The Diva Crusade (John McRae Book 1)

by Phoenix Ford

  “Excellent except that all I could think about were people trying to kill me.” He gave her a grim look and sat down in the other chair at their table. He was wearing khakis with a black t-shirt and black summer blazer.

  She smiled. “Well, that’s not going to happen. What I suggest is that we have our chat, and then when we are finished let’s order dinner so that we can relax while dining.

  “Good idea.” John proceeded to provide an overview of the oil & gas industry as well as his company and its operations. He explained his lawyer role on the due diligence team and gave her a copy of the signed letter of intent. “On this point,” he explained “we requested an indemnity for all liabilities prior to the date of acquisition, but all they would agree to do is to state on their information and belief that no such liabilities exist and that we must rely on our own due diligence process to discover any unknown liabilities prior to execution of the definitive Stock Purchase Agreement. This means it is imperative that we turn over every stone to see what’s underneath. As the lawyer for my company I have every right under the signed letter of intent to inspect anything and everything in all of their facilities, in Angola or here in Paris. This means if you are acting as my legal assistant in Angola you will have the same rights as I, but you will need to sign their Confidentiality Agreement and get it delivered to their Paris office before you arrive in Luanda.”

  “That’s no problem. A colleague here in Paris can deliver the signed agreement.” She quickly looked over the agreement, re-folded it and put it in her purse. “When I get to Angola what exactly should I be looking for?” she asked.

  “First and foremost, inspect their seismic operations, determine their current inventory and any inventory waiting to clear customs and make copies of all the recent seismic work orders, particularly the ones that triggered the need for more product from Paris. Get copies of everything including shipping receipts and governmental shipping permits.”

  “Okay, got it,” she smiled. “I’ve played many roles in my work. This one should be easy. Before I leave tomorrow please give me a roster of all the employees of Angolaturbine and their positions.”

  “Unfortunately, all I have is the top hierarchy and employees based here in Paris, but you could certainly request such a list when you get there. I believe that some of the management function actually remains with the CFO of Angolan Fabrication Française, the French group of companies headquartered here in Paris. At least I imagine all the big decisions are made here. You may want the general manager in Angola to explain how their risk review procedure works. As a safety precaution all sizable contractors bidding lump sum supply and fabrication contracts have a management review of the risks posed by a major contract before it is formally signed. All aspects of the work including the pricing, delivery schedule, the possibility of liquidated damages for late delivery, protection of intellectual property, etc. are carefully scrutinized. Understanding how they have been performing this function would shed a lot of light on the management of the company.”

  They ordered their dinner which was more like French provincial food. The tarte tatin, a warm pear dessert with whipped cream was delicious. “When we leave this restaurant tonight I want you to take a taxi directly to your hotel,” Sylvia stated. “Don’t forget that until that flight leaves for Luanda tomorrow morning you are still a mafioso target.”

  “What a cheerful thought,” John replied sarcastically.

  “Yes, well that’s better than going home in a box, darling,” she smiled seductively. He knew she was just playing with him.

  “You are the first woman spy I’ve heard of since Mata Hari,” he said. “I mean, MI6? James Bond 007 and all that Ian Fleming stuff?”

  “Well, times change, and real life is not Hollywood. We have always had female operatives. Often we can be effective in ways that men cannot. I know you must get back to your room to catch up with email, etc., but I will call you tomorrow from Angola should the need arise. Please be very careful when you leave the restaurant. I was not joking about taking the taxi. And here’s my card if you need to reach me. I answer the mobile number 24 hours per day.”

  “Understood.” On impulse he reached over and kissed her on the cheek. It had been refreshing to spend some time with such an intelligent woman. She was really beautiful and sophisticated too, and he liked her.“Thanks for dinner. I’ll call you if there’s a need.”

  Ten minutes after John left the restaurant Sylvia was on the phone to Washington. “Reggie, this doesn’t sound good. The reason there’s a hit out on John is that he discovered the seismic business of Angolaturbine and has been digging around trying to get a handle on it. He learned just yesterday that all the explosives in the Paris warehouse had just been shipped to Angola the week before. He was surprised to find a lot more work orders for seismic work than usual.”

  “What worries me is the idea of shipping explosives, particularly with someone blowing up the Islamic State mosques. When will your lab in London have any results for the residue sample from Al-Raqqah?”

  “The pouch should have arrived yesterday. I put a super urgent request on the sample, so with any luck I should hear something by tonight. Meanwhile, I’m off to Luanda tomorrow morning, posing as John’s legal assistant to nose around a bit and find out as much as possible about the seismic business and the explosives. I’ll call you if I learn anything significant.”

  John gave the name of his hotel and directions to the driver, took a deep breath and leaned back in the seat. He was dumfounded that there could be a mafioso hit ordered for him. He had no underworld connections whatsoever that he knew of and shunned all politics like the plague. As the taxi got within a few blocks of the hotel the flashing red lights became visible, and he heard the siren of a fire truck. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing as the taxi approached his hotel. Whatever was happening was happening there. They could only get within two blocks of the hotel, but he paid the driver and got out.

