“Can you see her?” Detective Nicolas Berger asked the senior officer sitting next to him, showing concern for his co-worker. With the first female officer assigned to their department, he and his partner Masson had taken to Benoit quickly, treating her like a little sister needing protection at every turn.
“No, they all look the same,” Claude replied as he scanned the scene, unable to decide which figure was his partner. “With all the gear on, you can’t tell who has tits or a shapely ass.”
“Stand by main entrance; Team Two, are you in position?” the commander queried over the radio.
“Team Two is in position,” the senior member answered, seeing six men and one woman poised along the wall. The explosives handler for each team placed shaped charges against the hinges of each entry door, preparing them for detonation at the signal given by the commander.
“Entry in three, two, and one,” the commander said.
As the senior officer uttered ‘one,’ charges were activated, and with muffled explosions, the doors to the warehouse were rendered useless as members pulled the remains away from the building. Arriving in a choreographed ballet, each SWAT team swept through the spaces. Beams of light danced across the walls, as each pair conducted their search, shouting out their locations for anyone who might have been inside and hiding.
As she moved through the building behind her assigned teammate, Geneviève’s pulse quickened, and her breath came in short gasps. Swinging her weapon back and forth to cover her partner, she thought, I haven’t felt this excited since taking part in urban assault training in February.
She found a small open box in the corner of the warehouse and applied the muzzle of her machine gun to move the cardboard flaps on the top. All that was in there were blue suits wrapped in plastic bags. “Clear,” she said exiting the room. As she turned to join her partner she noticed several empty bottles lined up along a wooden crate. “Wait a minute, I’ve got something here,” she exclaimed, sounding nervous over the radio.
“Stand by Benoit!” She heard the voices of Captain Georges and her team leader through the speaker at the same time.
Stepping towards her, they both saw the crate and bottles sitting on the floor. “Officer Cormier,” the commander started into the radio, “I need you in the back of the building.”
Soon, a robust outline of a man stood next to the commander, looking at the bottles and crate. “Make sure they have no surprises, Gaston,” the officer asked of his explosives technician.
“Oui, Captain,” the technician replied, pulling a pouch to his side and removing several tools to begin his work on the crate.
“Captain Georges, the building is clear, there’s no one here,” a junior member informed, walking up to the officer who’d earlier taken off his Kevlar helmet and balaclava mask. Rubbing his gloved hand over his close-cropped hair damp with sweat, the senior officer felt the adrenaline of the raid subside.
“Very well,” he said. Turning to Geneviève, he added, “Detective Benoit, you and Captain Lemieux might need to explain why we prepared two weeks to raid an empty building.” She pulled off her own helmet and mask.
“Captain, there’s no visible sign the bottles or this crate are rigged with explosives, but there is a substance in the bottom of several bottles,” the technician answered, placing his tools back in his pouch.
“We’ll need to get those off to the lab,” Geneviève said, noticing her partner Claude walking towards them from the front of the building. “There’s a good chance we can obtain fingerprints off those.”
“Officer, is there any chance it could be a type of plastic explosives?” Claude asked, looking over the technician’s shoulder.
“I don’t have the means to test it here. The lab would need to prepare a sample to make sure it’s not, though,” the technician explained as he moved to stand next to his commander. “But it essentially looks like a syrup.” He held up one of the bottles so everyone could see.
Captain Georges looked at Claude and then Geneviève before speaking. “Are you saying we were sent into the building and you knew of the possibility of explosives present, Lemieux?”
“We had no such information,” Claude defended. “We were told this building was used to handle narcotics. But if the process was significant enough," he continued, "who’s saying the cartel using it didn’t try ‘protecting its assets’ so to speak?” He waved his hands across the open space. “Our information was reliable enough to get us this far. But it still might be meant by the Corsican or Maghrebi criminal elements to test us, who knows.”
“Well, the space is now yours to handle,” the SWAT commander cleared. “All team members muster at the vehicles,” he said over the radio. He turned to Geneviève. “We’ll debrief the raid at the trucks, afterward you’re welcome to stay with Captain Lemieux or you can return to headquarters with us.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said to Claude, following behind the commander who walked towards the front of the building.
Standing amongst the SWAT team members, a strange sense of calm and confidence came over Geneviève. She glanced at the small table on which a floor-plan of the building was taped, while several flashlights illuminating it in the growing dark.
Members gave a critique of what they thought worked well and what needed improvement, the discussion centering on the team’s ability to work as a cohesive unit. Comments were given and accepted, assaulting no one on a personal level.
“Entry into the building was accomplished according to the plan, and dispersion of the team took place without issue,” the Team Two commander said to everyone. “Penetrating the back room, Detective Benoit, did you consider the box to be booby-trapped?” her team leader asked, looking at her.
“No, I saw a cardboard box which had not been shut,” she said, a shudder ebbing down her back as she realized she could have set off a bomb.
“In the future, if you are given the opportunity take part in another raid with us, always, always consider everything as a potential hazard,” Captain Georges warned. “It doesn’t take much explosive with a handful of nails or broken glass to make you or your team members casualties. But, even though you were not properly trained as part of the team, you did well.”
