“I would think you would be the one worrying about him more than he worries about you,” he replied, finishing his wine.
“Well, since his wife Nadine passed away the year before last, he’s found it hard to move on,” Geneviève answered quietly.
“Were they together a long time?”
“Over twelve years,” she said. “They met while Claude was on assignment in Nice. Nadine was a clerk working for Banque Palatine when someone tried robbing the bank. Claude, being a junior detective back then, was investigating and as they say, it was love at first sight.”
“Sounds romantic, as if fairy tales can come true,” Hector said. “Do you know how she died?”
Geneviève looked down at her tea, knowing how difficult it was to speak of Claude’s wife in past tense. “She was assaulted by a drug addict while leaving the market near their home one evening,” she said. “The assailant was high on PCP. She tried to fight back, but he ended up stabbing her six times before an officer shot him.” Glancing back up at Hector, she continued. “Claude swore he’d rid the city of all the drug peddlers in her memory.”
“I’m sorry for asking,” Hector said, placing his hand over hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.
“It was during the recovery from her assault she was first diagnosed, just a small lump on her breast,” she said. “But, after two more examinations, she was diagnosed with Stage IV metastatic breast cancer. It was horrific to look at such a vibrant soul taken by this disease.” She wiped a tear from her eye with her napkin, careful not to mess up her makeup. “If you ever see a picture of her, you’ll find her a beautiful woman,” Geneviève said. “Look at me, I’m ruining the evening you had planned.”
“Just having your company is enough to make this a wonderful night,” Hector said. “Let’s dispense with dessert and take a walk along the promenade, shall we?”
As they ambled out of the bistro, Geneviève pulled her shawl over her shoulders while sliding her free arm through Hectors’ offered one. “Thank you for a wonderful evening,” she said.
“It was my pleasure,” the security director said. “It’s been quite a while since I had the pleasure of entertaining such a beautiful woman.”
Blushing at the compliment, Geneviève said, “You can’t tell me you’ve trouble dating.”
“In the past, most of the women I’ve been associated with have come to assume I can offer them perks with airlines or bend the rules at customs,” Hector chuckled. “Because of this, I have… shall we say, limited my availability.”
“I can honestly say I have no need for extraneous gratuities with any airline,” she assured him. “And since I rarely travel outside France, I’ve no need for gifts from foreign lands which need taxes waived. But, I would enjoy the opportunity to make myself available for another date, if you’d like,” She squeezed her arm against her date’s.
As they strolled along the promenade, they stopped at a small bench along the seawall. Hector turned to her and pulled her close against his body. Dropping his face to hers, he gently kissed her.
The feeling of his body pressed against hers made her stiffen, caught between accepting his embrace and denying the feelings from her experience as a young girl in Cherbourg. Through the years, she had built her defense against intimacy, but found an odd sense of calmness in Hector’s embrace. She didn’t back away as he continued kissing her with increasing passion, persuading her mouth to open and gliding his tongue past her crimson lipstick.
Feeling Hector’s lips against her, Geneviève pressed herself closer to his taller frame, feeling his arm around her waist, pulling her close. A dormant yearning for intimacy seemed to awaken in her, and she felt a pleasant ache, her nipples swelling against the silkiness of the dress.
Relaxing his embrace as he pulled his lips away from hers, Hector muttered, “I hope we can see each other again, and soon.”
Geneviève caught her breath, peering upward into his emerald-colored eyes. “I’d like that very much. However, it’s best if we each agree to move at a comfortable pace. I mean… I’m not in a rush, I just want to make sure if this is to last, we do it properly.”
“I understand,” Hector said. “For now, we can just enjoy tonight for what it is: a pleasant evening to become acquainted.” Prompting her along, they soon came to his car. He held the door open and hoped she didn’t notice his eyes focused on her well-toned legs as she slid into the car.
