Paris Ransom

by Charles Rosenberg

  “No.”

  “Do you know who her father is?”

  “I assume it is this man Igor Bukov. Do you have reason to think it is not?”

  “It is only a suspicion raised by the fact that the general has a different last name from his supposed brother, Bukov, even though the general has a handy explanation for that.”

  “I see. Eh, I wish I could help you, but I have no reason to doubt what the general says about who Olga’s father is. I have never met Igor, by the way, even though he is said to be the general’s brother. And please remember that we were in Moscow just after Boris Yeltsin finished being president of Russia, and relations between us and them were thawing. The general was sent there precisely because his brother was in the Russian military. It was thought to be a good connection for us.”

  “Thank you for that explanation, and I take you at your word about the other things. Thank you for stopping by.”

  She left, and I watched her go, again looking to see if she would betray by some gesture that she had been lying—a shaking hand on the doorknob, a twitch in her neck, anything—but there was nothing. She was probably telling the truth. And so there was another theory gone.

  Just then the phone rang and my greffier answered it.

  “Monsieur le juge, it is again the chief of the Brigade Criminelle.”

  “Ah, perhaps he has more to report,” I said, and picked up the phone.

  “Rebonjour, Monsieur le juge,” he said. “I was embarrassed when we spoke that I knew so little about this affair of the kidnapping. So I have inquired further.”

  I felt my heart speed up. Perhaps he was about to tell me that this kidnapping was indeed something the general had planned and executed.

  “And?” I said.

  “I have read all of the reports of the general and discovered that all is as it should be. He is even now working with the chief negotiator of our group to put a detailed plan in place so that when the kidnappers are confronted with armed force, the hostage will be kept absolutely safe.”

  “Who is the chief negotiator?”

  “Anton Morel. GIGN’s very best.”

  “I see,” I said. “Thank you for taking the time to look into it. It is much appreciated.”

  “You are welcome, Monsieur le juge. Bonne journée.”

  So it was not the general who had conspired to kidnap Monsieur Oscar Quesana. But who was it then? That was something I would need to turn over to my successor when I returned from a few days in Provence, and, after a chat with the presiding judge, passed this matter on to a new judge.

  Or did I really intend to pass it on? I then had the same conversation with myself I always had when I pushed my jurisdiction beyond the original assignment: Why am I doing this? And I got back the answer I always get: out-of-control curiosity. It had been a curse since childhood. And then there was the other thing. Someone was lying to me in this matter. I loathed being lied to. I wanted to find out who it was.

  “Marie?”

  “Oui, Monsieur le juge?”

  “I must once again put off going to Provence. Instead, I would like you to find out the cell phone number of the chief hostage negotiator employed by the Brigade Criminelle. His name is Anton Morel.”

  “Do you want me to obtain it directly from the Brigade?”

  “If you can find it out without contacting them, it would be preferable. Someone in this vast courthouse must know it.”

  “And then?”

  “I want to call him.”

  Not two hours later, she handed me a slip of paper. “Here is Monsieur Morel’s cell phone number.”

  “He is a civilian?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  I called him and he answered on the first ring. I explained who I was and what I was investigating and told him I wanted to meet with him as soon as possible. He initially demurred, saying he couldn’t imagine what information he had that would be useful, but eventually agreed to meet with me if I were willing to meet late in the evening near where he lived, since he was in intense preparation for an operation and did not have time to come to the courthouse.

  “Is the operation you’re preparing for one that involves Oscar Quesana’s kidnapping?” I asked.

  “No, I am aware of that situation, but this involves an entirely different matter.”

  “So you are not involved in any operation tonight involving Monsieur Quesana?”

  “No.”

  We agreed to meet at eleven that evening at Casimodo, which was convenient for him, but also for me since it is only a few blocks from where I live. I could walk there and walk home.

  The fact that he was not involved in a Quesana operation that evening heartened me. It meant that the general had told the truth when he said the rescue operation would not be that night. Thus, there was still time to try to ensure Monsieur Quesana’s safety, and talking directly to the negotiator seemed a very good way to start.

  I would reflect later that I had not asked Monsieur Morel quite the right question.

  CHAPTER 43

  Jenna James

  Tess returned from her visit to the judge in late afternoon.

  “It was nothing,” she said, addressing both me and Robert. “A few details he forgot to ask of me this last time I saw him.”

  She then looked directly at Robert and said, “The judge did say about something private that we need to discuss later.” She turned to me. “It does not concern Oscar’s kidnapping or the book.”

  I figured it had to do with what she was allowed to tell Robert about her activities as a spy, and I decided not to push it.

  Next, the three of us prepared to trap the first mouse.

  As planned, Robert texted me that he had encrypted his cell phone, and I texted back that I had encrypted mine, too. I added that, finally, we could communicate without fear of being overheard by the general or anyone else.

