“I’d like a day or so to discuss your offer with my colleague in Algiers,” Omar replied, knowing Nazim should have a say in their discussion. “Producing enough product for a second container poses a greater risk to several of the men. And I don’t want to speak too soon on their behalf,” he said before finishing his water.
“I understand, my friend,” Youssef replied. He waved his hand at the waiting food lay before them. “Stay and eat. It would be a waste not to enjoy all of this.”
Glancing at his timepiece, Omar knew he had time before his return flight to partake of his guest’s offering. “You’re a generous host. I’d be honored to stay and eat with you.”
Chapter Six
Detectives Benoit and Masson came through door into the office like two college students, haggling for space, each one trying to walk through the entrance at the same time. “Guy, you need to show some manners,” Geneviève scolded him. “Didn’t your mother teach you how to treat a lady?”
“You may be a woman, but I’ve seen you kick ass, and it’s not how a ‘lady’ acts,” the burly detective replied, nudging her aside.
“Both of you need to behave yourselves,” Claude said, ending their fun. “Did you get our suspect settled down?”
“Yes, we did,” Geneviève answered. “He’s presently in lock-up as Captain Julien directed. Moreover, I believe he made a request to Detective Masson before we left. Didn’t he, Guy?”
Glancing at the woman, Guy was ready to say something rude and unprofessional, but chose otherwise. “Yes, seems the gentleman wishes to converse with his consulate,” he said. “I was going to finish preparing his custody paperwork before I called them, though.”
Claude shook his head. “We haven’t charged him with any crimes yet. What are you going to put down on the arrest report? Jaywalking? Poor posture?”
Snickering at her desk, Geneviève feigned a slight cough before coming to her colleagues’ defense. “Can’t we at least detain him? We have probable cause, don’t we?” she asked. “We’ve got the notifications from the Spanish and the Germans about his suspicious activities. It’s no different from how we handled the young man in the hospital, what’s his name…?”
“I don’t recall, and I don’t care about him,” Claude argued. “We’ve still not determined how our arrest reports were altered in his case. And this one with Monsieur Gomez, or Ochoa, depending on which name is genuine, has diplomatic consequences to it.”
“Then how are we going to justify keeping him?” Detective Masson asked.
Running his hand through his greying hair, Claude realized he needed to decide, without the aid of calling his captain and friend, Julien Duval. “Note on your report ‘probable cause in drug trafficking’ just like Benoit mentioned,” he decided. “Cite the Spanish communique as a reference. Now which one of you is buying the coffee?” he asked, holding up his empty cup.
***
Gregory Arsenault moved with ease amongst the mingling tourists who crowded the marina promenade on most occasions, and this day was no different. Strolling between shops and stopping every so often to glance at a postcard, and for a possible undercover officer, he took his time before entering the local bistro.
Inside, he soon saw his sister-in-law sitting by herself in the corner. Attired in a casual floral summer dress, she was showing calmness contrary to her work demeanor as a senior police officer. He dodged several patrons and a waiter with a full tray of water before he was soon standing in front of her. “How wonderful to see you, Claire,” he said, placing a kiss on each cheek.
“And how are you, Gregory?” she asked, returning his greeting and the sign of affection.
“These days, I'm doing well under the circumstances,” he replied taking a seat. The waiter stepped to their table, pad at the ready. “A coffee and apple pastry, please,” Gregory said. “And something for you, Claire? I’m buying.”
“I’ll have the same, thank you.”
As the waiter left, Claire returned her attention to Gregory. “Now, you were telling me how you’re doing, weren’t you?”
“Well, as it turns out, I had a call yesterday from an associate in Toulon. He was letting me know all was well and wished to pass along that Sophia is doing well too.”
“This young man is he spending time with my Sophia?” Claire asked. “She never mentioned having a gentleman in her life before you mentioned it today. All she ever talked about was spending time with her girlfriend, Celine. Did you arrange for this to happen?”
Gregory saw the look in her eyes. “Yes, for her protection. Phillip is an honorable young man and I trust him to do as I ask. Both Sophia and Phillip are working at a business of an associate of mine. It’s because of this work we need to talk, Claire.”
“Is she in some sort of trouble?” Claire asked as the waiter brought over their coffee and food.
“Merci,” Gregory said as he passed over money to pay the bill. “Keep the rest for yourself.”
“Merci monsieur,” the waiter replied, his eyes lighting up as he saw the 50-euro bill.
Returning to Claire’s question, Gregory replied. “No, she’s not in any trouble. However, Phillip heard of something. Which is why I need your help getting answered though.” He looked at the swirling foam the cream made in his coffee while trying to formulate the question in his mind. “I’m scared to ask for your help again, you know,” he finally got out, looking up at her.
“Gregory, you can rest assured I’m rather careful,” she replied fondly. “You’re not the only one who can manipulate people of importance, you know. Pasqual always said I’d make a good double-agent,” mentioning her deceased husband.
“I’m still uncomfortable though,” he said, sipping his coffee. “And I don’t want to know how you handled Phillip’s file either. But since you are willing to help, I need to find information on a person recently detained.”
“And how soon do you need this?”