Hector was soon maneuvering the sedan amongst the other vehicles, navigating his way back to her apartment. As he changed gears, he recognized a gentle touch as Geneviève placed her hand on his. He caught a small upturn to her lips as she watched him drive. In minutes, they were in front of her apartment, where Hector got out and opened her door.
“Thank you again for a wonderful evening,” she said, placing a kiss on his cheek.
“Please give me a call if you have time,” Hector said. “I’d like to plan another evening with you as long as you’re ok with seeing me again.”
“I will,” she said, sliding from his embrace and to her door.
Hector stood with his car door open, watching Geneviève enter the safety of her apartment building before getting into his car and driving away.
Making her way to her apartment, Geneviève entered, laying her shawl on the sofa and kicking the shoes from her feet before laying her purse on the bureau. As she glanced at the photos, she sensed something amiss, but couldn’t put her finger on what it was. She headed into the kitchen, reaching to open the refrigerator, but recognized the hair she placed across the door seam was no longer in place. “Someone’s been here,” she whispered to herself.
Going back to the front room, she took the pistol from her purse while stepping toward her bedroom. She glanced at the open space as she nudged the door open before proceeding to the bathroom. Peering into the room, she noticed it was empty. Sitting on the bed next to her nightstand, opening the drawer to find everything in place there as well.
An uneasy feeling came over Geneviève, as she recalled the Italian they arrested for stalking her. Snatching the phone, she dialed the number for Claude. The groggy sound of her partner’s voice greeted. “Hello?”
“Claude? It’s Geneviève.”
Peering at his watch, he noticed it was nearly ten o’clock. “Why are you calling me at this hour?”
“I was out with Hector Dupont,” she explained. “But, when I came home… it seems someone’s been in the apartment.”
“How can you tell? Is something missing or damaged?”
“No, nothing has been taken or damaged,” Geneviève said. “But I think several of the pictures on the bureau have been moved.” She glanced over her shoulder just to make sure she saw correctly. “In addition, the safety ‘tale’ was disturbed in the kitchen. Other than those items, I can’t find anything amiss.”
“Contact the local office,” Claude ordered. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Thank you, Claude.”
She telephoned the local police station near her apartment and several officers arrived minutes before Claude did. Making his way upstairs, he entered the apartment, still disheveled from waking up from his sleep. The officers allowed him inside after he showed his identification.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“Yes. I was just giving the last of my observations to Officer LeBlanc,” Geneviève said.
The officer glanced at Claude’s ID before speaking. “I’ve got all I need for my report, Captain Lemieux. This is the first instance we’ve had a break-in since I’ve reported for duty in the last three years.”
“Things are cyclic in nature, officer,” Claude replied. “It just might be time for them to begin again. Please see a copy of your report makes it to my office when you file it. And thank you and your partner for coming so promptly. I’ll take care of things from here.”
Nodding to his partner, the two local officers departed, leaving Claude and Geneviève alone in the apartment. Cl
aude paced about the room, taking in the layout and trying to imagine the possible scenarios that would place his partner at risk.
“It turns out the Italians or even Khalid himself has upped the ante when it comes to you,” he said, standing in the middle of the room. “We might have to move you for your own safety.”
“I can take care of myself,” Geneviève insisted, retrieving the open bottle of water from the kitchen.
“Then why did you call me in the middle of the night?”
“I did so only out of courtesy,” she replied “After apprehending the voyeur, I thought it prudent to keep you informed.”
“Like I said earlier, it’s either another one of the Italian mafia families or the Algerian,” Claude spoke. “Either way, you need to consider yourself a target from this point forward.”
Sitting at the table, staring into the now almost empty water bottle, Geneviève considered what Claude was telling her. How do I explain this to Hector? she asked herself. The pleasant thoughts of her evening with her suitor swiftly faded, replaced with the uncertainty of what lay before her.
