‘Can you ensure no one will bother us?’ Jeremy asked.
‘No one will come in. This is my private office.’
Jeremy quickly proceeded to give her a brief but edited version of events.
‘My name is Mertaux and I am from SVHQ.’ He showed her his identification.
Elodie took it in her hand and inspected it closely. Once satisfied she handed it back. She looked suitably impressed.
‘Our people must come and clear this mess away,’ Jeremy told her. ‘We will ensure the criminal ends up with the police.’
Elodie shrugged. ‘That’s fine with me. It seems like a very sensible way to deal with the situation, for both you and us. Please first have SVHQ contact me and I will organise anything they need to clear up the room.’
‘We will of course pay for any damage.’
‘Very well. Will you take me up to the room and show me now?’
‘Yes, come with us.’
The manager took them up in the staff lift, which was ancient and rickety. They arrived on the third floor and hurried towards the room.
‘This is the first time we have had an assassin in our hotel, at least to my knowledge,’ Elodie confided to Amanda. ‘I shall be interested to learn how you managed to overcome him.’
They burst into the room as one, and then stopped dead.
The body of Bathazar Charles was gone.
Chapter 18
The French headquarters of SVHQ, along the river at the Quai Voltaire on the border of the Sixth and Seventh Arrondissements, stood in entirely different architectural surroundings to its British counterpart. The building itself dated back to the Napoleonic era and was the definition of l’élégance française.
Amanda was unsure what to expect as they waited patiently on the steps at the entrance after ringing the buzzer. Presently the door was opened by a butler in black and red uniform and white gloves. After explaining who they were, they were taken through a hallway decorated in rich fabrics and furnishings and shown into a drawing room filled with grand French, Italian, and Greco-Roman antiques.
‘If you will kindly wait here,’ the butler told them, ‘Monsieur Legarde will be with you shortly.’
The ornate armchairs on which they sat were surprisingly uncomfortable and Amanda felt dwarfed by their scale.
Jeremy smiled at her. ‘Wait until you meet Monsieur Legarde.’
Amanda felt stiff and uncomfortable, as though about to meet royalty or an ambassador in his residence, Jeremy, in contrast, seemed at ease. In fact, he appeared so relaxed he might have been in his own sitting room.
The only noise was the ticking of a twenty-four carat gold School of Fabergé clock. The sound resonated through the room and it felt like each and every second was being welcomed and then dismissed in turn by the clock’s internal mechanism.
Jeremy was sitting to Amanda’s left and found himself facing a large oil painting, which depicted a rather elegant Spanish nobleman in a confident pose, with a large black hat and an abundance of ruffles. Amanda for her part was quite unable to focus on anything and sat with her hands clasped nervously together.
Out of the silence Amanda heard a sudden creaking noise that echoed all around the large room. She looked towards the doorway in front of them, then realised that the noise was actually emanating from behind them. She turned round just in time to witness the large painting Jeremy had been looking at swing away from the wall to reveal a grand doorway from which a sprightly white-bearded man, who must have been in his eighties, jumped out.
Seeing Amanda’s look of total bewilderment, Jeremy bursts into a peal of laughter that was only amplified by the cavernous surroundings.
‘Quiet!’ the man ordered. He looked sternly at Jeremy and he immediately fell silent.
‘Welcome, my dear!’ the old man exclaimed, looking at Amanda with a kindly smile. ‘I am Monsieur Legarde, chief of SVHQ here in France. I have learned much about you. What brings you here at this hour?’
‘An attempt was made on our lives this evening,’ Jeremy replied for both of them.
‘Really? Tell me about it, Mademoiselle.’
‘Could we go somewhere a bit more private?’ Amanda asked.
‘Of course, I am forgetting myself, follow me.’
Monsieur Legarde walked quickly back through the open doorway behind the portrait. Jeremy motioned to Amanda to lead and then followed behind her.
As Amanda stepped through the doorway she felt a bit like she was ‘Alice in Wonderland’. Indeed, the corridor ahead of her sloped sharply downwards and she was reminded of the London SVHQ with its hidden depths. A little further on the tunnel was finally flooded with light as it opened out into a large atrium. This part of the building was completely at odds with the grand hallway and its surrounding rooms. It was a vision of the future, with gleaming white floors and a wall completely covered with liquid crystal screens that could bring up touch screen digital images on demand.
‘Come through,’ Monsieur Legarde invited.
Unlike the staff at the London SVHQ, the staff here were all dressed in couture business wear that had been personally tailored. They were all immersed in their own work and the trio were barely noticed as they made their way across the open plan workspace to a private office at the far end of the room.
Monsieur Legarde’s office was modern and well lit. The furniture was fashioned from what looked like clear Perspex and had an eye-catching and ergonomic design. Amanda and Jeremy almost collapsed into the chairs in front of the large clear desk, both of them very weary after their long and ultimately trying night.
