Accepting the offered hand and shaking it, Marcel replied. “You’ll have our cooperation, Agent Baldwin.” He turned to Captain Fontaine. “And I’ll have our communication staff prepare the secure network so we can share information with INTERPOL. Provided you supply the access codes to send and receive the files, Captain?”
“I’ll see they are prepared at once,” Bernard said, glancing at his desk clock. “Do either of you have time for lunch?”
***
Standing curbside in front of the Central Courthouse, Claire Dubois paced back and forth. After informing Gregory of the information about the Italian ‘voyeur’ case, he agreed to meet with her at the end of her workday. She checked her watch again; it felt as if time had slowed to a snail’s pace, and someone would question why she appeared so nervous.
As if answering her prayers, Gregory pulled up along the sidewalk, allowing her to get in. “I was getting a little worried,” she said, fastening her seatbelt.
“Sorry, Louis and I needed to discuss some business. Shall we head to your apartment?” he asked.
“No, let’s go to the Irish pub near the marina,” she said. “It should be crowded enough that people won’t bother us.”
In a few minutes, Gregory was parking the car near the waterfront and the selected eatery. Aiding his sister-in-law from the car, they joined the early evening crowds walking along the promenade. “There it is,” he announced, spying the Irish flag waving from the balcony.
They soon sat at a high table, drinks in hand before Claire began the conversation of her discovery earlier in the day. “It seems an Italian was arrested for conducting surveillance on a policewoman,” she started, sipping her cocktail.
“Did the report show which police officer?” Gregory asked.
“It was Detective Benoit. She’s part of the Drug Intervention Team,” Claire said. “She’s also the one involved in shooting your friend Louis,” she pointed out. “And I also heard she nearly stripped in front of your man Phillip while questioning him too.”
“Oh, was this something you learned from her report?”
“No, it wasn’t part of the report,” Claire said. “One officer in interrogation was reprimanded for passing around a snippet of a video showing her pushing her tits up in his face during questioning.”
Shaking his head at the gossip, Gregory took a slow swallow of his Guinness before responding. “So, it seems she’s made herself an enemy of the Italian mafia. Was there anything else of importance?”
“The photos this man was taking, they covered different parts of the city she was visiting. Different activities and locations. It appeared he was conducting surveillance like he was trying to find a spot to abduct her,” she said. “I recall her filing a report about a suspect for the British too. It was on a man named Remesy, the same one you asked about last month.”
Hearing the alias used by his former partner, Nazim Aziz, nearly caused Gregory to spit out his beer at her. “Are you sure of the name?” he asked, wiping the corners of his mouth. This would be an excellent bargaining chip if Nazim ever tried to double-cross Papillion, he thought.
“Yes, we had to place the report in our open files after she supplied it to Scotland Yard,” she said finishing her drink. “Is this person someone you know?”
Glancing at the woman, Gregory though how he could tell her about his former business partner without endangering her. “He’s a gentleman I’ve worked with in the past,” he said. “We had a falling out over a transaction. I was hoping to avoid dealing with him if I could.”
“Was this transaction legitimate?”
Gregory smiled at his sister-in-law. “Before we have another drink, I suggest we look at the menu. Would you like to order some dinner? They serve a superb Atlantic cod filet in beer batter.”
“Since you won't answer, I’ll take your aversion to my question as a ‘no’ then,” Claire laughed. “I assume you consider this man a threat or you wouldn’t be so quiet.” Drawing the attention of the waiter, she held up her empty glass before turning to Gregory again. “Do you wish to know more if I come across information about him?”
“Yes, but only if you can get it without interacting with anyone,” Gregory said. “Now, what’s your answer about dinner?”