“Oh, I’m not in a hurry, so it need not be tomorrow. But sooner would be better,” Gregory said.
“You said this person was detained? So, they’ve been released recently, I take it?” she asked, cutting a piece of her pastry. “It shouldn’t be a problem at all.”
“How do I say it... the person, he wasn’t released,” Gregory explained. “He was being escorted from a flight at the airport, and then ‘poof’, he’s gone. No one has seen him since that day.”
“If he wasn’t released, he’ll still be in the system,” Claire said. “What is his name?”
“Talib. Hakim Talib. He’s an Algerian,” Gregory replied. “And you must know I’m not the only one wanting to find him, so you must be careful.”
“Who else is looking for him?” she asked.
“There are at least two other men looking for him. I’m not sure of the Italian’s name, but I’ll find out tomorrow,” he said. “The other man I know is an Algerian; his name is Omar Khalid. He leads a criminal component in Algiers and is very ruthless in how he deals with others. He might also have ties here in Marseille with the Maghrebi crime elements.” Over the next few minutes, Gregory told Claire about his associate, François Laurent. Not only how they met but also how his murder took place at the hands of Omar’s henchman.
“Not a pretty way to go, I’m sure,” Claire said, visualizing the man’s death. “Still, if this Algerian was detained and accounted for, I’ll find his file,” staring into her coffee.
“Is there anything you wish for me to give Sophia; I’m seeing her and Phillip the day after tomorrow.”
Claire raised her head glanced at him, tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “No, just give her my love, and let her know I miss her.”
***
Closing up her case file, Geneviève slid the series of folders into her desk before pushing the drawer closed and locking it. “Gentlemen, it’s been a joy, but I must bid you adieu,” She grabbed her bag and coat, ready to leave.
“Giving up so soon are we?” Nicolas asked, still
working on the arrest report for Guillermo Ochoa.
“Yes, I’m meeting Monsieur Dupont for dinner,” she said. “I promised him my company in cooperation for helping identify Louis Remesy.”
“And where is he taking you?” It was Guy Masson’s turn to ask, exercising his role as the big brother to the young woman.
“I’m not sure,” she answered. “But if I don’t get out of the office, I’ll miss my bus.” She offered a brief wave as she walked out.
Rushing through the lobby, she trotted down the stairs two at a time leading to the street. Just as she reached the Metro kiosk, her bus turned the corner and shrieked to a halt as the nearly full vehicle protested.
Geneviève stood next to the driver without many other options available, stretching above her head to hold on to the railing. Each stoplight on the route to her apartment brought the same worry that someone might grab her pistol from her hip and try to subdue her.
After a tedious twenty minutes, Geneviève stepped off of the bus and walked the last hundred meters to her apartment. She paused at the postal box to grab her mail, which comprised of two advertisement flyers and a credit card bill. Going up two flights of stairs, she came upon her flat and entered. “Oh, it’s so good to be off duty,” she sighed, slipping off her shoes, adding to the pile just inside her door.
She dropped the mail on the table in the front room on top of yesterday’s newspaper. Entering the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator, in hopes of finding a quick snack only to find the week-ends contribution of leftovers crowding the shelves. Pushing aside a half-full bottle of Perrier, she grabbed a carton, sliding the lid aside, only to notice the slight tinge of mold beginning to form. So much for that, she told herself while tossing it in the trash bin.
Taking one last look, she shut the door before making her way towards the bathroom for a quick shower. Leaving behind a trail of discarded clothing while walking through her bedroom, Geneviève was soon standing in her shower, relaxing under its warm, gentle spray. The cascading water spilled over her shoulders past several faded and ragged scars on her back, visual reminders of a past trauma she fought to supress.
She seized a towel and dried off before scampering into the bedroom to select the evening’s attire. Never one to shy away from flaunting her feminine figure, Geneviève paused in front of her closet, unsure of which dress to wear. Moving her clothes left and right, she finally stopped, choosing a navy-blue dress for the night. Its plunging neckline was enough to expose a portion of her cleavage, yet the dress was still conservative enough to cover her back. She paired it with low-set heels she found on the floor of her closet, their color matching her dress.
Rummaging through cosmetics strewn across her dresser, she soon found her lipstick and twirled the tube to expose the dark crimson paste, sliding it across her lips. “And to finish the look, a few spritzes of Obsession,” she murmured, squirting the perfume between her breasts. She definitely did not look like the police officer she had been earlier in the day. “I’m sure Hector will approve,” she uttered as she grabbed her pistol and slid it inside a sequin clutch. Before she could grab her grey lace shawl, the intercom at the street entrance chimed.
“Hello?” she asked, scurrying to the door.
“Good evening, Miss Benoit,” Hector’s voice rang out. “I apologize if I’m too early.”
“No, your timing is perfect,” glancing at the clock. “I’ll be down in a moment.” Snatching the clutch and her shawl, Geneviève stepped out, locking the door behind her before descending the stairs. Before leaving the building, she pulled the lace over her shoulders, tossing one side over the other.
“Good evening, Hector,” she said as she met her date on the sidewalk.
