened that. At first, he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. A closer look, after he enlarged the image on the monitor, made him shout, “The rumors are true then!”

  Before he opened the last file, an audio file named ‘Listen-To-This.mp3’, which by now he feared could be the worst of all, he poured himself a two-finger shot of cognac and downed it in one gulp, then poured another.

  Steeling himself to hear whatever was on the file—please God, don’t let it be them in flagrante—he listened to Margot Lemaire talking to her brother on the phone. Thank God!

  However, his relief was short-lived.

  The conversation was exactly fifteen minutes and thirty-four seconds long, and the sound quality was impeccable. There could be no misunderstanding or doubt about who was talking and what was said. During the time he listened, he downed three more double-finger cognacs.

  In his disquiet over the rest of the message, he’d momentarily forgotten that just this afternoon he’d thought Margot dead. He had a fondness for her based on the lifelong friendship he’d enjoyed with her father.

  Thank God, she’s alive.

  But again, his relief was short-lived as the gravity of the situation dawned on him. What he’d seen and heard was a political nuclear bomb with a ticking timer, and he was only able to deal with the knowledge without breaking into a destructive rage because he was by then very drunk.

  Mon Dieu! What a disaster! If Giles were not the President, and if it were not the twenty-first century, I’d go over there and slap him across the face with a white glove! What was he thinking?

  Well, it was obvious he’d not been using his brain.

  The same goes for Margot.

  Though the text was blurring, the combined effect of being awake the whole night and finishing the entire decanter of cognac, he gave the Word file with the message to the President one more read and looked at the scanned image of Margot’s pregnancy test. Though he was disappointed in her rather than enraged, as he was with the President, he couldn’t help but think she’d been irresponsible.

  Had the woman never heard of birth control? But I guess I could ask the same question of the President.

  Often, issues had a way of resolving themselves without the need for action. This was not one of those; it was wishful thinking to keep it all to himself or hope it would go away if he ignored it. It was incumbent upon him to do what he must to protect the party and the President, not to mention Margot and her baby. And France. And the EU. And NATO.

  Too many interests to protect. Somewhere, something is bound to give. And I’m not even the one who caused this mess.

  The letter had held a vague hint that the President must sign the accursed agreement soon, and any delay would trigger the obvious threat contained in the files accompanying the letter of demand.

  Thinking of that led him to the obvious question he’d not asked so far; Why me? Why did they pick me? Holding sway over the President? My ass. If it is so, it was obviously not enough to keep him from adultery with a woman who is young enough to be his daughter.

  Does the fact that I know now make me complicit in this ethical dilemma? Probably not, but if I become involved in the obfuscation thereof, the President and I will, on the same day, be packing our tchotchkes in cardboard boxes in the presence of security staff before we’re escorted off government premises—in one of the biggest scandals in French political history.

  I wish I had never read this.

  But contrary to the software on his computer, his brain didn’t have an ‘undo’ button. There were many reasons he could think of why he’d been selected, and none of them had anything to do with the so-called ‘sway’ he held over the President. What came to mind were seve
ral: to sow distrust and discord in the government first, to destroy the good relationship between him and the President, to destroy him and the President so thoroughly they’d never have a say in government again, to shock the French people into voting for another party, one that would allow the cursed pipeline to be built.

  The solution?

  I don’t have an idea, but we need one, and a few backup solutions, and we need them immediately.

  Though it was three-thirty in the morning, at least two hours before the President would normally be awake, he made a call to the president’s aide and insisted on seeing the President immediately. Then he summoned his assistant to call his driver while he took a shower and got ready to face the worst day of his life.

  Chapter 28

  Paris, France

  GILES AGUILLARD AND Lucien Laurent had known each other since their university days, and over the years they’d become very close friends who trusted and respected each other. Nonetheless, Aguillard was enraged at being awakened at the ungodly hour of three-forty-five a.m.

  This had better be good.

  His anger escalated to just short of a screaming rage when he entered his study and found his Prime Minister in an obvious state of inebriation, speech slurring, and unsteady on his feet.

  “What is the meaning of this, Lucien?”

  Laurent thrust a piece of paper into his hand and countered, “Why don’t you rather tell me what the hell’s the meaning of this?” It was the letter that came with the flash drive.

  Aguillard studied the paper with confusion and looked up, his expression troubled. “Where did you get this?”

  “That letter and this flash drive were delivered to my quarters late last night.”

  The President handed the paper back. His face had gone ashen, and he didn’t say anything as he held out his hand to Lauren in a gesture to give him the flash drive.

  Aguillard sat down behind his desk, turned on his computer, and inserted the drive. He didn’t consider whether it might be infected with a malicious program, if the Prime Minister had opened it, it must have been vetted by security. He opened the drive directory and clicked on the image file, Bloodtests-Don’t-Lie.jpeg, and stared at the medical record that indicated Margot had been pregnant.