Smoke Reactivated

by Cherry Laska

  24

  THEY STEPPED OUT OF THE elevator with genuine smiles and laughter. Since Relais de l’Entrecote was only about four minutes on foot and the weather was nice, they were going to walk.

  Couples and families were coming and going to the hotels, restaurants, and shops that made up the area. They passed by charming apartments with ornate wrought iron railings and flower boxes. When they got close to the restaurant, Joe took Jessica’s hand and continued to stroll casually, pausing now and then to admire a painting, a dress, or a shiny piece of jewelry. Approaching the entrance, he dropped her hand, and asked her to wait a moment, so he could talk to the hostess alone.

  “Hello. Will you help me please? Tonight is a very special night, and I am hoping for a specific table in the back. We dined with you on our first date and had a wonderful time,” Joe explained. Pointing to a spot on the seating chart, he said, “We were here. I would love to sit at the same table.” He held eye contact with the woman, letting his eyes twinkle and showing his dimples. He leaned in close enough that the hostess could smell his cologne. “Please,” he whispered. “I’m going to propose.” He slipped the woman sixty Euros, which was about eighty U.S. dollars. Of course, the woman would seat him wherever he wanted. After witnessing the performance and knowing how good Joe smelled, Jessica believed the hostess would have done anything he asked. The French typically don’t love Americans, but they do love romance and handsome, passionate men.

  All the waitresses were dressed alike in little black dresses with white lace aprons that resembled the traditional French maid uniform. The tables were situated close together and decorated with tablecloths in bright colors. The table Jessica and Joe headed toward was next to the target’s usual table. He was already seated with his wife.

  Jacque Lefèvre was a good-looking man. He was dressed in black. His hair was just as dark with only a touch of gray at his temples. He exuded a strong presence that left no doubt he was a man of power. Aurélie Lefèvre was a strikingly beautiful woman. She was fit and well packaged. She was also at least fifteen years younger than her husband. By the looks of her clothes and jewelry, she appreciated his wealth.

  The waitress presented Jessica and Joe menus and motioned for a young woman with a pitcher of water to fill their glasses. Joe ordered a bottle of wine, which came quickly. They were able to enjoy a glass and talk while looking over the dinner choices.

  Jessica watched Jacque’s gaze trail from her ankle to the side slit that stopped above what she considered mid-thigh, then up to her face. She smiled at him. He held her gaze and smiled back without any embarrassment or apology.

  The waitress came back, and Jessica switched from English to order the filet, rare, with the green herb sauce and golden cut fries in her best French accent. This caught the attention of several diners who were within earshot, including the one it was intended for.

  “Mademoiselle, forgive me. I’m sure you are an American. However, your French suggests the contrary. How do you speak our language with so much care?”

  They had planned to draw him in based on the profile they had worked up. Jacque loved all women, but especially had a thing for sexy and mysterious women. “Monsieur, excusez-moi, une dame doit avoir ses secrets.”

  Jacque gave her a slow smile. For the next hour-and-a-half Jessica and Joe indulged in a memorable epicurean sensation. When the dessert arrived, it was equally fabulous.The big moment was approaching. The lovely waitresses seemed to know about the proposal plan, and their eyes were on the American couple as they finished sharing a crème brûlée.

  Joe rose from his chair only to fluidly drop to one knee. He opened an ornate black leather ring box and revealed a stunning, four-carat diamond ring. He held it up presenting it to Jessica with a loving, slightly nervous gaze. “My darling, Cassandra,” he began, “I love you more than you will ever realize. You’re the most amazing woman. You’re my best friend. I crave your touch, your embrace, your kiss. Now that I have you back in my life, I never want to let you go. I want to spend my life making you happy. Will you marry me?”

  Jessica had a huge smile on her face. She hadn’t expected all that. Her heart was pounding and she could barely breathe. “Oh, Daniel,” she said to Joe, “Since the day we met, I have wanted to be near you. I’m madly in love with you. Yes, I will marry you. Yes!”