Chapter Eight
The judge and his clerks were busy shuffling the schedule to meet the growing number of cases the police were bringing in for sentencing. “It never fails, does it, Julia?” Sergeant Dubois asked her coworker. “Every summer season we seem to see the same foolish tourists.”
“I was happier processing the football hooligans from England,” Julia said. “It was much easier dealing with drunkards than today’s drug users.”
Getting out the next case folder, Claire handed it to her friend. “Here you go then, an Italian voyeur,” she giggled. “This will give you something to talk about while you’re playing cards on Saturday night.”
As she leafed through the arrest report, Julia noticed the officer’s name. “This is funny; Captain Lemieux was the officer on record for this arrest. Doesn’t he work in the Drug Intervention office?”
“I believe he does,” Claire said. “But it doesn’t mean he can’t make an arrest other than ones involving drug use, though.”
The clerk’s curiosity was getting the best of her, as she was soon thumbing through the notes, stopping on the third to last page. “It says here the suspect was conducting surveillance on a female detective,” she said. “He had over a hundred images of her over a two-week period. He took some along the waterfront, in front of a market, even while she was exercising.”
“Mind if I take a look?” Claire asked, holding her hand out.
“Sure, but remember... I get to deal with this one,” Julia said as she handed the folder to the sergeant.
Flipping the cover open and scanning over the page, Claire began memorizing the details of the suspect, recalling what Gregory had told her the other day. “I’ve bumped into this officer,” Claire said, recognizing Geneviève. “She’s working with Captain Lemieux and Detectives Berger and Masson. They had the big drug arrest back in April, remember?”
“Claire, I’m lucky to remember fixing a cup of coffee, much less an arrest from three months ago,” Julia chuckled.
“Still, I wonder why this man was watching her,” Claire inquired, closing the file and passing it back.
“Turnabout is fair play,” Julia said. “Here is the stack ready for the Judge Dionne’s review; it’s your turn to deliver them.”
Shoving the pile on to the small office cart, Claire sighed. “I’ll do my best not to let him talk my ear off. I shouldn’t be too long,” she called as she pushed the cart away from the table.
As soon as she left the file room, Claire stopped at her desk, grabbing a notebook and writing down details from the voyeur’s file as fast as she could. Name, city, arresting officer and target would be important to Gregory. She wrote a reminder for herself on a sticky note to call him this evening and arrange a meeting. In moments after delivering the case files, she found herself politely nodding as Judge Dionne regaled her with his recent sailing adventure.
***
The streets of Lyon were still damp from the summer storm that passed through earlier in the morning as Superintendent Marcel Chevalier left the train station. Starting his way along the boulevard, he was soon walking towards the building entrance leading to the INTERPOL offices.
“May I help you?” the guard asked as Marcel approached the front desk.
“Yes, I have an appointment with Captain Bernard Fontaine this morning,” he replied, holding out his identification.
“Oui, Monsieur Chevalier, just a moment,” the officer said, picking up the intercom.
Moments later, a figure appeared from an elevator and approached the superintendent from Marseille. “Monsieur Chevalier, I am Captain Fontaine,” he introduced himself, extending his hand.
Shaking hands, Marcel replied, “Thank you for seeing me, Captain.”
“Please, if you’ll just wear this badge and follow me, we’ll get down to business.” He took the visitors pin from the guard and handed it to Marcel.
He placed the emblem on his pocket and walked with the INTERPOL agent to the elevator which sped them to the ninth floor.
Getting off, he soon found himself assaulted by a din of conversation from all corners of the floor. Here, agents from different countries were in constant conversations with other law-enforcement agents in the world. Some spoke Spanish, others German, while most spoke French since it was the most common language between the gathered staff members.
“Sounds like I caught you at a bad time, Captain Fontaine,” he said, following his host.
“This is benign compared to most days,” Fontaine replied. “If the calls come through host nation services, many of the agents are shouting just to be heard by the others on the other end of the line.”
