by Phoenix Ford
“Do your people in London know conclusively that the explosives used against the Islamic State in Syria were explosives sent from Angolaturbine?,” John asked.
“Right now there’s no absolute proof that the explosives came from there, BUT we know conclusively that that the type of explosives used against the Islamic State were the type used by that company.”
“Couldn’t that just be a coincidence?,” he asked.
“I don’t believe in coincidences when it comes to any form of terrorism. The manufacturer is a small company here in France. We know of no other company that uses exactly the same chemical formula. We’ve had explosives experts compare the formula to formulas for explosives made all over the world including China and Malaysia. Of course, we don’t know absolutely, but the evidence points overwhelmingly to Angolaturbine.”
“Well, the manufacturer must have other customers. What about those companies?,” John asked.
“Yes, of course there are other customers, but we have already officially contacted each of them and confirmed that all explosives have either been used by them or remain in their inventories. As you can imagine, explosives are highly regulated by governments so it was not difficult for our people and the Sûreté to obtain this information and examine records and inventories at each of these companies. This included shipping records. We also confirmed work orders and quantities with each of their customers. Everything points to Angolaturbine as being the source. We’ve just got to catch the culprits and shut them down before the Islamic State can claim another Christian crusade has been launched and use that as a rallying cry to Muslims all over the world. The Allies’ efforts in the Middle East to rid it of the Islamic State will only succeed if carried out for humanitarian purposes, to restore stability to the region and to stop terrorism. These efforts cannot be not linked to religion or even appear to be linked to religion.”
“When we arrive I plan to visit with the president of the company first, Monsieur Poincare. I suggest you accompany me so that I can introduce you. I will suggest that the CFO Antoine duBois with whom we are working on this deal should attend too. By the way, what name are you using for this operation?,” John asked.
“In Angola I used Sylvia Ruth Lewis which matches the passport I used. In fact, I am here in France under that name. You can continue calling me Sylvia, but just remember to use that name when you introduce me to anyone,” Sylvia replied.
CHAPTER 15
John and Sylvia sat in a small office at Angolaturbine which had been assigned for his use during the due diligence process. The meeting with the law firm and the management had gone reasonably well and was concluded just before 5 PM. It was now a half-hour later.
“Did you get everything you needed today?,” John asked Sylvia.
“In terms of documentation available, yes,” she replied. “I have three authentic signatures of Antoine LaForge, the fired project manager who allegedly signed the work orders to ship the explosives but who was subsequently fired for accepting a bribe. By the way, the Sûreté have had no luck tracking him down. He left his apartment on the Left Bank of Paris the week he was fired and hasn’t been seen or heard from again.”
“Does that make him a suspect?,” John asked.
“He is an obvious possibility. However, much will be determined by the authenticity of his signatures on the work orders. If it turns out that his signatures were forged the evidence will definitely point away from him. But either way, he needs to be found and questioned.
“While you were having your due diligence meeting I also copied the visitors’ signature ledger sheets for the Paris warehouse for the weeks in question and obtained something similar from the Angolaturbine receptionist covering all visitors to Angolaturbine during that period.” As she spoke Sylvia was sitting in a chair across from John who was at the desk in the empty office. “Until we have more to go on everyone who came here is a potential suspect.”
“But what about the employees of the parent company, Angolan Fabrication Française?,” John asked.
“The Sûreté are conducting that part of the investigation. I did learn from the receptionist at Angolaturbine that employees from other affiliates of Angolan Fabrication Française often hold meetings with clients in Angolaturbine conference rooms. She said the names of those persons will appear in her register, but we must depend on the Sûreté to investigate all of the regular employees who come here every day. Fortunately, here in Paris there are only fourteen Angolaturbine Employees.
John looked at her seriously. “You do realize that sales people and project managers from Angolan Fabrication Française and its other subsidiaries sell equipment made by Angolaturbine?,” he asked. “It will be interesting to see the names on those visitors’ registers you have.”
“Yes,” Sylvia replied. “And it will be easy to spot which visitors work for an Angolan Fabrication Française affiliate because each visitor is required to show their identification badge from their own employer. The name of each such company appears by each person’s name along with the date and times of arrival and departure. It’s a computerized system. That’s all here at the main entrance. Registration at the warehouse seems to be more lax, less sophisticated and a lot easier to by-pass, especially if you could bribe a guard.”
Sylvia’s mobile phone rang. “Yes,” she answered. She listened in silence for a couple of minutes. “That is a lot of news,” she said. “I will come to your office first thing tomorrow morning. I will bring you copies of the visitors’ registers from Angolaturbine facilities here in France, and we can compare notes. I, in turn, will need to know what you may have turned up in connection with review of the employees of Angolan Fabrication Française. I will be at your office before nine o’clock in the morning.” Sylvia ended the call.
“That was the Sûreté. So much for Antoine LaForge being a suspect,” she said. “His body was just found stuffed into a crate in a dumpster at the Gare de Lyon.” The Gare de Lyon is a major train station and Metro stop on the north side of the Seine River and in the east part of Paris.“They won’t know conclusively until the autopsy is performed, but it appears he has been dead for at least five days.”