  Joe stood, took Jessica’s hand and slid the ring on her finger. He drew her to him and they kissed. Instantly fire and passion flared. They were both totally “in character,” and the emotions felt real. Cheers filled the room.

  They knew Aurélie Lefèvre couldn’t resist a romantic tale, and she would want not only to tell the story at her party tomorrow night but also to produce the stars of the story. The extra romance was for her benefit but had ended up being thoroughly enjoyed by all, including and probably most by Jessica and Joe. When their lips slowly parted, Jessica felt a little wobbly, and she could have sworn Joe looked out of it. They’d always been really close friends, but there was no denying they’d also always had chemistry. They’d have to deal with that later.

  Jessica saw Jacque nod to his wife out of the corner of her eye, then raise his hand to get the waitress’s attention. After a bottle of champagne had been brought over to their table, Aurélie said, “Oh mes cheries, how wonderful. How romantic. Please, please, let us toast to you.” They introduced themselves as the glasses were filled, and the foursome spent the next two hours laughing and drinking together. They were all new best friends and before long, the Lefèvre’s had extended an invitation to their party.

  25

  BACK IN THEIR SUITE JOE answered a call from Marshall and put him on speaker. “We’re fully operational. Alejandro is set. Mark will monitor us both while we search the apartments.”

  “Excellent,” Joe replied. “Send me the pictures and the reports when you have them.” He hung up the phone and moved to his laptop on the desk. “I need to send Langley a quick report. Uh, do you mind sharing the bed with me? I’m beat and need a few good hours.”

  Jessica thought he did look tired. She answered, “We’ve slept in bunkers and other strange places together. We can certainly share a big bed.” She couldn’t help but laugh as she headed to her suitcase.

  “What’s funny?”

  “Oh, I was just wondering what kind of PJs the operatives at HQ packed me. Do you think sexy lingerie or a big flannel nightgown?”

  “Well, if I’m lucky, …” Joe said, letting his voice trail off. “The wardrobe guys were given your file with pictures, measurements, and cover. When the situation allows, they always pack for every contingency. I can’t imagine they packed flannels. They’re professionals, so I don’t think they’re going to give you edible undies either, but you never know. A guy can always hope.”

  “Funny, RO-me-o. Well, let’s see.” Jessica held up the choices for him to see. “Choice A, short, pink, stretch-lace, see-through nightie with matching panties. Hmm. Choice B, red and black silk teddy, matching panties with garter belt and sheer black hose with seam. Wow, are the wardrobe guys friends of yours? Did you slip them some money?”

  “Nope. We just employ the best. I like Choice A, but either is fine.” Joe chuckled as she shot him a warning look. He assumed a bland expression.

  “Oh wait. There’re more.”

  “Darn.”

  He was mockingly nodding in full agreement, but acted quite serious at the same time.

  “Choices C and D. There are two short nighties, one is smoky purple and the other is emerald green. Ooh, the material is very soft. I like these. But wait, I think we have a winner.” She held up a gray jersey short set. “Choice E. It’s very comfortable, not cutesy, and good if we have to run out in the middle of the night.”

  “Perfect. What do you think they packed for me? Think the red and black thing comes in my size?”

  “Oh goodness. I hope not.” They were laughing and having fun. Joe looked through his bag and found sleeping pants and shorts.

  Jessic
a could read his face. “What’s wrong?”

  “I usually sleep in my boxer briefs or well … nothing.”

  “Joe, boxer briefs are fine. Don’t worry about it. My boys run around the house in them all the time. The wrestlers change in and out of their clothes in front of a gym full of people. They’re the best things that were ever invented for men.”

  He tossed his head back with a laugh. “Oh, I don’t know. I think the best things ever invented for men are your sleepwear Choices A and B. Thanks. I’ll sleep better in my boxer briefs.”

  She grabbed her PJ choice and headed to the bathroom. After changing, she opened the door and brushed her teeth. Joe came in and did the same. She washed her face and was putting on some very expensive face cream. She noticed he was watching. “Hey, I’m not in my twenties anymore. It takes more work. I’m glad the CIA cares about keeping me looking good and packed these products. They’re from one of the best lines.”

