Glen & Tyler's Paris Double-cross (Glen & Tyler Adventures Book 3)

by JB Sanders

  "Mr Smith, this is Glen, my husband and James, my chief of security."

  Smith gazed for a long moment at James, as if sizing him up and fixing his face in his memory. Then he turned his eyes to Glen for the same appraisal.

  "Interesting." Smith sighed. "Why are you here, Conrad?"

  "You know why. I am cashing in my Grandmother's favor. One she says you have owed her since Berlin." Tyler had his business face on.

  Smith shook his head. "It's impossible. She knows this. I don't know why you are flailing about. Just do what the jackals say and move on with your life."

  Tyler regarded him blandly. "You know what they intend to do -- what they have already done. What you don't seem to understand is what I can do."

  Smith pursed his lips. "Bah! You have some money, you know some people." He shrugged. "It is not enough."

  "And yet, I have to try."

  Smith fixed him in the eye. "You should work on which battles you can win and which ones you can't."

  Tyler gave the man back a slight, bland smile. "Why don't you tell me how bad you think it is? We're as secure here as we could be outside of a bunker. Lay it out for me."

  Glen got the faint, but distinct impression that Tyler was goading the man, though he didn't know why.

  Smith frowned. "Fine. The King's Club is composed of five men. Each owns a consortium of companies, each specializing in a few specific areas. It's suspected that each of them also has links to specific governments, friends in all the right places to help their businesses and to keep them completely off the official radar."

  "Mostly."

  "Yes, well, we Cold War warriors weren't completely blind to the corporations taking advantage of the public till. Anyway. I'll lay out the members for you. Von Tieler's stomping ground is Germany, and he's got shipping and arms. Alain Rast is France, and he has advanced weapon systems, transportation and aerospace. Brendan Houston is America, and he has oil and energy companies. Svelgi is Norwegian, though his reach is all over the Scandinavian countries, and his thing is mining, rare earths and diamonds. Smythe-Rohner is England, and his thing is computers. Each of them has a virtual stranglehold in their commercial field, though you wouldn't know it to look at them on the surface. They've managed to quietly buy up or control most of their competitors. As for governments..."

  Smith sighed.

  Tyler raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

  "It's difficult enough putting your hand on someone as rich as they are -- you should know something about that, I think. But on top of being wealthy, knowing people, the usual thing, they've made it a practice to finance friendly politicians, or bribe the ones they don't own from the beginning. They've concentrated on law enforcement and judges in their respective countries, and they do favors for each other. No one has ever been able to pin them down. I think they even had Rast under arrest once, for something in England, and he walked away with a fine."

  Tyler nodded, serious. "Yeah, tough cookies, no question."

  Smith looked exasperated. "Tough? These guys make the fascists look like slouching amateurs. And they've goosed the conservatives, the nationalists, what-have-you, in every country they can reach to support their cause. Not that any of the people on the ground realize that they're really behind it all." Smith shook his head. "They control most of the Western world, one way or another."

  Smith looked worn out, even older than his years, and defeated.

  Then Tyler did an amazing thing. In the face of this grim report, he leaned back and ... smiled.

  When Glen saw Tyler smile, Glen muttered "Breakaway."

  When Smith saw Tyler smile, he straightened in his wheelchair.

  "What have you got?"

  Tyler let the smile expand a little. "I only need one more thing to have everything, one more little tidbit, but if I have to, I'll make do..." Tyler took an index card out of his pocket and handed it to Smith.

  Smith regarded the card, even pulling his glasses off to look at it closer. "Seriously? This is what you want? How could this be all that important? He can't be keeping anything important in --"

  Tyler motioned for silence. "Not even here."

  Smith laughed. He shook his head, too. "Can't believe I almost said a MacGuffin aloud. I really am retired." He took out a pen and wrote something on the card, then handed it back to Tyler. "Tell the old witch your grandmother that we're even now."

  Tyler nodded and pocketed the card. Smith closed his eyes and sighed.