“This is getting pretty spooky,” John said.
“Yes, and that’s exactly why I must insist that you accompany me to the Sûreté offices tomorrow morning. I want you to be under 24 hours per day protection. The Sûreté say that LaForge’s body indicated all the signs of a professional assassination. That most likely means one of the various mafia crime organizations. Several operate here.”
“That’s no problem,” he said. “While I am waiting I can catch up on my business email and set everything up for a one day and one night visit to Luanda for the next day. My due diligence in Luanda will be to arrange for our safety engineer and environmental inspectors to examine their facilities. I must also visit our law firm there to get them started. They will review all documentation in Angola. We need to know of any pending litigation or any other potential liabilities. I think if we take the morning flight we could arrive at a decent hour, have dinner, do all of this the next day and be back at the airport in time for the early evening flight back to Paris.”
“Okay, we have a plan. We can talk more at the hotel tonight, but let’s get out of here. This windowless little office is giving me claustrophobia.”
CHAPTER 16
The RER train was getting close to the Chatelet-Les Halles station in central Paris. Sylvia said “The first thing we should do is change hotels.”
“Why?” John asked. ‘We’re going to Angola tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, but after what happened at your first hotel we can’t be too careful. Let’s register under the name I’m using for cover. Let’s just pay for one night in cash. Of course this means staying in one room to appear as lovers having a tryst. Do you have any problem with that?” she smiled wickedly. “In which house of sin would you like to stay?”
“I have no problem with that whatsoever!�
� John grinned.
“Well, don’t be getting any ideas,” she said. “We will have separate beds.”
John laughed. “What a disappointment! Let me think….Since we’re staying undercover I suggest we move to an entirely different arrondissement in a different part of Paris such as the Latin Quarter. There’s the Hotel la Demeure where I once stayed several years ago. It has been long enough that they won’t remember me. Would you like to try it?” The train had pulled into the Chatelet-Les Halles station, and people were starting to get off.
After they both stepped down the steps to the platform Sylvia turned to John and said “Yes, I think the Latin Quarter is a good idea. When we get back to the Hotel Concorde St-Lazare how long do you need to get ready to go to the other hotel?”
“I can be ready in twenty minutes,” he replied.
“Okay, let’s get out of this station and catch a taxi,” Sylvia said as the crowd of people rushed through the exits from the platform.
Two hours later after checking into their new hotel Sylvia and John walked to the Latin Quarter restaurant Le Buisson Ardent. It was starting to get dark and was very pleasant outdoors, although for Paris it had been a hot late July day. Lights were starting to twinkle, and this was such a romantic part of Paris, The entire city was slowing down with so many people getting ready to take their annual holiday in August. John was admiring Sylvia’s chic summer look in a simple sleeveless white cotton dress without jewelry except for small gold hoop earrings and her Cartier gold watch.
“How much farther?” Sylvia asked. “I’m famished!”
“Only two more blocks, I think. We could have taken the Metro and been there faster, but it’s such a pleasant evening for a walk.”
“What will you have for dinner?” she asked.
“They have an interesting menu,” John replied. “They serve some unusual dishes but also have more traditional French cuisine. I’ll probably go for the traditional.”
Ten minutes later they arrived at the bistro and were immediately seated at a banquette. John ordered onion soup and a veal dish with vegetables with a mineral water. Sylvia opted for broiled fish, Brussels sprouts with hollandaise and a glass of Sancerre which would go well with fish. The room oozed with 1920s Parisian charm with candles flickering on each table..
As soon as the waiter served Sylvia's wine John lifted his glass of mineral water and said “Here’s to our first night together!” He laughed.
Sylvia laughed too and clinked her glass against his. “What a lovely place this is,” she said. “When we get to Luanda what exactly do you need to accomplish?”
“In addition to touring the facilities and finding out what records are available at the Luanda facility I need to get the law firm there started with their due diligence including an assessment of tax liabilities, and arrange for the environmental site assessment and the safety inspections. I will also arrange for our bean counters to start going through their books with a fine-toothed comb. My efforts will be to get our due diligence entirely underway. How will you spend your time?” he asked.
“As a precaution I will meet with the port authorities again to make sure no explosives shipments for Angolaturbine have arrived or are waiting to clear customs. Provided I don’t have to wait long to see the top man there that shouldn’t take too much time. I will return to provide protection for you. I’ve got lots of unread email on my Blackberry so I can work on that.
“I expect to be finished by the close of business Friday, so we only need to stay tomorrow night in Luanda before returning to Paris the next day on a night flight. It will take most of the day tomorrow to fly there. On the plane back to Paris we’ll have to decide where to stay again.” John sipped his wine. John’s mobile phone suddenly rang. “Yes,” he said as he answered. He listened for a while then said. “Well, if that’s all that’s available I guess it will have to do. Just send the e-tickets to my email address, please.” He disconnected and put his mobile back into the breast pocket of the summer blazer he was wearing.