  “I was actually thinking you look wonderful. And ppfff, I’m right there with you.” He opened his toiletry bag to show her a full supply of men’s skin care products. That made them both smile. Jessica watched Joe as he soaked a washcloth with warm water and wrung it out.

  “You gave a brilliant performance tonight,”she complimented him.

  “It was easy. I felt inspired.” He stopped wiping his face and looked at her through the mirror. “I hope you didn’t mind the kiss. I was running with it. And your kissing skills … well, not too bad, Smoke,” Joe said down playing it.

  “Not too bad? Thanks a lot. You, on the other hand, must have had a ton of practice. You were like a pro, RO-mee-o.”

  He laughed. “I’m pro level at everything I do. You know that, Smoke.” He finished putting cream on his face and added, “You were even better than I had imagined. Glad you could keep up.”

  What? Has he thought about kissing me? A rush of excitement hit her.

  They stood still. Joe recovered, deciding to go with honesty. At least partial honesty. “Guys fantasize and don’t forget we spent a lot of time together. We were also in our twenties, which was our prime. We were facing danger, blowing stuff up, kicking ass, and taking names. It was the perfect storm. And all the time we spent doing the tango—I mean come on. Not to mention, you were hot!”

  At the word were Jessica’s eyes got wide and her jaw dropped.

  “I mean you still are. You caught the eye of every man in the restaurant tonight. We can’t help it,” he said, trying again for an innocent look. She shook her head.

  “Stop talking. Just … stop. Let’s get some sleep, RO-me-o.”

  When they were getting settled in bed, she found her smile had not faded. Jessica realized she felt fully alive and important. She also felt a little guilty about not being there for her kids. She thought about it. Her three kids were independent teenagers, and they needed to continue learning to do things for themselves. She’d be home in a few days. She looked at the clock. It was a little after twelve and with some quick math, she figured it was after six p.m. at home. The boys would be driving home from practice. At that moment her phone vibrated with a text. It was from Trevor.

  Sorry to bug you when you’re out whooping it up. I need you to call the school and give them verbal permission for me to go on the field trip with my English class. You guys weren’t here to sign the form.

  Damn that pang of guilt. She suspected her oldest had probably had that form for a couple of weeks. She replied that she would and asked how he was doing. He replied he had to go without answering her question. Jessica felt less guilt. She yawned. She’d been up for twenty-six hours. She rolled over on her side, hooked a leg out and let herself fade.

  26

  MARSHALL ENTERED MOREAU’S APARTMENT AND transmitted to Mark, “I’m in.” They would communicate as little as possible, in case the apartment was being monitored. They wouldn’t use the radio again until Marshall was out of the apartment or was in danger of being discovered.

  Marshall followed his training and stood still while taking in his surroundings and allowing time for his eyes and ears to adjust to the dark space. The rooms came into focus, and he saw the place was a mess. “Spectacular,” he whispered to himself.

  Moreau was a brilliant chemist who had risen in the ranks at Chevalier-Fort Chemicals. A background check revealed he liked to eat and drink to excess while in the company of young, beautiful women who would never be seen with a poor man version of Moreau. His financial records showed high travel and entertainment expenses, and many purchases of perfume, women’s clothing, and jewelry. There were some indications he was a small-time gambler as well. It all added up to Moreau being close to bankruptcy and a heck of a motivation to make as much cash as he could, any way he could, including selling chemicals to terrorists.

  By the looks of his place, Moreau was obviously extremely disorganized. Even taking into consideration the search the French Police had conducted, the man’s belongings shouldn’t have been in this kind of disarray.

  Marshall was all too personally familiar with the dynamic of a brilliant mind moving so quickly that thoughts often jumped to the next idea or problem. The body often lagged behind and operated with only a fraction of the concentration required to complete a routine task at hand, resulting in a disconnect and causing a special kind of chaos where things tended to get put in the craziest places.