  It wasn’t true, of course, but at least it would explain to those intercepting our messages why we were about to start speaking so openly about things

  At five o’clock, we put a copy of the François-Victor Hugo letter in an envelope in the safe in Tess’s study. We “accidentally” left the door ajar, in case someone showed up to grab it who didn’t have the combination. To make the letter look authentic, we had used special copy paper—the crinkly old-looking stuff on which they print tourist copies of the Declaration of Independence. Earlier in the day, I had managed to find a blank ream of that type of paper in a stationery store.

  At six, we put out the cheese for the general and whoever else might be listening. I texted Robert:

  As agreed, François-Victor Hugo ltr to brother in Tess study safe.

  Combo 3-30-12 if need access. Will take to bank deposit box in am.

  “Tess, you have the first shift,” I said. “Robert and I are off to see the hotel owner. We told him I wanted to come over and apologize and also pay for the lost pen even though I didn’t take it. We’ll be sure to tell him the exciting news about the letter and where it is.”

  “What will be your excuse for talking about it front of him?” Tess asked.

  “We are going to offer to let the bookstore—the one in which he owns an interest—market the letter.”

  As Robert and I were about to leave, Olga came flying into the apartment from wherever she had been, plopped herself down on the couch in the living room and started to read a book. Because she was lying down, the book covered her face. It was clever. If she did indeed understand French or English, we wouldn’t be able to read her facial expressions as a clue. Despite that, Tess and Robert put the plan into effect by talking to each other at length about the letter. Robert even had Tess remind him about the combination to the safe, on the excuse that he was forgetful and needed to write it down.

  Olga, still reading her book, didn’t even
twitch.

  Robert and I again started to leave to visit the hotel owner when my cell buzzed. I looked down at it and gestured toward the kitchen. We all moved there, out of Olga’s earshot, just in case she actually spoke English.

  “It’s a message from the general,” I said. “It says that they have intelligence that the kidnappers have given up finding the book and are about to kill Oscar. He wants to know where we are so he can come and meet with us about their plan to prevent that.”

  We looked at one another, and the question we all had in our minds was clear: should we ask the general to come to Tess’s apartment or meet him elsewhere?

  “Agree that he comes here,” Tess said. “One of us will go up to the apartment and watch. It will be a test of the system.”

  “I’ll go up,” I said. “I’ll text him back and tell him to come here right away to meet with you and Robert, and say that I’m out but will be back later.”

  I took some snacks out of the refrigerator and left for the hideaway. Twenty minutes later, I watched on one of the monitors as the general arrived. When he came in, Tess, ever polite, offered him coffee, which he declined. The three of them sat at the big table in the dining room and talked. The monitor showed Olga in the living room, too far away to overhear.

  “We have been watching the barn Oscar is being held in and now we are worried,” the general said.

  Robert’s face turned purple. “When did you discover exactly where the barn was? You told us you only knew that it was somewhere near Digne, but not its exact location. You lied to us.”

  “It was true at the time I told it to you. Later, we put a drone in the area and got a better triangulation on their phone messages.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell us as soon as you found out?” Robert asked.

  The general’s eyes twinkled. “To prevent you from trying to rescue him yourselves.”

  Sitting at the monitor, I had to admit he had a point. That’s exactly what we would have done.

  “Alright, General, why are you now so worried?” Robert asked.

  “We have managed to get some listening devices onto the roof of the barn—without being detected—and they are talking about killing Oscar.”

  “Why now?” he asked.

  “They have not said so directly, but we think it is because, somehow, they have gotten their hands on the book with the inscription and no longer need Oscar.”

  “Well, mon général, that must mean whoever removed the book from the hotel room has given it to them, or they know where it is and think they can get it without Oscar.”

  “Precisely,” the general said.

  “Why do they wish to kill him? Is it not more sensible to permit him to go?” Tess asked.

  “We do not know, Tess. Perhaps it is because he knows too much or can identify them.”

  “Do you know where in the building he’s being held?” Robert asked.

  “Unfortunately, we do not.”

  Robert and Tess glanced at one another, and it was clear they were both having the same thought I was having: if the general and his pals didn’t know where Oscar was in the building, and they were going to attack anyway, it was much more likely he’d be killed instead of rescued.

  “Mon général, what is your plan?” Tess asked.

  “We are going to use the GIGN to rescue him.”

  “Does this not risk that he will be killed?”

  “Yes, there is a risk, but it is very small. The GIGN is known around the world as very skilled at hostage rescue. And if we do not act, the kidnappers will kill him in any case.”

  I glanced at the monitor for the dining room and noticed that Olga had moved from the couch to a big chair, where she was much closer to the dining room and could probably hear what Robert, Tess and the general were saying. Maybe she really did also speak English.

  “Is the GIGN like SWAT teams in the United States?” Robert asked.

  “Yes, Robert, but with more skill and more firepower.”

  “How much firepower do you need to kill a few kidnappers?”

