Femme Fatale

by Claude Bouchard

  “You’re uncomfortable enough as it is,” she told him. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

  He nodded gratefully and settled into the chair while Leslie stood before him.

  “There you go,” Leslie resumed. “So, they’re on their way to North Africa. How? By car? Flying?”

  “Uh, no,” Normand replied, shaking his head. “They, uh, they are traveling by boat.”

  “By boat,” Leslie repeated. “What kind of boat? A cruise ship? A fancy yacht, perhaps?”

  “They’re on a freighter,” said Normand, his voice barely audible. “In a container, from what I understood.”

  Monique gasped while Henri started to rise from his seat once again but Leslie held up a hand to indicate she wished no interruption.

  “When did you find out about this?” she asked. “How long have you known?”

  “I received a call yesterday morning,” Normand admitted, “While I was having breakfast.”

  The slap she delivered to the side of his head came so quickly that Normand never saw it coming, it’s force sufficient to knock him off the chair and send him sprawling on the floor.

  Leslie glared down at him for a moment before speaking. “You’ve known your two nieces had been kidnapped for twenty-four hours and didn’t say anything? You knew they were being carted out of the country in a container to become sex slaves and it wasn’t worth mentioning?”

  “I’m sorry,” Normand sobbed. “I was scared. These are dangerous people. They could kill me. Others are already dead.”

  Jonathan rose from his seat and came to stand by Leslie.

  “Normand, I can’t emphasize enough how little you should be concerned right now about these people affecting your health,” he said. “Now, get off the floor and sit down. I’m sure you still have a lot of useful information to share with us and I insist that you do so now.”

  * * * *

  Dominique awoke to find herself in yet other unfamiliar surroundings. Sitting up on the bottom level of small iron bunk bed, she squinted in the dim light and took in the tiny space around her. A few feet to her right was a second bed where Corinne lay on the lower bunk while a pretty blonde woman slept on the upper one. Soft snoring confirmed someone slept in the bunk above her own.

  Just beyond the foot of the opposite beds was a small, round porthole, grey and dingy, the tiny room’s only current source of illumination. Below the porthole was a painted, iron shelf on which lay a paper bag of baguette, a slab of cheese and several plastic water bottles. Past the shelf, a door in the corner on the far wall stood ajar, revealing a toilet beyond. A closed, hatch-like door was set in the far wall near the other corner.

  She slowly swung her legs from the thin mattress and brought her feet to the floor. Her head and body felt heavy and numb but she felt none of the dizziness or nausea she vaguely remembered from earlier. Upon seeing the food and toilet, she realized that she was both ravenous and badly in need of relieving herself and now rose to her feet, pausing a few seconds to ensure she was sufficiently steady. Satisfied that her balance was indeed intact, she crossed the short distance to the tiny bathroom, entered and closed the door.

  As she sat on the toilet and tended to her needs, she tried to jog her memory about what had happened but had no recollection of any of the events which had led her to this strange, unfamiliar place except for brief flashbacks of other strange rooms. Slowly, her mind seemed to grind into gear and she became aware of a constant, droning, throbbing vibration and slight swaying motion and determined they were likely on some sort of vessel.

  Done with the toilet, she returned to the room and peered out the tiny porthole. All she could see beyond was sea and sky and the light of a bright sunny day. A movement caught her attention and she gazed at a small plane as it flew above in the distance. A tear rolled down her cheek as she realized that, unlike the occupants of that plane who were free as birds, she and her current roommates were prisoners and no doubt headed to danger and suffering.

  “Dominique?” Corinne’s voice rasped.

  “Oui, chéri,” Dominique murmured as she hurried to her sister’s side, sitting on the edge of the bed and smoothing away a few stands of hair from her sibling’s forehead. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I weigh a ton,” said Corinne, looking around in puzzlement. “Where are we?”

  “We’re on a large boat but that’s all I know,” Dominique replied.

  “A boat?” Corinne exclaimed. “How did we get on a boat?”

  “I have no idea,” said Dominique. “My head is still pretty fuzzy. I think we were drugged.”

  “So is mine,” Corinne agreed as she sat up on the bed, “But at least I not dizzy anymore. I remember spinning pretty badly. Now I really need to go to the bathroom.”

  Her sister pointed. “There.”

  As Corinne stood, she noticed the two women still asleep on the top bunks.

  “Who are they?” she whispered in surprise.

  “I’m guessing they’re kidnap victims,” Dominique replied, “Just like us.”

  “Kidnapped?” Corinne gasped as the reality of the situation dawned on her. “Who would kidnap us? Why?”

  Dominique pulled her sister into a tight hug. “I really don’t know, sweetheart, but we’re going to have to be strong because I don’t believe we can expect anything pleasant wherever we’re going.”

  * * * *

  “That’s probably it up ahead,” Chris announced from the front passenger seat of the Cessna Corvalis TTX they had chartered.

  The others looked out the starboard side where Chris pointed to a small container ship, its deck stacked with containers. As they approached, the lettering across the stern became legible.

  Seaworthy I

  Trans-Med Shipping Co.