  Preparing to do his search, Marshall reviewed what he knew about Moreau’s timeline. From hacking into government and local business security cameras and Moreau’s credit cards and internet accounts, Marshall had a pretty good account of the man’s activities. Marshall knew the night before the meet Moreau was at a local Cuban club and paid a large bill by credit card at 2:18 a.m. He’d picked up the tab for a group of five pretty women, grabbed a cab, and brought one of the girls back to his apartment. The day of his arrest he’d ordered delivery for one a little after noon.

  Moreau had been online from 2:23 p.m. until logging off almost two hours later. During that time, he made online purchases of perfume and lingerie, booked a trip to Madrid, and watched porn.

  Moreau was captured on surveillance cameras walking the few blocks to his six o’clock meeting with Zircone. Factoring in the man’s slow pace and the distance to travel to reach the Place de la Fontaine Aux Lions, it should have taken approximately twenty minutes—meaning he must have left his apartment no later than 5:40 p.m.

  Marshall started at the door and worked backwards through the sequence of events. He walked to the desk in the study. He sat at the desk. It was covered in a layer of dust. There were also crumbs and dried-up spills along with the usual desk items. The French police had confiscated the computer. Marshall snapped a shot of a framed picture of the back of a dark-haired woman facing the water on a white sand beach. There were tall palms blowing in the background. He would run the photo through the software that he’d been developing. Hopefully it would identify where the photo was taken. He searched under the desk, the chair, and through all the seemingly inconsequential clutter. The waste basket next to the desk held junk mail and the food containers from Moreau’s delivered lunch.

  Marshall went to the kitchen. Concentrating on the steps Moreau would have taken to get a drink, Marshall opened the cabinet and then the refrigerator. He took pictures and examined the contents. You could tell a lot about someone by what they put in their body. Inside the fridge were containers from several local restaurants. There were two in the front from Montecristo’s. One contained rice, pork, and beans and the other coconut custard.

  Next Marshall moved to the bathroom thinking if Moreau had planned to be online for any significant length of time, he would have relieved himself first. Marshall closed the lid and sat on the toilet. He looked in the trash. Nothing. He noticed the soap on the sink was untouched. He opened the medicine cabinet. Inside, next to the toothpaste and toothbrush, was something odd. It was a half-smoked Habanos. He snapped a shot of the out-of-place Cuban cigar before placing it in an evidence bag. I
t was a perfect example of the nutty professor/rocket scientist mind at work. He wondered what Moreau was thinking of so deeply at that moment that he lost focus, resulting in the cigar being left here.

  Marshall continued to work backwards. Thinking Moreau would have needed to get dressed, Marshall went to the bedroom closet. Expensive suits, shirts, ties, and shoes were all heaped together on the floor in a wrinkled mess. He documented the pile with a picture before checking all the pockets. Not surprisingly, he came up empty.

  He moved to the nightstand where he found more crazy mess, but nothing that seemed important. He looked under the bed and among the bedclothes. He found a shoe tangled in the sheets. It matched one he’d seen in the pile in the closet. He documented it all with more pictures. There were crumpled papers, food wrappers, a couch pillow, a Frisbee, the back of a remote, and other various items scattered haphazardly around the room. Marshall’s mind followed the trail. Observing the man’s mess pained Marshall, hitting too close to home. It was hard for him to stay in the moment when his mind started problem solving or inventing, which he was doing almost constantly, and he had to fight hard to keep his surroundings from getting out of control.

  Marshall was moving to leave when a glint of metal caught his eye. A silver toe ring was sitting on top of a candle. On closer inspection, he observed that the ring had a few grains of sand on it. He took one last picture and bagged the toe ring. Marshall reset the alarm as he left. “Out,” he reported to Mark.

  27

  ALEJANDRO’S RENTED APARTMENT WAS ONE floor below where Zircone had stayed. The dilapidated six-story building had thirty units that came furnished with the bare necessities. If renters paid cash up front, they were not required to fill out any paperwork or even show proper identification. The tenants who lived in the building didn’t chat nor did anyone deliver welcome baskets or ask to borrow a cup of sugar. Mostly the tenants avoided contact with their neighbors as much as they possibly could. Alejandro had gotten nothing on Zircone from them.