Chapter Nine
The early mornings made for a quiet street to walk, as Geneviève scanned the windows and doorways of the surrounding apartment complex. The prowler from the other night could still be watching or be close, she thought as she approached the bus stop. Screeching metal surprised her as one of the local shop owners slid the security doors open. “Good morning,” she said, passing the merchant.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” the man apologized, rolling out a cart of fruit from inside the shop. “I’ve been meaning to have this old thing fixed. Some of our neighbors get cranky when I wake them up this early,” he laughed, waving his hands at the surrounding buildings.
“Well, I’m not one of them complaining,” Geneviève said, walking past the shopkeeper. In minutes, she was settling into the front seat on the bus making its way to the police station. The gentle swaying of the vehicle caused her to nod off, unnoticed by her fellow passengers.
“Mademoiselle, excuse me? I believe it's your stop,” the driver said, shaking Geneviève’s arm.
Sitting upright, she saw the other patrons looking at her. “I’m sorry, it’s been a rough few days.” She grabbed her bag and stepped off the bus, dashing up the steps of the police station. She passed by several officers exiting, one being Detective Masson.
“Whoa there, Benoit. You’re going to hurt yourself,” he said, stepping aside to avoid hitting her.
“Sorry, Guy,” she replied, grabbing his arm. “I was just on the bus, but the driver had to wake me. I cannot believe I fell asleep. It was the first time I’d ever come close to missing my stop.” Turning, she entered the building and made her way to her office, making a quick stop at the cafeteria for coffee.
In the office she shared with her three partners, she set her coffee down before placing her coat over her chair. Moving the papers in her basket, she came across a dispatch from the patrols near the shipping terminals. She skimmed over the report but realized something was missing. “Where’s the information on the surveillance?” she asked aloud. Flipping through the pages, it didn't show anything on Papillion Transport and its office staff.
“You’re in early,” a voice came from behind as Captain Lemieux entered the office. “Did you remember to get me a cup too?” he asked, pointing to her coffee.
“Do you know the patrols have no information on Papillion from their surveillance observations,” she said waving the report in her hand.
“No, I wasn’t aware,” Claude said. “And I take it you didn’t buy me coffee either.”
“It’s been over a month since our inquiry. There’s no evidence of someone entering the building? No sighting of anyone collecting the mail for the company?” she asked. “It seems they up and vanished, which is something I can’t believe.”
“I can’t believe I have to buy my own coffee,” the senior detective muttered, taking the report from her. It lacked any mention of members of the suspect shipping company in and around their office. “I’ll contact the sergeant in charge of the detail and see why they’re not reporting any activity. Now, my coffee?” he added sending her off. “And when you get back, we’ll discuss the events of the other night some more.”
Making the short trip to the cafeteria, Geneviève was soon back in the office with Claude’s coffee and was joined by her Nicolas Berger. “Here,” she handed the cup to Claude, “large, black, and sweet.”
“And I thank you,” he said, nodding his head. He closed his eyes as he took a sip, savoring the caffeine. “Now, that’s better. Where were we?”
“The surveillance on Papillion Transport has gotten us nowhere,” she said. “How can we go from interviewing nearly a dozen employees to an abandoned office in a month’s time?” she fumed
.
“The surveillance team never noticed the lack of traffic?” Detective Berger asked as he nursed his energy drink.
“No. Four days after we interviewed the staff, it would seem they all disappeared,” Geneviève said. “It’s as if they had previously planned to move before we even served our warrants.”
Claude sat back and listened, gathering his thoughts. “We never encountered the owners either, did we?”
“No, we didn’t,” she said. Foraging through her desk, she pulled out a notepad and flipped through a half-dozen pages of scribbling. “When I asked the receptionist, ah… Claudette Minot was her name,” she read, looking over her notes. “She said the owner was in Venezuela on a business trip.”
“I would bet you a home cooked meal we’ll still find one of their vessels in the harbor though,” Claude pointed out to her. “And if we do, they should be in contact with the office. Do you still have a list of their freighters?”
Moving more papers about, Geneviève pulled a sheet from the drawer. “Yes, the four registered here in France are on the top.” She handed over the page. “And the ones registered elsewhere are identified below the freighters.”
