Break-In

by M G Leslie

  As the name suggests, the Gare du Nord, or Station of the North, is on the north side of Paris. So as the taxi made it’s way through the streets, Price could see the famous Eiffel Tower getting larger and larger. He had been to Paris many times before and loved the café’s, the food, and the architecture of the grand buildings in the Boulevard Haussmann – named after the man who was so influential over the restructuring of Paris in the 19th century, when he gave the city its present form – its long, straight, wide boulevards with their cafés and shops that had a profound influence on the everyday lives of Parisians.

  As expected, the taxi crossed the Avenue des Champs-Élysées – arguably one of the most famous roads in the world, which joins the famous landmark’s of the Louvre and Place De La Concorde at one end, to the Arc De Triomphe at the top – the Arc De Triomphe being famous of course, not only as an historic monument, but also as the location of a roundabout where, as Price put it, “The rules are – there are no rules!”

  He said that because, unlike most roundabout’s in the world where traffic gives way to cars going around the roundabout – at the Arc De Triomphe, cars on the roundabout have to give way to cars entering – which at such a large junction, makes it a little scary if you’re not used to it, or are unaware of that unwritten rule.

  As the taxi headed down Avenue George V, Price smiled to himself and glanced at the famous hotel of the same name – another of the Paris landmarks he liked so much. Then as they crossed a bridge over the River Seine and down towards Rue Cler, a pedestrianized crossroad that links the larger Rue De Grenelle and Avenue De La Motte Piquet, where Price made the tax driver stop and let him out.

  He wanted to stop short of the hotel and walk up Rue Cler on foot, so as to avoid being seen by Mendax, who by now had got out of his taxi and was walking in to the hotel in the distance.

  Whilst taking his time, Price took out his mobile and made a call, “Hello Jean – I’m just walking up the road now.”

  “I see you in the distance – I’m in an apartment across from the hotel – so on your right as you walk up from La Motte Piquet.”

  “I can see you,” said Price, who walked up to the Frenchman and gave him a warm hug. Then they both walked in to a café that sat directly opposite the hotel Mendax had just checked in to.

  After a few minutes of small talk and catching up on old times, Price said, “So the girl’s in there already is she?”

  “Yes she is,” said Jean, “She’s in room 401. You’re in 202,” then he smiled. “I know this area very well as I grew up around here, so I’ve checked you in already. You will need to show them your passport at some point, but for now, here’s your key.”

  Price smiled as well – he’d expected to be looked after, as it was the way his old friend worked – he always took care of his friends. So Price inquired, “And our man who just walked in?”

  “He’ll be in room 501. I placed listening devices in his and her rooms this morning whilst she was out buying breakfast.”

  “And no doubt, mine as well?” joked Price.

  “No Price,” said Jean, “I have no desire to hear you snoring or doing anything else for that matter.”

  “It’s a fair point! Well made! I do snore,” said Price as they both laughed and ordered another coffee.

  Then it was Jean’s turn to ask questions, “Why are they here Price?”

  “I suspect he’s here to give away some national secrets,” said Price, “He’s a traitor and she’s a cold-blooded murderer,” then he took another sip of his coffee.

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “Well,” said Price, “In the short term, we want to see if we can use one of both of them to send misinformation to Pyongyang. But in the longer term, we really want the information flow to be the other way around, as there’s still a lot we don’t know. If, of course, none of that works or it goes wrong, we’ll send them both home in wooden boxes.”

  Jean looked serious, “Pyongyang?”

  “Yes, she’s not what she seems,” said Price, “Don’t let the cute bottom and pretty face fool you. She's a total bitch and a ruthless and very capable one at that."

  Jean smiled, “I have someone monitoring their rooms – as soon as they make contact with each other, or indeed anyone, we’ll know. By the way, before I forget, I should tell you that she entered the country using a Spanish passport – and it was genuine.”