  As John pushed his way through the crowd to a police officer standing at the front door of the hotel the blonde receptionist rushed up to him. “Merci à Dieu, Monsieur! We were afraid you were dead!”

  “Dead? What do you mean?”

  “Monsieur, there was a big explosion in your room. The whole room went up in flames. The firemen are in there now. I’m sure that anything you had in the room is destroyed.”

  “But what blew up? What caused the explosion?” he asked.

  “We don’t know yet, but we have been required to close the hotel for 48 hours because it has been declared a crime scene. We are telling all our guests to stay elsewhere for two nights, and we will give them a credit. But you are another matter because your room is completely destroyed. I suggest you find another hotel for the duration of this visit to Paris, and I hope you will check with us before your next trip. I am so sorry this happened, Monsieur. You are a loyal customer of many years, and we don’t want to lose you.”

  John walked farther up rue St-Lazare to where it changes from the 9th arrondissement to the 8th to the Hotel Concorde St-Lazare, another belle epoque jewel, though a bit more upscale than the Langlois. Fortunately they had a room. It was 11:45 PM. He pulled Sylvia’s card out of his billfold and dialed her mobile number.

  “Sylvia, here,” she answered. “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon, John.”

  “Believe me, there’s no one more surprised than I. When I left the restaurant I took the taxi as you suggested, but when we got close to my hotel there were police and firetrucks and sirens. A bomb had exploded in my room! I’ve just checked into another hotel and will stay here until you return from your trip to Angola.”

  “I had hoped the mafioso would wait until the airport or Angola to try their next move, but thank God we were having dinner. I suggest you not tell anyone where you are staying, especially when on the telephone or in email messages. On the Air France manifest your name will still be listed, so anyone in Angola should be expecting you, not me. I’ll call you
when I return in two or three days."

  As John put down the receiver he thought My God, do I really need a job like this with people trying to kill me? His elderly mother's family had been among the first Anglo settlers in early 19th century Texas when it was part of Mexico. She owned one of the state's historic ranches, and truth be known, John really didn't need to work for money. However, the work ethic of his family was such that it would have been unthinkable not to work. His mother had taught school for thirty years, and even now she worked three days per week teaching English to immigrants for a church-sponsored charity, mostly Latinos. His grandparents had drilled into his skull at an early age the basic belief that the purpose of life is to be of service. Most people he knew from work had no idea that his family was wealthy. Well, he thought, we will hopefully figure out what's going on.

  CHAPTER 9

  The next morning John woke with a start. For a split second after he opened his eyes he didn’t know where he was. The room was completely dark except for the glow of a bedside alarm clock which read 5:41 AM in red letters. Then it all came back to him in a flash: dinner with Sylvia, the explosion at his hotel, walking up the street a fair distance to this hotel…. He rolled over with a groan. Oh, my God, somebody is trying to kill me, he thought with a sick feeling. His thoughts digressed from there until he reached over to switch on a lamp and the BBC news. Immediately his gaze gravitated to the mini-bar next to the small desk in his room. He opened the door and for a brief moment actually considered guzzling a Heineken. Fortunately, he thought No, I'm not going there. One beer will lead me to many more. He closed the mini-bar's door. It had been drilled into his head in many 12-step meetings that there was no such thing as only one drink for an alcoholic.

  After a lazy continental breakfast in his room he showered and put on the same clothes because he had no others. He waited until mid-morning, left the hotel and walked to the Galleries Lafayette department store on the Boulevard Haussman. It was on the same side of the boulevard as Printemps but separated by a side street. The two large department stores competed during the holidays with lavish mechanized Christmas scenes in their showcase windows, but at this time of year only clothes were on display.

  It was summer so that made shopping much easier. John bought several pair of casual slacks and some jeans, underwear, socks, pajamas and a selection of LaCoste polo shirts together with a navy blazer, a sweater, belt and cap. He paid with a credit card which meant he needed to get away quickly from the store because the people trying to kill him might be sophisticated enough to hack into computer systems and be able to trace him. At the hotel he had been careful to pay with cash, and their manager had agreed to register him under an assumed name when he explained what had just happened.

  John exited the Galleries Lafayette men’s store through a side door exit and immediately flagged down a taxi. He gave the driver an address on the Left Bank. It was the location of a shoe store off the Boulevard Saint-Michel that sold English men’s shoes. John had narrow feet so he couldn’t find shoes that fit in most French shoe stores. The old-fashioned oxblood oxfords he bought were not as casual as he really wanted, but they fit his feet perfectly.

  After returning to his hotel John changed clothes. He wanted to call Sylvia to find out more about what happened last night. The police would surely know something by now. He had a card the Sûreté man had given him last night, but John preferred to wait to talk to Sylvia tonight. He knew that right now she was enroute to Luanda, Angola. He decided to have lunch at a restaurant he knew on the beautiful 17th century Place de Vosges. After a delicious cassoulet he walked to the Musee Picasso. He was extra vigilant. To his knowledge no one was following him.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Sylvia here. Hello John,” she answered her cell phone at the hotel in Luanda. “I just arrived here about thirty minutes ago.”