“Bad news, I’m afraid. It seems that all the flights to Luanda from Paris leave at night. There are no morning flights available. Our Air France flight leaves after 8 PM tomorrow. We will not arrive until after 5 AM Friday in Luanda. Unless you are different than I and can actually sleep on planes this means we will have to work all day as zombies and then catch a night flight back to Paris. All the flights for the return leave at night too.” John looked dismayed.
“Oh, that’s not so bad,” Sylvia said. “We can sleep late tomorrow morning and have a late breakfast and early dinner. I’m no stranger to red-eye flights. We do what we have to do.”
“Well, I can handle one sleepless night, but after the return flight I will need to take a break for a couple of days at least.”
“Actually, I think that’s a great idea, but on the return instead of flying directly back to Paris let’s spend a couple of nights somewhere else, perhaps Nice or Malaga or someplace like that. That way we’ll be out of harm’s way for a couple of days instead of Paris where at least one attempt has been made on your life. Why don’t you send a message to your office to switch the return to a two night stop-off in some other city?” Sylvia sipped her wine. When we do return to Paris the Sûreté are going to beef up their protection. They will be calling me with the name and address of the hotel where they want us to stay when we return. You’ll more or less be given the same level of protection as a visiting dignitary from some high profile country. Oh just in time, I think that’s our meal coming to be served.”
Back at the hotel room John watched CNN while Sylvia took her turn in the bathroom. She came out in Mandarin red pajamas, walked over to her bed and pulled the covers back. The sizable room had two queen size beds.
John asked “Going to bed so early?”
“I haven’t been getting enough sleep,” she replied.
“Yes, sleep sounds wonderful. I think I’ll do the same.” John grabbed his own pajama pants and a t-shirt and went into the bathroom for a quick shower and to brush his teeth. When he came back Sylvia had already turned her bedside light out and appeared to be asleep under the covers. He quickly turned back the covers on his bed, slipped in and turned out his bedside light too. As he was laying there in the dark assessing the day’s activities he felt the bed move as Sylvia slipped in beside him. He wrapped his arms around her nude body as they kissed passionately. “What a pleasant surprise!” he whispered into her ear. For John it had been almost five years, and it was time.
“Isn’t this what you really wanted?” she asked.
“Absolutely!” he exclaimed before resuming the passionate kiss. They made love until they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
CHAPTER 17
“This is Wednesday, Angelo! You promised no later than last night!” Eleanora screamed into the phone in her bedroom. She had called him Monday night when she wanted to reinstate the hit, not only on John McRae but on his assistant, Sylvia Ruth Lewis. After what she learned about all their questions and activities at the Paris offices of Angolaturbine she had decided they may have learned enough to put both her and her activities against the Islamic State at risk. She seemed to have no moral compunction for the hit in view of all the Syrian Christians and other people she believed she was saving in the long run. In her view, the ends justified the means.
“It’s our French associates who screwed up. They didn’t anticipate a hotel switch. McRae and his assistant or girl friend or whatever she is apparently checked out just when the lookout across the street went to the toilet. They have found no way to trace their whereabouts.” Angelo sounded annoyed.
“Well, we know they plan to fly to Angola sometime tomorrow with a return Friday. Maybe they can get them at the airport.”
“No, airports like Charles de Gaulle are much too well guarded and remain on alert 24 hours per day. It sounds like the best plan is to wait until they return, follow them to their next hotel and then strike.”
“Tell your F
rench associates that unless they accomplish their mission your client won’t pay a single euro!” She slammed down the receiver. Eleanora sat at an antique desk in her bedroom in Rome. After a few moments of thought, she picked it up again and dialed Monsignor Polombo. She needed to talk with him again. A few minutes later she went into the bathroom, emerged a brief time later, grabbed her purse and headed downstairs. It was another beautiful late July day in Rome, hot but nevertheless pleasant in the morning so she decided to walk to the café near the Via Conciliazone.
Eleanora walked along the river for two or three blocks before turning away towards the Vatican. It was so beautifully green and lush with the ripeness of summer. Within fifteen minutes she entered the café, this time wearing an old but very beautiful Valentino saffron-colored suit, snake skin pumps with matching purse, antique ruby earrings, an antique and beautiful ruby crucifix on an old gold chain and the Bulgari watch. Her lush black hair was in a loose braid and tied behind her head. Once again heads turned as her voluptuous body crossed the room to the back where she spotted the Monsignor reading La Reppublica, one of the larger Italian newspapers.
“Buongiorno, Monsignor!” Eleanora smiled as she came up to his table. He glanced up from his newspaper, jumped to his feet holding out his hand to her and said “Buongiorno, cara. How lovely you look!” He pulled out the adjacent chair for her and remained standing until she was seated. It was approximately 11 AM. “Would you like an espresso?” he asked.
“I think I better not have any more caffeine right now. I think a fresh orange juice would be perfect,” she said. Polombo ordered the juice for her and an espresso for himself. It was late enough in the morning that the café was not crowded. There was no one else seated too close to them. Most of the few customers were at the bar in front. Eleanora and the Monsignor would be able to speak without fear of eavesdropping.