  Behind Smith, the door opened, and an elderly man stepped carefully into the room. He walked slowly with a cane. He looked up at them and seemed surprised, although Glen got the impression the man was not at all really surprised to find them there. He hobbled over to them.

  "Danny. Who are our guests?" He had a Russian accent. A Muscovite, Glen thought.

  Smith opened his eyes, and looked up at the man with irritation. "The name is Smith, you old idiot. And they're Bunny's people."

  The other man smiled and looked around. "Did she come? That would make this reunion a lot more fun."

  Smith snorted. "If she did, we'd have to have a separate panel session just for what she knows. And we'd probably have a couple of dead bodies on our hands. I think she still owes you a stab in the leg."

  The other man shrugged. "Well, even so. With that woman it might be worth it."

  "What--" Glen started, but Tyler gave him a quelling look. Glen continued anyway. "What would you two like: coffee or tea?"

  Glen stood and manipulated the tray, pulling out cups.

  "Thank you for asking, young man." The other man sat, even over the annoyed sound Smith made. "I'll have the tea. What they call coffee here is dishwater."

  "Ivan." Smith growled.

  "I am known as Constantin here, Smith." Ivan laughed. "I think the schoolboys at Langley had too much fun coming up with this ridiculous scheme. In my day--"

  "If I have to hear that phrase one more time, I'll shoot someone. Preferably you," Smith said.

  "In my day," Ivan growled. "We would have done this in a neutral bunker under some anonymous mountain in Canada, or Chile." Ivan gestured at the windows. "I feel like a practice target out here."

  Smith smiled. "He's just irritated no one really wants to shoot at him anymore."

  Ivan harrumphed.

  Smith slumped back in his chair with a sigh and turned to Tyler. "What you are doing will just get you killed, sooner or later. These people, they're like what the mafia used to be in Chicago, or the so-called socialists in Germany after the Weimark." He shook his head. "They're all there is."

  "The world is a much bigger place than those days, and despite how bad things have gotten, no one will tolerate this kind of nonsense ever again."

  Ivan looked between them. "He talking about the King's--"

  Tyler and Smith both shushed him.

  Ivan smiled. "That bunch of tight-arsed blue bloods finally cook it up?"

  "Yes," Tyler said. "They're very close."

  Ivan's expression turned ... gleefully murderous, which was pretty alarming on a man his age. More so because it was believable. "And you're going to invite them all to dinner and cut off their heads?"

  Tyler grimaced. "I'm hoping to be a little less Vlad the Impaler and a little more, um, well, me."

  "What kind of op are you running on them?" Ivan leaned forward a little, leaning both hands on his cane and smiling.

  Tyler glanced at Glen, then grinned. "I can't say much, but let's just say I've got a Spanish dissident I'm trying to free..."

  Ivan and Smith both laughed, though Glen had no idea why.

  Smith nodded. "Classic."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Notre Dame at Night

  Wednesday night

  "Why are we here at night again?" Glen asked.

  "We're trying to keep all the people following us, bugging us and keeping tabs on us from knowing every little thing we do." Tyler gestured at the small wooden door. It was located in an obscure back corner of the Notre
Dame cathedral. "Like following clues to Nazi gold."

  "Which we've promised to give to the bad guys when we find it."

  "Oh sure, we've promised that all right. That doesn't mean they get to follow everything we do."

  Tyler looked at his watch, nodded to the security guys, and the whole group walked forward to the small door. Tyler knocked twice, paused, and then knocked once.

  The door swung open almost without sound. Standing in the gap was a man, not much older than Glen and Tyler, wearing a priest's cassock.

  "Hey Tyler, Glen." the man said nonchalantly, as if they were meeting on a beach. In fact, he did have kind of a surfer accent...

  "Tom?!" Glen shook his head in wonder.

  "Yeah, uh, Father Thomas now, actually. Come on in, quick before one of the patrolmen notices." He motioned them inside.

  The room beyond was a small vestry or cloak room, with gothic-looking wooden lockers and several hanging vestments on hooks.