  "I was going to ask about that," said Price, “Because the Philippines is on the list of countries that require visa’s for Europe, so I did wonder how she got here.”

  “I believe she is very resourceful,” replied Jean.

  “Yes, she certainly is,” said Price. “Another friend of mine described her as very dangerous.”

  “Was that the mysterious Mary perhaps?” said Jean, with a smile on his face.

  Price smiled as well, “Yes. But you’re the only other person in the world who’s aware of that particular relationship.”

  “You should have declared her years ago my friend,” said Jean. “She’s a legitimate contact in another agency. She feeds you top quality information when you need it, and in return, you give her the occasional lead as well. Neither of you compromises anything that either country would care about. So when this is all over, let’s figure out how to sort that out.”

  Price looked at his friend and said, “Thank you Jean – I’ll appreciate your help to sort that out.”

  “I gather she saved your life as well,” said Jean.

  “So I hear,” replied Price, “That put her at risk, which is a concern in itself – although I’m obviously extremely grateful for her intervention, as that small island was most unpleasant.”

  As the two old friends chatted, minutes become hours and the coffee became red wine. Judging from the sounds coming from Mendax's hotel room, he was asleep, so after Price and Jean had enjoyed what Price described as, "An unbelievable steak," they each went their own way and called it a night.

  Price briefly considered breaking in to Lucy's room, shooting her in the stomach and then chatting to her whilst she suffered a slow painful death. Then perhaps doing something similar to Mendax – although his death would be measured in weeks of excruciating agony and definitely not in minutes or hours, or even days.

  "Maybe later," he said to himself, "But not now." He had calmed down since his days in the Parachute Regiment, where his standard answer would have been, "Shoot them in the head!"

  The next morning, Price was up early and met Jean for breakfast in the same café from the night before.

  "He just called her. They're meeting in her room in an hour," said Jean.

  "OK," said Price, "Can we listen to their conversation live?”

  “Yes, come this way,” said Jean, as he paid the bill, stood up and showed Price up to his rented apartment.

  Once inside, Jean introduced Price to his assistant who left for a break whilst the two men sat down and listened to the sounds being transmitted by the receiver in Lucy’s room.

  Sure enough, just over an hour later, they heard a knock at the door followed by it opening and then a girl’s voice said, “Darling I’ve missed to so very much.”

  Price and Jean just looked at each other with raised eyebrows. “That’s Lucy – obviously,” said Price.

  Jean joked, “I think you’re mistaken monsieur Price, she sounds sweet.”

  “She’s a bitch. And you’re a lousy judge of character.”

  “You’re my friend Price.”

  “I rest my case,” replied Price, as they stopped speaking to continue listening.

  “I have missed you to my love. It’s been terrible not seeing you for so long,” was the reply. Since it was a man’s voice, Price and Jean looked at each other and, in unison, said, “Mendax.”

  Much to their amusement, the next half an hour didn’t include much in the way of conversation – it was clear what was going on from all the kissing sounds and heavy breathing. As Price put it, “They’re making up f
or lost time.”

  “And being quite noisy about it,” joked Jean.

  “You should have installed a video camera,” said Price.

  “Very true,” said Jean, “And amusing you say that – but we’ll come back to that.”

  Price gave Jean an inquisitive look, but didn’t speak as he was still listening to Lucy and Mendax’s antics.

  A while later, they heard Mendax speak, “Darling don’t worry about the project – it wasn’t your fault that Mike led Price to you – there was nothing you could have done differently.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Lucy replied, “And so grateful you told me to get off that island when you did.”

  “It’s OK. I’ve explained to my controller – they don’t blame you,” said Mendax, then he paused before saying, “I have another job for you though.”

  Price was stunned – he had presumed that Lucy was in charge and Mendax was her spy. But that statement made it sound like she worked for him.

  Lucy replied, “Yes dear?”

  Mendax continued, “A friend of mine in MI5 told me that my file was viewed by that SIS man, Price. So it seems he may be on to me.”