“I’ll keep it in mind and thank you for allowing me to play a small part in the activities today,” Geneviève said.
“Does anyone have any further feedback?” Georges asked, looking at the team gathered around him. “Detective Benoit, you’re welcome to return to the station with us or join Captain Lemieux,” he said as the team members loaded their gear into the vans.
“Thank you, Captain. I’ll stay with my partner,” she said, nodding towards where Claude stood outside the warehouse with the other detectives.
***
As the afternoon faded into early evening, business was picking up at a local restaurant in Toulon. The air was heavy with the smell of roasted garlic and various herbs inside the small pizzeria. Italian folk songs emanated from the wall speakers, over the conversations of patrons sitting and enjoying their evening. The few tables situated inside the café all had patrons seated at them as a young Frenchwoman slid between several chairs to deliver a meal to one guest. “Here is your order, sir,” Sophia said.
“Thank you,” Alberto said, looking over the linguini and clams, the pungent odor of fresh basil and garlic wafting upward from the plate. Giuseppe has done well here, he thought as he looked over the clientele. Sticking his fork through the pasta, he swirled it on a spoon before taking his first bite, just as the owner Giuseppe ‘Geno’ Ricci walked up to him.
“I hope you find the meal to your liking,” Geno said to the don.
He finished swallowing the pasta with a drink of wine before speaking. “I’m sure the recipe came from your family; it is superb,” Alberto said.
“It was my grandfather’s favorite,” the young Italian replied before taking a seat at the table.
“So, tell me, how was Angelo found
out so soon?” Alberto asked, alluding to one of his members’ arrest in Marseille two weeks earlier.
“My sources tell me he got careless,” Geno explained. “He was not discreet like he should have been. The first bits of information he provided appeared to be useful, but I believe he allowed his assignment to get the better of him.”
“You mean his playboy attitude?”
“Yes, precisely. He moved from doing surveillance and planning to one of a voyeur,” Geno said. “Accepting the opportunity to photograph the woman to please himself, just like he did in Malta.”
“Can we use the information he provided to continue?” Alberto asked. There should be a way to deliver the policewoman to Omar and collect the bounty, he thought. “From what you told me earlier, she sounds vulnerable most evenings, not to mention walking from the bus stop to her residence.”
“There are always moments one is more defenseless than other times,” Geno said. “It always comes down to timing and opportunity.”
“So, it does,” Alberto agreed. “Have you been able to learn anything about the Algerian being spirited away from the Algiers jail?”
“No, it’s really a mystery,” Geno sighed, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes. “The last time anyone saw him was the day he arrived at the airport and was placed in the police van. Since then, no one I trust has any idea where he is. I assume your friend in Algiers can’t offer any more information from the police to find where he was taken.”
Alberto Scuderi looked at his young friend across the table, not seeing him but trying to envision how the police could make a criminal disappear without a trace. “No, I’ve not heard from my friend. He’s as much in the dark as we are. Though I’m surprised someone in their police force couldn’t be bribed for the information. Knowing my friend is offering such a handsome reward for our help, we need to do our best to produce results.”
Chapter Three
As he stood in the midst of the vacant office, Gregory studied the emptiness, envisioning the chairs, desks, and cabinets his cadre would occupy as Papillion Transport. “Do you think we can manage with half the office personnel?” he asked, glancing at his colleague and friend Louis Clement. “After the police finished interviewing them, some appear uncertain of staying on.”
“It comes down to having someone like Claudette to deal with the calls, one or two people dealing with the manifests such as Francine and Marco, and our bookkeeper, Pierre, handling the cash,” Louis said, moving his arm in the sling Julien insisted he wore. “Since we won’t have Nazim or Hakim sniffing around, we could work on the same floor, which will help decrease traffic.”
“The sooner we reestablish partnerships, those not interfering with Nazim or Omar Khalid, the further off we’ll be,” Gregory said leaning against a pillar. “We need to avoid any semblance of operation involving the Maghrebi gangs. I don’t trust them.”
“And what of the two captains in the North Sea?” Louis asked, alluding to the Scotsmen, Dillan McKenzie and Bernard McIntosh. “At one point, we owed them a debt; do you think they’ve forgotten about their time in the Amazon?”
“No, I don’t think they have.” Gregory recalled the first meeting with the two British commandos. Shutting his eyes, his mind flashed back to the training mission twelve years ago. Gregory could almost feel the sticky heat of the jungle crawling across his skin again. His heartbeat quickened at the memory of the swift boats used by the British commandos, skimming across the water, carrying his eight-man team deeper into the rainforest. Two team members had been gay lovers, going against the Legionnaires’ code of conduct and for which their team leader would dispense with their disciplining.
Gregory and Louis were to carry out the disciplining of the two men under the disguise of a training mission. They recognized they could fabricate any story to explain their actions as they saw fit. Arranging the site where the killings would take place beforehand, he and Louis struck a deal with British commandos operating the boats. For a sum, they secured their silence to the event soon to take place. At the agreed-upon site, the team disembarked the swift boats and made their way into the jungle.