  "What are the odds we know someone working right in Notre-Dame?" Glen goggled at Father Tom, whom Tyler and Glen had both gone to college with. In fact, the last time Glen could remember seeing Tom, he'd been hanging from the rafters at a particularly riotous party, spraying beer from a can on the assembled mob.

  Father Tom shot Tyler a glance. "Pretty good--"

  Tyler shot Tom a quelling glance.

  "--Yeah, I know, strange. It's a small world." Tom said flatly. He continued more brightly, "Right, you've got fifteen minutes or so to look at this statue of yours. I'm on duty tonight, but there's a prayer group coming in for an overnight vigil."

  "We shouldn't need all that long. Thanks again, Tom." Tyler smiled at him and offered a hand. Tom shook.

  "Any time, Tyler. And if you want to talk sometime, maybe confess some sins?"

  "Nope, but thanks Tom."

  Tom raised his eyebrows at Glen and then looked significantly back at Tyler. "Really?"

  "What? I'm married to this guy -- no sin there. Heck, we didn't even do it until we were married."

  Father Tom opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He shook his head. Then he motioned them forward and down a corridor to another door. "You know, Tyler, if you'd married anyone else, I'd have said you'd done it for the money. But Glen? Everyone kind of wondered if the two of you were an item."

  "Really?" Glen half-smiled and cocked an eyebrow. "It was kind of a surprise to us. I mean, I guess it wasn't, really, deep down, but it felt like it when it happened."

  Father Tom shook his head again and briefly grinned at Glen, making him look too young for his cassock for a second. "You two? I realized something recently, when I started doing couples counseling -- you know, the marriage preparation stuff -- that I've been using the two of you as my mental benchmark of a happy and successful couple. And this was before you got married."

  Tyler and Glen both gave each other little smiles. Glen reached out and Tyler took his hand.

  Tom nodded. "Yeah, that. Like I said, we always kind of wondered." He checked his watch. "Anyway, now you have twelve minutes. Make it good."

  They moved through the door and out into the grand interior of Notre-Dame Cathedral.

  Outside, the cathedral was lit up like some kind of Vegas attraction. Well, a Vegas attraction made from sacred Gothic architecture and amazing stained glass. Inside, the place was like a well-ordered cavern: chill, echo-y and stone everywhere. The smell was different, though, a combination of paraffin, incense, wood polish and stone. There wasn't a lot of light -- the candles provided some, and the many-colored lights from the floods outside, but most of the place was in darkness.

  In a hushed voice, Glen said "It's right over this way, in the vestry." Glen pointed.

  They all walked in that direction. Tyler also used a hushed tone. "You know that how?"

  "Studied the plans. Plus I looked at a bunch of photos on Flickr to figure it out."

  "Gotta love the internet."

  "Yup." Glen looked around as they walked. "You know, in the sunlight, this place is amazing, alive, inspiring. At night, it's just about as creepy as you can get."

  Tyler squeezed his hand, and gave him a reassuring smile.

  They reached the statue.

  It was an old man in a robe, holding a staff in one hand and a book in the other. He looked sad. Glen guessed that most martyrs were pretty sad, since you generally didn't get the "Saint" in front of your name unless you suffered horribly for your faith. At the base of the statue was a plaque in French.

  "Donated to the restoration efforts of 1946 by E. Conrad," Tyler translated out loud. "What's this latin phrase at the bottom?"

  "Non nobis solum nati sumus. Hmm, that's 'we are not born for ourselves alone', I think." Glen turned his head at it. "That sounds familiar for some reason."

  "Oh?"

  "Yeah, as if I'd read it kind of recently."

  "Is that what we're here to see? Should I look for a hidden compartment in the base of this thing?"

  "No, I think that's it. There's a dim glimmer in the back of my head, but I can't see it yet." Glen shook his head. "I need to hit some books."

  "Ok, let's head back and then we'll figure out a library to break into."

  "Visit? You mean a library to visit? We don't need to break into every place that has a clue." Glen grinned at Tyler.

  "Oh, sure, we could do it the easy way, but where's the fun in that?"

  Chapter Eighteen

  Threats and Innuendo

  Thursday morning

  Tim came into their bedroom and stood by their table. He didn't say anything right away, knowing how Tyler was in the morning.