  Morocco

  “That’s the one we were looking for,” Jonathan agreed, turning his head towards Leslie and Henri in the back. “I know I’m repeating myself but this is just a reconnaissance flight. We just came out to confirm the ship Normand identified for us is following its charted course. There’s nothing we can do for now so we’re not even thinking of attempting anything.”

  “Of course, Jon,” Leslie replied. “Did you think I’d try to parachute onto the boat once we found it?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past you,” said Chris to lighten the mood.

  “Anyhow, we have no guarantee my daughters are even on that ship,” said Henri, gazing down at the boat as they passed it. “For all we know, my bastard brother-in-law lied to us.”

  “I don’t think he has,” Jonathan replied. “I had the information he supplied verified and the Seaworthy I is the only boat which makes sense based on when it left Marseilles and its Casablanca destination. They could be using some other mode of transportation but getting across borders would be tougher by land or air. Swing a container onto the boat, lock up the ladies in a cabin once they’re at sea and sneak them off once they’ve reached their destination.”

  “I guess,” Henri conceded. “I still don’t trust that bastard.”

  “I think Normand understood it was best for him to play it straight with us and he isn’t going anywhere,” said Jonathan. “If he sent us for a ride, he’ll pay for it.”

  Not without resources in other countries, Jonathan had made a few calls and Normand Lefebvre was now in ‘protective custody’ in a secure location near Versailles until further notice.

  They flew on in silence for a few minutes when Jonathan banked right and headed back to where they had come from.

  As they came upon the ship, on the port side this time, Henri gazed down and asked to no one in particular, “How am I going to get my little girls off that thing and back home?”

  “We’re going to have to let the boat get to Casablanca first, Henri,” Jonathan replied, “Which will be late Wednesday evening. Now that we’ve confirmed the ship’s location, it’ll be tracked to make sure it stays on course. I spoke to a colleague in Spain earlier and there will be a couple
of people in place when the Seaworthy I docks. I’ll be there to join them.”

  “I’m impressed by your connections and organizational skills, Jonathan,” said Henri. “I would like to go with you.”

  “Uh, this could get delicate, Henri,” Jon replied. “We won’t be operating in any official capacity over there. The people I’ll be working with are specially trained -”

  “I have military training,” Henri interrupted, “And I have been working in high level security positions since I left the forces. These are my daughters, Jonathan.”

  Jonathan remained silent for a moment then asked, “You will follow my directives?”

  “Oui, mon Capitaine,” Henri barked as he saluted, “And I will cover your back as well as those of your colleagues so we can all return home safe with Dominique and Corinne.”

  Jonathan smiled back at the Frenchman and replied, “Okay, we’ll spend a bit of time together before we leave to go over some preliminaries but most of our planning will take place on site since we don’t know what we’re dealing with. The guys from Spain will be there ahead of us to do some initial recon work at the port.”

  Henri nodded as Leslie asked, “What about me?”

  “You’ll be staying in Paris with me,” Chris replied. “This plan is two-tiered. First part is getting the kidnap victims back home. While Jon’s team looks after that, you and I will be working on taking down this organization so this kind of thing doesn’t happen again.”

  “I’m in,” Leslie agreed. “What’s the plan?”

  “As you know from experience,” said Chris, “The best way to take down a gang like this is to go for the head, right?”

  “It’s worked before,” said Leslie.

  “And it will work again,” Chris replied. “With my money, your looks and our brains, we are going to get this Mustapha Kaddur and make him regret what he’s done.”

  * * * *

  Normand Lefebvre sat in the comfortable living room of the secluded house in Villepreux near Versailles feeling somewhat like a prisoner because that was, in fact, what he was. Though there were no bars in the windows, he had noticed the glass seemed unusually thick and any which opened were fitted with locks requiring a key on the inside.

  His mobile phone trilled where it lay on a side table across the room. One of the two men guarding him who sat there reading picked up the phone and glanced at the call display.

  “Numéro privé,” he said, putting the phone back down and returning to his book.

  “It might be an important call,” Normand replied, his tone testy. “You may not be aware who I am but I hold a high level position with the government.”

  The big man lowered his book, gazed at Lefebvre and shrugged. “If you were the Queen of England, I would not let you answer your phone. You may not be aware who I am so I will tell you. I am someone who does my work to perfection and my current duties include making sure you do not speak to anyone on the phone.”

  “This is outrageous,” Normand argued. “I don’t know who you people are but I don’t believe you are with the police. I am being held against my will. That is kidnapping.”

  “Monsieur Lefebvre,” the man said. “Listening to you whine is not part of my duties. I’m trying to read and you are disturbing me. Now, I suggest you shut up or I will lock you in the cellar. Vous comprenez?”

  Lefebvre shut up.

  * * * *

  Mustapha Kaddur cut the line and flung the mobile phone against the wall of his office, smashing it to pieces.

  “What is wrong, Mustapha?” Youssef, his personal assistant, asked as he hurried into Kaddur’s office.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong,” Kaddur snarled, “And I can’t reach anyone to tell me.”

  “Is there a problem with the show?” asked Youssef as he started picking up the pieces of the phone.