  “Yes, that’s what I figured. I know you haven’t had a chance to learn anything there yet, but I’m hoping you know more about the explosion last night that you can share.”

  “The Sûreté ruled out terrorism based on the residue signature and type of explosion. They say it was a type of grenade and bears all the hallmarks of a mafia hit.”

  “But why would the mafia be after me?,” John asked.

  “Well, that’s what we’re trying to determine. I see an obvious connection between the explosion and you digging around the warehouse in Paris. Someone in that company is up to something, something big. I don’t know if you have been following the international news, but last Friday there were forty-seven explosions against the Islamic State in Al-Raqqah, Syria, their de facto capital. One our agents managed to get a residue sample. The results just came back from the lab today. In fact, I just got off the phone with them. The residue signature matches the type of chemical explosives used by Angolaturbine in its seismic business. We also learned that one of the suicide bombers was shot to death before he could detonate his vest. He was thought to be a Syrian Christian.”

  “Well, I can’t imagine how an oil & gas-related company in Angola could be involved in that mess in the Middle East. But frankly, shouldn’t we be glad that there were forty-seven explosions in Al-Raqqah? It seems that the only thing those barbaric Islamic State people understand is violence.”

  “Yes, I agree with you except that if the Islamic State is being bombed by a Christian group they will tell the world another crusade has been launched against Islam and use it as a big recruitment tool. If explosives from Angolaturbine are somehow being diverted to Syria for use by these suicide bombers from a Christian group we must stop it before the Islamic State can get much publicity out of this. The only good news is that there’s an unsubstantiated report that some of the most extreme leaders in the Islamic State were killed in the explosions. Some of their most radical clerics were blown up. Did you have any problems today, John?”

  “No. When I checked into the hotel I paid with cash, and the manager agreed to let me register under an assumed name when I explained the situation and showed him the Sûreté card. What I need is for someone with the U.S. Government, someone like Professor Arnold, to call the president of my company, explain what is going on and gain his cooperation. They pay me a lot to do my job. I can get away with being side-lined for a few days, but if I stop turning out results they’re not going to be too happy with me for long.”

  “That’s no problem. I’m sure Reggie will be happy to call. Before you hang up give me your president’s name and telephone numbers. I’ll send them in an encrypted message to Reggie tonight.”

  “Our president is going to want to know exactly how this will affect our deal. I mean what if those explosives did come from Angolaturbine does that mean our deal is cratered?”

  “No. I don’t see it like that at all,” Sylvia replied. “It will all depend on the facts we uncover, but it most likely means someone stole those explosives from Angolaturbine. MI6 and the CIA will try to determine who the thief was and stop them before they make a serious situation in the Middle East even worse.”

  “Well, how is this going to affect my starting the due diligence in Angola?”

  “Obviously it will be delayed but hopefully only by a few days. Let me see what I discover tomorrow, and then we’ll try to come up with a plan. I think that if I can confirm the explosives were stolen from Angolaturbine and that fact becomes known the reason for the mafia attempt on your life will likely evaporate. Someone was just trying to keep you from discovering something. I think you will likely be able to resume your due diligence pretty soon. I suggest you continue hiding out until I return from Angola. As long as you are in the hotel you should be safe because the Sûreté has it under surveillance. Let’s talk again tomorrow night. I’m pretty tired after a long day. Good night, John.”

  “Good night, Sylvia.”

  CHAPTER 11

  After John put down the receiver he looked at his watch. 6:47 PM. If he rushed he could catch a taxi and go to the big Monoprix department store on the Ch
amps Elysees. He knew it well because he had shopped along the Champs Elysees many times due to its proximity to the Avenue George V where he had often attended a twelve-step program group in the basement of an Episcopal Church. He grabbed a cap, his billfold and keys and quickly rode the elevator to the lobby. From there all he had to do was walk outside to find a taxi. Although he would have preferred the faster Metro ride he was being extra cautious after the explosion last night. He quickly found a taxi which let him off on a side street one block from the Monoprix.

  John paid the driver and hopped out of the taxi. He was still stuffing his billfold into the pocket of the tight jeans when a man in a brown sports jacket suddenly came up to his side, flashed a pistol in his pocket pointed at John, and said “Don’t say anything and walk straight ahead to the white van near the corner." John’s mind was racing with thoughts about how to best respond to this situation. Very slowly he walked with the man towards the van, his eyes darting right and left looking for a way out.. The wide sidewalk was busy with a lot of pedestrians. He knew he must not let himself be taken to the van which would surely mean his death. He had to make a move before they got close to the van.

  Suddenly John looked up. Like angels descending from Heaven, two street cops just happened to be walking towards them. John waited until they were almost at the same point on the sidewalk to make his move. With no warning whatsoever he elbowed the man with the gun in the side who grunted and bent away. John ran towards the cops yelling “Aidez moi! Aidez moi! L’homme a un pistolet!” The two cops pulled out their own side arms and ran after the man with the pistol who had dashed away the moment John started yelling. Unfortunately the man jumped into the van which raced away into traffic before the police could get there. However, they did get the license tag number of the vehicle, and the police would be able to view the video from the video monitors at this major intersection.