“What do you mean ‘elsewhere’?” Detective Berger asked.
“The company has sub-leases on several oil rig tenders,” she said. “Two of their vessels sail out of Scotland, with two more sailing out of Texas, in America.”
“Seems like an odd arrangement,” Berger said.
“It’s how the inspectors from Scotland Yard determined they were moving the drugs ashore,” Geneviève explained. “They suspect the freighters were transferring the drugs to the smaller boats so they could avoid inspections from customs officials.”
“As soon as Guy returns,” Claude started, pointing to Berger, “the two of you take a stroll along the waterfront again. See if you can find one of these freighters tied to the docks,” sliding the list to the young detective.
“And what am I going to do?” Geneviève asked in protest.
“You and I have an appointment at 8 o’clock with the Captain to discuss your visitor from the other night,” Claude said. “If your instincts are right, and someone was in your apartment, then we've got a bigger issue about your safety.”
“What? Someone was in your apartment?” Nicolas asked.
“Yes, while I was out having dinner with Hector,” she said. “I noticed something was amiss when I got home.”
“And yet you still slept there knowing someone could break in? You’re braver than me,” Berger said, smashing the empty can in his hands.
“Or foolish,” Claude chimed in. “While you still have a few minutes,” he pointed to the clock, “you need to write up your suspicions about the intruder. We’ll add it to the officers’ report when they send me their copies later today.”
Collapsing in her chair, Geneviève switched on her computer. “You know how I hate paperwork.”
“Yes, you remind me every time we file reports,” Claude said. “And every time, you chide me on how slow I am when you’re done with yours. So, it’s time to get busy.” He waved his hands at her computer before getting up from his desk and heading towards the cafeteria for another cup of coffee.
Rounding the corner leading away from his office, he collided with the SWAT team leader, Captain Georges, before stumbling to his knees.
“Damn Pierre, make some noise when you get near these corners,” Claude exclaimed, picking himself off the floor.
He helped Claude to his feet as he spoke. “Occupational habit Lemieux, it pays to keep in practice. How’s Detective Benoit doing these days?”
“She’s as well as ever,” Claude said. “You’re not thinking of recruiting her, are you? Working to gain some points with Chevalier by diversifying your teams, maybe?”
“From what I saw, she has the knack for it,” Pierre said. “And she’s a quick learner. Both team leaders were impressed with her ability to move with the men during the practice scenarios.”
“Are you sure it’s not the fact they liked to see her ass in those Nomex suits you wear?”
“I can’t speak for them about their personal habits,” Pierre said. “But, like I said, she’s got a knack for it. I’m off to see the weapons tech; we've got a few new toys to play with,”.
With a sigh, Claude stepped into the eatery. “I’d hate to lose her,” he said to himself, pouring coffee into a large cup.
***
“Captain, we’ve got increasing waves between 3 to 5 meters coming from the southwest at two-minute intervals,” the navigator reported. Peering at the computerized weather station, he added, “And the wind is picking up, steady at 20 knots with gusts to 35.”
Dark and ominous storm clouds hung on the western horizon, signaling the approach of a weakening but dangerous cyclone in the Atlantic. As he watched various shades of swirling grey storm clouds approaching shore, Captain Adem Coetzee observed the navigator and second officer plotting a course from Tangiers towards Gibraltar and the Mediterranean.
“Hold your course and keep our stern to the waves,” he commanded the helmsman.
“Aye, sir,” the Malaysian sailor replied.
Striding up to the navigators' table, Captain Coetzee looked over the chart. Adem sensed the pending storm would have little effect on their path into the Mediterranean. “Once we passed the Straits, we’ll be free of this weather.” Turning to his 2nd officer, he said “Mr. VanSlyke, you've got the con. Have Mr. Walls join me in my cabin.”