  “No, it isn’t the show,” his boss replied. “It’s with Femme Fatale. I called Armand on his mobile but the man who answered was not him. When I asked who he was, he asked me who was calling. I then called the club and the man who answered said simply, ‘Allô?’ I asked to speak to Armand and the man asked me to identify myself. I asked him who he was and he told me it was none of my business. That’s when I cut the line because I thought he might be with the police.”

  “Do you think they have Armand?” Youssef asked. “Perhaps there was a problem when he disposed of Maurice and Rashid.”

  Kaddur shook his head. “No. Armand called me on Sunday once he was back in Paris to confirm everything had been looked after. If he is having any problems with the police, it is probably because of this Henri Petit and the unknown woman helping him.”

  “Has Lefebvre learned anything about them or the police investigation?” Youssef inquired.

  “I have no idea,” Kaddur snapped. “I have been trying to reach him for several hours but he is not answering his phone.”

  “Perhaps you should have someone from one of the other clubs go see what is going on at Femme Fatale,” Youssef suggested.

  “I don’t want anyone from the other clubs getting mixed into this mess,” Kaddur replied. “Get me another phone. I will try to get in touch with that idiot again later. Also, change our flight from Wednesday to tomorrow morning. We shall go see what is going on in Paris with our own eyes.”

  * * * *

  Henri Petit finished the call and set his phone down on the kitchen table in the farmhouse in Villepreux.

  “Here is the latest from the police,” he said, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “They visited the apartment of Rashid Hassan this morning to find the body of one Armand Souligny. He had been shot in the back of the head at close range with a small calibre pistol.

  “Hassan is nowhere to be found and a search bulletin has been issued throughout the European Union via Interpol. He is wanted for questioning in relation to Souligny’s murder and possible involvement in a kidnapping and white slavery operation. Both the apartment and Femme Fatale have been declared crime scenes and are closed to the public and under police guard until further notice.”

  Jonathan nodded and replied, “Sounds about right to me. I think Normand should pass this information on to Kaddur. It rings true and the man has been waiting for some kind of report on the progress of the investigation.”

  “Problem is, we have no clue what Kaddur already knows,” said Chris. “We don’t even know where Hassan is. He might be sitting with his boss in Morocco as we speak.”

  “I think it’s a chance we can take,” Jonathan replied. “Normand will have been scraping bits and pieces of information through contacts and not in any official capacity. He’s simply going to relate what he managed to find without guaranteeing how exact any of information might be. Kaddur might even end up supplying us with information by disputing some of what Normand reports to him.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Chris agreed. “Let’s go explain to Norm what he’s managed to gather during his investigations today.”

  * * * *

  It was early evening by the time they had run thorough the story, coaching Lefebvre, prodding and asking questions which Kaddur might come up with during their eventual conversation.

  “I think he’s ready,” said Leslie. “If we push it anymore, he’ll sound like he’s reading a script.”

  “I can’t disagree,” Jonathan replied as he turned towards Lefebvre. “The big question now is, will you do this right or will you try to tip Kaddur off somehow when you speak with him?”

  “I know that none of you trust me,” said Normand. “You all think I’m despicable because of what I got involved in and you’ve even imprisoned me here, treating me like the criminal I guess I am. Because of my actions and decisions, my life is ruined. My wife is leaving me, she told me so and my whole world is crumbling around me. All I can say is, if it costs me my life, I will do anything I can to get Dominique and Corinne safely back home. Should I say anything to Kaddur which might bring harm to my two dear nieces, I beg yo
u to shoot me without hesitation.”

  Henri gazed at his brother-in-law with a glisten in his eyes and said, “I trust you, Normand.”

  Chapter 9 – Tuesday, May 29, 2012

  It was just past eleven-thirty in the morning when the Mercedes S-Class left Orly Airport on its way to Paris with Youssef at the wheel. In the passenger seat, Mustapha Kaddur retrieved his latest disposable mobile phone from his jacket pocket and dialled a number. Several seconds later, his face lit up in surprise as his call was answered.

  “Normand? I’ve been trying to reach you for the last twenty-four hours… I see. Did you manage to find out anything about Henri Petit? A heart attack? When did this happen? Well, it will keep him from bothering us for a while. What about the young woman? I see. Keep on trying to find out who she is and where she is living… Yes, anything you find might be helpful. What about the police? Have you learned anything about their investigation? What? Armand is dead? Are you sure? Yes, I understand this is what you were told. What else did you learn? Are you certain your source said Hassan? No, I don’t doubt what you are telling me, Normand. I ask because Armand had told me he had dealt with Hassan. Perhaps those two were up to something… I’m not sure what we will do with this situation. We certainly can’t walk into the club now and assume responsibility. I will have to make some calls to see what can be done with the shell company to further distance ourselves from this mess… Nothing else for now except to keep your ears open for anything new about that woman or the investigation. I was worried about you earlier but you came through for me, Normand… I’m in Paris now. Youssef and I came in a day early to find out what was going on but you have clarified that for me. If I find some free time, I will let you know and perhaps we can have lunch or dinner in the next few days... Excellent. I will call you to keep you posted. Thank you, Normand.”