Emilio Carbone and Arnaud Guerini never suspected they would soon be the victims of violent and bloody deaths, accomplished at the hands of fellow Frenchmen. Assigned to lead the patrol, the two Legionnaires soon came upon an area Gregory and Louis had prepared to look like a drug processing site. As each member moved throughout the perimeter of the site, Emilio became the first to suffer the trap set by Gregory.
Rushing across the trip wire, Emilio was jerked skyward, propelling him through the jungle trees. Several of the branches were sharpened and laced with poison. The Legionnaire traveled through the air until impacting the thick trunk of a mahogany tree. Hanging upside down, Emilio glimpsed his partner moving in the distance.
Upon hearing his lover’s screams, Arnaud moved towards him encountering the improvised trap. This one, a shallow ditch, caused the Legionnaire to fall face-first onto a series of sharpened sticks. One of the longer ones plunged through his eye and out the back of his skull.
As the poison took effect, Emilio saw his lover’s death in slow and agonizing clarity. But what was more unnerving being the sight of the four men standing over Arnaud, watching his life end, without offering help. Gregory walked to the tree where Emilio hung and was soon standing just below him. Emilio stared at him as he heard him say, “Your uncle Albert would approve of this outcome for your shameful behavior.” Emilio tried to comprehend the statement just as his heart took its last beat, his last breath but a faint moan.
Gregory stared at Louis, Julien, and Hector standing above the corpse that was once Arnaud Guerini, before speaking. “As soon as he’s dead, get them both wrapped up and then contact the boats,” he ordered, slinging his weapon over his shoulder. “Hector, once they’re ready, call in their status.” Turning away from the bodies, he walked back to the river’s edge and the rendezvous site to wait for the return of the speedboats.
“Gregory, what about the phone lines?” he heard Louis asked.
Gregory came out of the jungles of South America and back to the office in Marseille. “I’m sorry, Louis. I was just thinking back to Cayenne. What were you asking?”
“The phone lines; we’ll need to have two accounts if we plan on separate numbers being used.”
“That’s a small detail we can discuss next week,” Gregory said, walking over to the window overlooking the harbor. In the distance, the rocky outcrop holding the 15th-century fortress of Chateau Il d’If was visible on the horizon. “Our first order of business is to get a crew to build the spaces. We still must have a secure room or two to conduct our meetings.”
***
As she stepped into the elevator, Detective Benoit selected the button for the basement to meet her partner Claude Lemieux in the forensics lab. As the numbers flashed for each floor, she recalled the raid from the earlier day. Always consider everything as a hazard. She’d been repeating what Captain Georges said during the debriefing in her head over and over. So, is the substance in the bottle a hazard too? she asked herself while pushing open the lab door.
“I’m glad we didn’t keep you waiting, Detective Benoit.”
“A woman needs to do what a woman needs to do,” she replied, alluding to her monthly curse.
“Remind me not to aggravate you then,” he answered, turning back to the lab technician. “So, Jaime, what has your analysis told you about the substance found during the raid?”
Taking in the verbal jabs between Claude and Geneviève, the technician smiled before speaking. “Well Captain, the chemical makeup is nearly the same to the hashish found with the boyfriend from the Bakker suicide.”
“Nearly the same you say...which means something’s different?” Geneviève asked. “Hashish is hashish, isn’t it?”
“Not the one contributing to Ms. Bakker’s death, it looks like,” the technician replied. “The makeup included a modified measure of canna
bis resin.”
“I don’t understand...how?” Claude asked.
“It’s very subtle,” the technician explained. “A psychotic chemical, one I’ve still to detect but that may be associated to a hallucinogenic, was added. It was then mixed with the resin. If I can find which substance, then we’ll learn why a young woman in her twenties dove off the balcony of an eight-story hotel.”
“Did we ever ask Scotland Yard for their toxicology report?” Claude asked his partner.
“No, we didn’t have a reason to consider the makeup of the narcotics until the Bakker case," Geneviève said before turning to the technician. “Can you have a copy of the report prepared please?”
“I’ll have it for you in a moment,” Jaime said returning to his desk.
***
Gazing out over the marina, Gregory sat at the open-air café, pondering his next course of action and the future the Papillion Transport organization. At some point, we’ll cross paths with Khalid again, he told himself sipping his coffee. He opened his portfolio and jotted down the contacts he had trusted relationships with and those he had concerns with.
The shrill buzzing of his phone broke through his thoughts. He noticed the call was originating from Toulon. “Hello?”
“Monsieur Arsenault, it’s Phillip,” the young Frenchman said.
“Good morning, Phillip. How are you doing?”
“I’m doing well. I apologize for calling, but I thought it best if I pass along something I overheard in the restaurant the other day.”
Gregory sat more upright in his chair as Phillip’s tone carried a hint of concern. He recalled asking the young man to keep an eye on Sophia while in Toulon, but that was the only issue he could consider for getting a call from Phillip. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked.
Obscure Intentions Page 2