“Yes sir,” the young officer said. Taking up the ship's phone, he relayed the request made by the captain.
In moments, First Officer Walls joined Captain Coetzee, sitting behind his cabin desk. “Take a seat, Kenneth. We need to discuss our new contract.” He quickly motioned to the only empty chair in the room.
Grabbing his notebook from the side of his chair, Adem calculated his costs for the contract he had just negotiated. “We’re being asked to pick up five containers in Algiers for delivery to Marseille,” he said. “We then have scheduled deliveries between Barcelona and Nice, correct? Making port in Algiers before those stops would be simple, don’t you think?”
“Are all five being dropped in Marseille?” the officer asked.
“Yes, from what I was told,” Adem said.
“And how much did you charge them?”
“Two-hundred thousand euros for the five,” the captain said. “Which means you and I will pocket 50 thousand each quarter, as long as we keep the contract.”
“And what are we transporting?” the young officer asked, leery of being responsible for something dangerous.
“Knowing Youssef Raif like I do, I’d say we’re moving drugs for him,” Adem said. “Which is better than the villagers from Niger to Brazil, like the last time, huh? I’m not sure we can ever take a contract like that again. All those dead bodies put a foul stench across the decks.”
“Not to mention the handful of crewmen we had to abandon because of their conscience,” Ken said. “We’re still running five men shy. Two in the engine room, a galley helper, and two deckhands. If word gets out about those natives, we’ll be hard-pressed to get a loyal crew kept together.”
Adem Coetzee leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed in thought, knowing his first officer was right. We’ll need to be extra careful about this next trip, considering the consequences, he thought. “Are we still on schedule for Barcelona?”
“Yes, we’ll off-load twenty-one containers and take on fifteen, which are bound for Genoa,” Walls said. “Right now, we have no containers to drop off in Nice. Unless we get a communique while in port, we should make a quick transit this month.”
“I like the sound of efficient sailing; very well then. I’m going to stretch my legs before having lunch,” Adem said. “Make sure you pass through the bridge in the next hour and keep an eye on Mr. VanSlyke. I believe this will be his first time navigating the Straits, and I don’t want him hitting anything.”
“Aye, c
aptain,” the first officer affirmed, walking out of the cabin.
Captain Coetzee made his way out of his cabin, stepping onto the bridge wing and descending the stairs to the lower deck. Drawing out a cigarette, he lit it, but used his hand to protect the flame from the oncoming breeze. He made his way up the port side of the freighter, watching a flock of albatross gliding on the wind alongside. In the distance, he saw several other freighters making their own way towards the infamous narrows separating the Atlantic and Mediterranean.
Chapter Ten
The senior officer for the Drug Enforcement Unit let out a sigh as he finished reading the previous evening’s account of the break-in at Detective Benoit’s apartment. Captain Julien Duval closed the folder with a slap of his hands before looking up at his two officers sitting across from him. “Captain Lemieux, did you take into consideration your suspected voyeur might have had an accomplice?” He asked, tossing the paperwork onto his desk.
“No, I didn’t,” Claude responded, sitting a little straighter in the wooden chair. “When we conducted our search of his apartment, all we were able to find were maps of the city, photos of Detective Benoit, and a laptop computer. Forensics checked the hard-drive, and all they found was a host of folders with images from pornographic websites. Even his clothing we found were plain by an Italian playboy’s standards.”
“So, you’ve already created a stereotype for him, Captain?” Julien asked.
“I think what Captain Lemieux is alluding to is how the suspect was conducting himself when we arrested him,” Geneviève said. “It lent itself to a man needing to prove his sexual worth.”
“Thank you for that observation, Detective,” Captain Duval said, leaning towards the two officers and placing his elbows on the desk. “But it doesn’t answer my question. You’ve reported someone has been in your apartment. And this came after arresting an Italian ‘voyeur’ who, by all accounts, had been following you for at least two weeks.”
Obscure Intentions Page 7