  “We believe these people are terrorists and money launderers, and that they may have heavy weapons themselves.”

  “General, there is something you don’t know,” Robert said.

  “What is that?”

  “There is a letter from Victor Hugo’s son, François-Victor, to his brother, which authenticates the inscription on the book.”

  If the general already knew about it from reading our texts, he covered it up well. His face showed no surprise, just curiosity.

  “Please tell me more about this.”

  Robert did, and when he had finished, the general asked, “Where is it now?”

  “In the safe in Tess’s study.”

  “It is a very hard safe,” Tess added. “No one will steal it from there.”

  “That’s good, that’s good,” the general said. “But wouldn’t it be better to entrust it to us? We have even better safes, and we have people to guard the safes. Here, your safe may be good, but this apartment has no security.”

  “I wish to keep it here,” Tess said.

  “Alright. I have no right to make you give it to us. But I still think you are taking a large risk.”

  “Wouldn’t it make sense to let the kidnappers know about the letter?” Robert said. “They will want that, too, and perhaps they will put off their plan to kill Oscar until they get it.”

  The general put his first finger to his bottom lip, as if giving my suggestion serious thought. Finally, he said, “No. This would not make sense. I think it will put Oscar in even more danger.”

  “General, will you be leading the GIGN unit in the rescue mission?” Robert asked.

  “No, I am not a member of the Gendarmerie. It is true they are part of the military, but they are attached to the Department of the Interior. It would not be appropriate for an army general to lead that group. It is not in my chain of command. And besides, I am retired.”

  “Retired. Of course. I had almost forgotten,” Tess said. “Who then will lead this rescue mission?”

  “General Lemoins will lead it. He has my entire confidence.”

  “When will it take place?” Tess asked.

  “It will begin at midnight. They post only one night guard, and we can hear him snoring, so we think he sleeps rather than guards. I will be in direct touch with General Lemoins during the operation, which we have named Opération de sauvetage américain—in English, ‘Operation American Rescue.’”

  I looked down at my watch. It was already six o’clock. That meant we had only six hours to catch the mouse and then find some way to call off the so-called rescue, which I was sure was going to kill Oscar. The name they’d given it—so on the nose as to be ridiculous—made me even more certain the rescue wasn’t being taken seriously.

  “Will you keep us posted, General?” Robert asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  As the general got up to leave, I scanned the monitors for the other rooms in the apartment and saw something in Tess’s study that astounded me. As soon as the general closed the door behind him, I rushed down to the apartment.

  “Let’s go back to Tess’s study,” I said to Robert and Tess, as quietly as I could. I gestured toward the book-hidden lump on the nearby chair in a way that I hoped communicated, I don’t want her to hear us.

  When we got there, I shut the door.

  “Did the system work?” Robert asked.

  “Like a charm,” I said. “I could see and hear everything clearly, and the general tripped the alarm when he went through the front door. But now there’s something I need to show the two of you.” I pointed toward Tess’s copy of Les Misérables, all five volumes of which were sitting on the bottom shelf of the tall bookcase, which was to the left of the safe. “Look carefully at the first volu
me of Les Misérables.”

  Robert looked and said he saw nothing he hadn’t seen before.

  Tess looked at it, too and said, “I see no thing that is new.”

  “Look carefully at the cover of the first volume,” I said. “Do you see a little triangular piece of plastic that has crumbled off the dust protector?”

  “I see it,” Robert said. “And so?”

  “So do you remember, Robert, when Tess showed us her copy of Les Misérables the first time? Back when she told us the story of her great-grandmother’s affair in Digne?”

  “Sure, Jenna.”

  “At that point, I’m sure that the plastic cover on the first volume of Tess’s copy was unblemished. There was no missing piece.”

  Tess walked over to the bookshelf, bent down slightly, and examined the cover more carefully. “I do not remember if it had a missing piece.”

  “Watch this,” I said. I pulled the book off the shelf. “I’m willing to bet this volume has the inscription to Charles Dickens.” I opened it to the title page and held it up for all to see. And there it was, the inscription itself.

  Tess was the first to react. “That cannot be.”

  “It is,” I said. “Here, look for yourself.”

  Tess took the book from me and looked hard at the inscription. “How do we know this is not a copy?”

  “We know because when they pulled the books from the hiding place in Oscar’s hotel room, a very small triangular piece of plastic cover had fallen off one of the volumes. That piece was exactly the same shape as the small piece that’s missing from this cover.”

  “Where’s the piece now?”

  “The police took it as evidence. It will match, I’m sure.”

  Robert took the book from Tess, closed it and examined the cover again. “Jenna, are you referring to the little piece that’s missing from the upper-right corner of the spine?”

  “Yes. And that’s what tipped me off. The camera in this room is pointed directly at the safe, and I was just upstairs looking at the image of the safe and the bookcase next to it and noticed the missing piece on the cover.”