The woman he saw exiting the apartment was not the same one he met in his office just weeks before. “You look wonderful,” he said, placing a brief kiss on her cheek. “May I?” he asked, leading her to the open car door.
“Thank you,” Geneviève said with a demure smile.
Slipping behind the wheel, Hector placed the Peugeot into motion, following the early evening traffic towards their destination. Neither occupant noticed the solitary figure standing at the curb watching their departure.
Benito Russo now had a very good idea who Geneviève’s suitor was and how to spot him as he took down the vehicle type and license plate number. “Have a good evening, mademoiselle,” he said to himself, walking towards the vacant apartment of the police officer.
Chapter Seven
As soon as the sedan carrying Genevieve and Hector turned the corner, Benito Russo made his way to the front of the apartment building. Grasping the handle, he found it locked. “Damn,” he muttered. Just as he pulled his lock picks from his wallet, he heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door.
Stepping back from the ornate wood and glass entrance, he came face-to-face with an elderly woman exiting the building.
“Good evening,” Benito said. “I was just ready to pull out my keys, but you’ve saved me the effort.”
“Good evening,” the old woman echoed. “And you're welcome,” she replied as she shuffled past him pulling a rickety wire cart.
Holding the door while allowing the woman to pass, Benito slid inside behind her and peered at the mailboxes along the far wall. “G. Benoit, #301,” he murmured. He quickly found the apartment, traipsing up the stairs two at a time, and used his lock picks to open the door. He was soon standing in Geneviève’s front room, and he pulled out a penlight to surveyed the space. Rather ordinary furniture... no television, but a small stereo, he listed. Going to the window, he noticed an ordinary latch securing it and no signs of an alarm system. His flashlight landed on a small hutch where several framed pictures sat.
Benito could see the simple silver frames holding the photo’s showed the onset of tarnish, a clear indication that housework was not a priority to the young officer who lived there. To the right of the pictures was a crystal ashtray, holding an odd collection of rings, bracelets and ear-rings.
Benito stepped to the bureau and picked up a photo, one showing a small girl between two older children, a boy and girl, and her parents on the steps of a church. “She was cute back then,” he murmured. Setting it down, he held up another under the small beam of light. This time it was Geneviève in her police uniform and her mother, alone. He placed it back, then turned to the kitchen.
Benito roamed through the kitchen, checking the back door, which led to the fire escape to the alley behind the apartment. He opened the refrigerator, and his eyes scanned over nothing out of the ordinary: a few staples and a couple of takeout boxes.
As soon as he stepped into the bedroom, he noticed what must be a common sight of single women everywhere: pants crumbled on the floor, a blouse, sports bra, and panties lying in a pile outside the bathroom, as she disrobed. A large, damp beach towel was hanging off the edge of the dresser. Peering into the bathroom, he recognized the remnants of the occupant’s preparation for the evening, water droplets still clinging to the shower door.
Benito shifted his attention to the nightstand, and he gently pulled the drawer open. “Just as I thought,” he said. Inside, he discovered two loaded magazines for a pistol and a collapsible nightstick along with a set of crystal rosary beads and a bible. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught the empty holster sticking out from under the coat which she had tossed on the bed.
He squinted at his watch, realizing he’d already spent over ten minutes looking around her apartment. After looking around the room behind him, he was satisfied anything he had touched was put back or still in its original spot. He hesitated at the front door, placing his ear near the crack and listening for anyone on the other side.
Stepping out of the apartment, Benito slid his hand inside, engaging the lock before closing it shut. He sauntered down the stairwell and walked out of the building, making his way to a local bar near his rental, already figuring out the next step of his plan.
***
A soft glow of orange painted the horizon outside the harbor while the city lights flickered sporadically on gentle waves from passing watercraft entering the marina. Sitting on the balcony overlooking the multi-million-dollar yachts, Hector Dupont was pleased to see his companion enjoying herself.
“I’ve never been to this restaurant before. You’ve made a wonderful selection, Hector. Thank you,” Geneviève complimented between sips of her wine.
“I was hoping it wouldn’t be too ‘over the top’ as they say,” the security director said.
Feeling her face warming up as she became the center of attention, Geneviève spoke. “I’ve never spent a great deal of time eating out at restaurants to begin with, so this is a nice change.”
“Well, I hope you allow me to entertain you again,” Hector said, lifting his glass.
Over the course of the next hour, the pair exchanged pleasantries over dinner, oblivious to the others sitting nearby. When they were done, the server cleared away their plates and offered them each a dessert menu numbering over twenty delectable selections of pastries, some with photos, including several choices of coffee and teas.
“They all look so inviting,” she said.
“I would recommend the strawberry gelato on shortbread,” Hector said. “I’ve found it to be refreshing, but not as heavy as the other offerings.”
“That sounds perfect. I need to watch how much I eat or I’ll never hear the end of it from Claude.”
Hector smiled at the answer, but his thoughts were focusing on her figure on a more personal level. Since meeting her at the airport last month, he thought of ways to be in her company without being intrusive. Her choice of unassuming perfume and clothing made her appear plain, but also mysterious and alluring.
Obscure Intentions Page 5