  “What do you want me to do?” asked Lucy.

  “Make the problem go away! Get rid of him,” Mendax replied.

  Price and Jean continued to listen, hearing bed sheets move, then the familiar sound of a zip being opened.

  “Here’s his address,” said Mendax, “Go to England and make it look like an accident, or heart failure or something. Just get rid of him. I’m going back to London in the morning – we mustn’t speak after then, until this is over and you’re safely out of the country again. I know it’s difficult being apart, but I hope you understand.”

  Lucy just said, “Yes dear, I understand.”

  “I’m planning a trip to Spain in a few weeks, so let’s meet in Madrid in the same hotel as before,” said Mendax. There was no reply, but Price and Jean heard what sounded like more kissing, and then the same noises as earlier. Price couldn’t help himself, and said, “Not again!”

  Jean just laughed, “Apparently so.”

  “But what does a tough girl like her, see in a pathetic geek like him?” asked Price.

  “Money I suspect my friend – money!” said Jean.

  As the day progressed, Jean left his assistant to monitor Lucy and Mendax whilst he and Price had lunch and briefly searched Mendax’s room – failing to find anything other than a weekend bag and clothes.

  Then, as evening approached, Jean and Price were alerted, “They’re going out,” Jean’s assistant said, “They appear to be getting changed – sounds like it’s probably just dinner.”

  Jean and Price quickly discussed their approach – they would aim to follow the couple together – Price staying out of sight at all times. However, if the couple split up, Jean would follow Lucy and Price would follow Mendax.

  As it turned out though, they needn’t have worried as the couple left the hotel and took a taxi back up to Avenue George V to the famous cabaret, Le Crazy Horse.

  As they walked in, Price laughed – ironically, he, the Englishman, had been there before and Jean, the Frenchman, had not. “It’s very good,” said Price, still laughing. “Although it doesn’t leave a great deal to the imagination.”

  Le Crazy Horse is perhaps a little more risqué than most cabarets – with almost identical girls, dressed only in rainbow coloured lights and strategically placed black strips of tape that make their, normally, private areas look identical in shape and trim. The lighting show is equally spectacular – creating silhouettes’ of the girls curvaceous bodies, with highlights and shadows moving in time with the music and dance in a unique way that prevents the obvious nudity from seeming in any way offensive.

  Price continued, “It is absolutely extraordinary and a very good show. The drinks, however, are to be avoided at all costs. Don’t get me wrong, I applaud their generosity when serving the drinks – but the result of their generosity is that the G & T is basically neat Gin and anything with Vodka is basically neat Vodka. Very generous – but lethal if you’re not careful.”

  Jean laughed, “In France we don’t follow the strict measures you have in England, Price – you know that. Here, it’s all about experience and judgement.”

  Now Price laughed, “Trust me – I don’t like the formality of our single-shot or double-shot drinks measures any more than you do. But this place will get even the hardiest drinker very drunk if they’re not careful.”

  With that in mind, both men ordered their drinks and sat at the back so that they had a good view of Lucy and Mendax several rows in front.

  A couple of hours, and a great deal of alcohol later, they discreetly followed Mendax and Lucy back to the hotel. As they walked along Jean commented, “I can’t believe I have never seen one of their shows before – I agree Price, they are extraordinary – very good indeed.”

  “Yes,” said Price, “Remarkable.”

  The following morning, having met at the café again, Jean said, “So he wants you out of the way?”

  “Yes. A nice fellow – I’m flattered,” said Price.

  “Hmm,” replied Jean, “So, what’s our next move?”

  “We pick her up at the border as soon as she enters the UK. But I’ll take advice from the Chief on how we deal with him. He’s been around a long time so he knows a lot of people. We need to tread very carefully,” said Price, “We’ll need hard evidence to prove he is what he is.”

  “We have their conversation,” said Jean, “The recording will be with your service, marked only for your attention in about 20 seconds – I’m hitting send as we speak.”