Holding open the door to his office, he showed Marcel to a seat across from his. “Please make yourself comfortable,” he said. “Would you like coffee, tea, or perhaps some water?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Marcel answered. “The services on the TGV are more than adequate.”
Captain Fontaine took a seat behind his desk and pulled out a folder from his drawer. “Your call requesting access sent a few ripples across the office. I must caution you, Marcel. What you are about to hear is to be kept in strictest confidence,” he warned, opening the folder on his desk.
“I understand,” the senior police officer agreed.
“The man you have in custody is not from Paraguay,” he said flipping over a page. “And he’s not Spanish either.”
Sitting forward in his chair, Marcel looked intently at the agent in front of him. “If he’s not from Paraguay as his passport identity suggests, and you say he’s not a Spanish citizen either, then what nationality is he then?”
Looking over the page and then the superintendent, Fontaine replied. “He’s an American.”
This revelation from the INTERPOL agent nearly floored Superintendent Chevalier. “And how did you come to find out about this?” he asked. “We’ve considered him part of a drug smuggling activity based on what the Spanish Guardia Civil and the German BKA have told us.”
“You’re not far off track with your suspicions, Marcel,” the agent affirmed. Before he could continue speaking, there was knocking at his door. Closing the folder, Fontaine said, “Come in.”
Ducking through the doorway from the noisy office space behind him was a formidable African-American, standing nearly seven feet tall and half as wide. Captain Fontaine rose to greet his new visitor. “Charles, thank you for coming,” he said, shaking hands. “Superintendent Chevalier, I’d like you to meet Senior Agent Charles Baldwin with the American Drug Enforcement Agency in Washington.”
Standing, Marcel held out his hand. “A pleasure, Monsieur Baldwin,” greeting the agent.
“Please, call me Chuck, and the pleasure’s mine,” the DEA agent said while grabbing an empty chair. “Bernard here tells me you’ve come across one of my deep-cover agents.”
“It would appear we have,” Marcel said
. “My question is what he is doing traveling with a passport from Paraguay if he’s an American?”
Agent Baldwin looked at Captain Fontaine first, then back to Marcel before speaking. “He’s been undercover for the last four years, tracking a lab rat with enough smarts to alter the chemical composition of PCP,” he said. “I won’t bore you with the science behind it. His last report to us, which came over eight months ago, mentioned the location of a facility, possibly here in France or somewhere in North Africa.”
“But why has he been undercover for so long? And why here in Europe and not America?” the Frenchman asked.
“We first stumbled across a drug lab on a Louisiana sugar cane plantation,” Chuck said. “It was more sophisticated than others we’ve found. From there, it led us to a larger one in the Dominican Republic. My agent, Guillermo was one of three officers we were able to have infiltrate the cartels operating the labs at the time.”
Wringing his hands, he paused and took a deep breath before continuing. “You see, Guillermo Ochoa is the last of those three agents to survive. He’s been following the trail of this scientist through the Caribbean, Africa, and now Europe.”
“Gentlemen, it appears my department has stumbled, unwittingly, into the middle of your operation,” Marcel said. “So, knowing this, how do you wish for me to proceed?”
Captain Fontaine and Agent Baldwin looked at each, with the INTERPOL agent speaking first. “Do nothing. Return to Marseille; release Mr. Ochoa with your apologies and let him continue doing his job.”
“In the spirit of cooperation, can I ask if there’s any information from his surveillance you could share with us?” Marcel asked. “We’ve stumbled across a shipping firm we believe is smuggling drugs from North Africa to France and just recently, to the United Kingdom.”
Captain Fontaine looked at his American counterpart. “It wouldn’t hurt to have someone at the grassroots level providing backup, would it?”
“No, I suppose not,” the DEA agent said. “Marcel, you’ve got a deal. We’ll give you with information pertinent to your investigation, while you channel information to Captain Fontaine on what you find. Do you agree with this arrangement?” holding out a bear’s paw for a hand.
Obscure Intentions Page 6