  Glen and Tyler were taking breakfast by the windows. It had been Tyler's idea to eat in, giving them, as he put it: "extra fun time".

  Their morning had started just as the sun rose, and had absolutely been fun. Both of them still had little smiles hovering on their faces, whenever they weren't doing anything else. They were eating voraciously, too.

  Tyler finished chewing his baguette -- cut into tartines and slathered with strawberry preserves -- swallowed, and looked at Tim. "Ok, out with it. But you better not ruin what so far has been a perfect morning."

  Tim shuffled a little. "Uh. It can wait." He turned around to go.

  Tyler made an impatient noise and put out his hand. "Give it here. I might as well get this over with, otherwise I'll just imagine worse."

  Tim handed the envelope over, and Tyler opened it with a scowl. As he read, his face broke out into a smile. "Oh, very nice. Thank you, Tim, you just made a perfect morning even more good."

  Glen gave Tyler a pursed-lip look.

  "Oh, alright, Mr Perfect English, it made a great morning better. Satisfied?"

  Glen nodded and smiled at Tyler. "Now what's it about?"

  "Let me read it to you, it'll be funnier. 'Mister Conrad' it starts, and it's in English. Very kind of them. 'You will meet us at Eiffel Tower, second level, at twenty-two hundred this night.' English isn't their best choice, obviously. It goes on: 'If you fail to attend this meeting, we will start throwing grenades into crowded market places each day at noon until you do.' Awesome, right?"

  Tim and Glen regarded the puppy-happy Tyler with confusion, and perhaps a little alarm.

  Glen cleared his throat. "Tyler, why would that make you happy?"

  Tyler looked down at the note and back up at Glen. "It doesn't make you happy?"

  Glen looked more confused. "Why would threats of grenade attacks and bad English make me smile?"

  Tyler stood up and began pacing. "This note is obviously from the guys that the King's Club hired to get the painting in the first place. They're after the treasure for themselves now. They know we went out last night, probably following clues they couldn't figure out from the painting, and they're worried we'll get to the treasure and not share it with them."

  "Ok, and that's good because?" Glen's frown had lightened just watching Tyler be excited.

  "We're on the right track! If they tho
ught we were following up a lead they'd already found goes to a dead-end, they wouldn't care what we were doing. Now they want to meet, which means we'll get the threats and the posturing and maybe more clues about what they really want. Progress!"

  "Oh," Glen said thoughtfully. "That means they either followed us or --" He looked around a little alarmed.

  "Had our rooms bugged. Yup." Tyler nodded, still smiling. "I hope they liked what they heard in here this morning."

  Glen blushed. "You did get kind of loud."

  ***

  They retreated to the laundry room.

  Glen poked Tyler in the chest. "You are an exhibitionist."

  "What?" Tyler sounded smug and amused.

  "You knew the security team left bugs in some of our rooms, including our bedroom, and you intentionally got extra loud last night."

  Tyler laughed, holding on to Glen's arm and squeezing it a little to take the sting out of his humor. "Glen, I'm sorry. I should have pulled you in here and told you about the bugs. And for the record, I did not exaggerate anything last night."

  Glen felt his face heat up and a surge of smug pride shoot through his chest.

  Glen let out a breath. "Ok, but next time, tell me."

  Tyler nodded. "Yeah, definitely. I just couldn't resist the temptation."

  "Temptation?"

  Tyler chuckled. "The thought that those neo-Nazi homophobic skinheads had to listen to us go at it for over an hour last night."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Maybe, This Time

  Thursday 10am

  The great reading room of the Bibliothèque Nationale de France felt a lot like the reading room of the Library of Congress, only not quite as gilded and crazy, or the reading room in the British Museum, only not quite as straight-laced and massive. Glen wondered idly what prompted Library architects to create giant round reading rooms, and then put three-story domes over them.

  The librarian brought an armful of books up from behind the circulation desk and carefully handed them to Glen. Both of them wore white gloves, for several of the volumes were quite old.