  “Thanks,” said Price, “The key thing is – they must not know we have that information until we have her in custody, otherwise he could cut and run.”

  “OK,” said Jean, “As soon as they depart, we’ll follow the girl at a safe distance and let you know the instant she leaves France for the UK.”

  “It won’t be that easy,” said Price, “It never is.”

  “You think she’ll take an alternative route?” asked Jean.

  “I don’t know, but I have a bad feeling – she’s not stupid – she’s misguided, but most definitely, not stupid.”

  “OK, well, we’ll follow up – so rest easy.”

  “Thanks,” said Price, who then sprinted across the road and in to the hotel, where he quickly grabbed his bags. He wanted to be ready to follow Mendax back to the UK, just in case the man was taking a detour and going to cause more trouble.

  It was fine though – around mid morning, Mendax took his bags down to reception and, whilst making profuse apologies for leaving so quickly, checked out and took a taxi straight back to the Eurostar terminal, with Price in a taxi a few cars behind – retracing the steps from the previous day. Then as they arrived at the Gare Du Nord, Price saw Mendax throw away a newspaper – he appeared to drop it casually in to a waste bin, but missed, so the paper fell to the floor as Mendax walked on towards the Eurostar check-in and security.

  Something was wrong with the way he dropped it though – somehow it just didn’t seem natural to Price. So rather than continue following Mendax, he walked over to a coffee shop, wondering if missing the bin had been deliberate. Perhaps Mendax had written a note in the newspaper and this was a pre-planned message drop. He couldn’t help thinking, “Surely if you dropped a paper and missed the bin by accident you would go back and correct the mistake – wouldn’t you?” Price knew he would have, but then he tended to obsess about details – it’s what kept him a live.

  The lady serving in the coffee shop interrupted his thoughts, “Bonjour?” she said.

  Price smiled at the lady and ordered himself a coffee, “Bonjour, un café au lait s'il vous plait.”

  “Merci,” was the polite reply, to which Price just smiled again before turning back to the look at the waste bin.

  To his horror though, the paper was not there – he could see Mendax in the distance, que
uing up to check-in for the Eurostar – he definitely had not picked it up, but someone else had.

  He looked around to see if someone else had a paper in their hand and could have sworn he saw a man leaving the station with something under his arm, but couldn’t be sure. Unfortunately, he had no time to check – his train was about to leave, so he paid for the coffee and casually walked towards the waste bin, glancing down to see what was inside as he passed it, but it was virtually empty. So that confirmed it then – someone definitely had picked it up and walked off with it.

  There was nothing he could do now though – so he drank his coffee and joined the check-in queue – he’d speak to Jean once he was home and get the station’s security cameras checked to see if they provided any information on who the mysterious newspaper snatcher was.

  Whilst the rest of Price’s journey was uneventful, Jean was having a less successful time following Lucy.

  As she left the hotel with only a rucksack over her shoulder, Lucy walked around the corner heading towards the Eiffel Tower. The few roads that led towards one of the most famous sights in the world were quiet and Lucy had been trained well, so she noticed a man walking slowly behind her. He could have been just another tourist, but Lucy was suspicious of everyone and everything, and assumed the worst.

  On approaching the crowded plaza area at the base of the tower, Jean’s team had her in sight and watched her walk over to a man selling souvenirs from a stall at the side of the road. Whilst she appeared to be buying a large hat with a picture of the Eiffel Tower printed on the side, she had in fact noticed that a small motorbike had been left with its engine running a few feet away. Lucy discreetly looked around, pretending to take in the famous view, whilst in reality looking for the bike’s owner – who it turned out, was still wearing his helmet and queuing up to buy some fast food about 30 feet away.

  With her new purchase in hand, she casually walked towards an area next to the bike – looking as if she wanted to cross the road. Then at the last second, she dropped the hat, swung her leg over the seat and in less than a second, sped away to the sound of a man shouting.