Monsieur Legarde, with his shock of white hair and snowy white beard, struck Amanda as looking like a slightly eccentric but thoroughly likeable university professor.
‘So, tell me everything,’ their host suggested as he sat down opposite them.
Jeremy gave a brief overview of what had happened. Monsieur Legarde already knew the outline of the case. Although many cases were being managed by SVHQ simultaneously, he explained, this was considered one of the most important. Jeremy then ran through the entire case history preceding the previous evening’s events.
‘And what happened then?’ the old man enquired.
Amanda was just about to launch into her account of the evening’s misadventure when there was a series of three hurried knocks on the door. Wondering who would risk disturbing the chief executive during a private meeting, Jeremy stood up to open the door, only to find the familiar figure of Maurice standing in front of him, breathless from having rushed to meet them.
‘Mademoiselle, Jeremy. I was so concerned! I have been informed what happened. I got here as soon as I could.’
It was strange to see Maurice that animated, as he had always been so relaxed at their previous meetings. As though realising the uncouth nature of his sudden outburst in front of Legarde he apologised profusely.
‘So sorry to interrupt you, Monsieur. I was just so worried about these two.’
The old man waved his hands dismissively. ‘It’s fine, Maurice, but will somebody please tell me what on earth has been going on?’
After Maurice had found a chair for himself and sat down beside them, Amanda was able to recount the evening’s escapades, focussing chiefly upon their frightful encounter with a dangerous assassin and the chilling experience of yet another attempt on their lives.
Upon hearing the tale Maurice looked terribly shocked. He told them he had already heard brief details via an electronic message from Jeremy on the inter-SVHQ network. Nonetheless, hearing the tale in its full entirety vividly conveyed to him the true extent of the danger Amanda and Jeremy had escaped. Legarde looked similarly aghast.
‘I cannot believe all this has happened to one of our newest agents. Have you been in contact with the London office this evening?’
‘No, we thought it best to come straight here.’
‘You did the right thing. Now, I think there is someone who may want to talk to you.’
&nbs
p; Legarde pressed a button on a wireless intercom system and spoke to his personal secretary. ‘Would you please send our visitor to office 105 immediately, Geraldine? Thank you.’
Neither Amanda, Jeremy nor Maurice had any idea who the visitor might be and sat apprehensively in silent anticipation. A few moments later there was another knock on the door.
‘Come in,’ Legarde replied.
The second surprise visitor in as many minutes who now stood in front of them turned out to be none other than Monsieur Chaumert himself, flanked by his generously muscular bodyguard Julien.
‘Good evening, everyone.’
Legarde shook hands with Chaumert in an amicable and vigorous manner.
Chaumert was, as always, suavely attired as he sat down in the last remaining chair in the office, an armchair formed entirely from clear Perspex in the right corner of the room.
‘Jacques arrived late this afternoon,’ Legarde told them before inviting Chaumert to take over.
‘As you know, you three have been working on this case in order to retrieve important blueprints, the loss of which would be very embarrassing for us if made public. I have kept the details confidential thus far in order to protect the company. However, the character we are dealing with is utterly underhanded and will stop at nothing to get what he wants. He has built an unbelievably successful empire from almost nothing. His company has been awarded most of the major European energy contracts over the last decade. Yet behind the respectable face of ENCO there is much that is sinister going on – bribery, corruption and murder.
‘Eight years ago the Norwegian government put the entire energy production of the country up for privatisation. As you can imagine there was fierce competition for such a lucrative opportunity. There were several front-runners in the tendering process, but at the last minute the contract was awarded to ENCO, a newly formed company who were considered outsiders at the time, being a relatively inexperienced for such a large undertaking.
‘Later it was found that several other more experienced companies had withdrawn their bids, leaving ENCO to win by default. Many of these companies were surreptitiously bribed and intimidated. However, the director of Electronet, the largest and most respected company of all, was obstinate in his refusal to back down to them. Then he suddenly and inexplicably withdrew just one day before the final selection took place. Our covert sources discovered that his youngest daughter had mysteriously committed suicide on that very day; she was only seven years old.
‘This pattern has been repeated throughout ENCO’s expansion, with the competition dropping out and contracts being awarded to them. The mysterious deaths have never yet been linked with Mr Charles, though.’
‘This is where SVHQ comes in,’ Legarde put in. ‘Jacques here had always harboured suspicions about ENCO and their dealings, but possessed little more than a theory without proof. SVHQ have been able to infiltrate and build a profile of ENCO’s ascension and are certain that they are in possession of the blueprints and will use them as leverage to secure the contracts.’
Maurice then spoke up. ‘The level of energy production they control around the world is greatly worrying and only stands to further empower the leader of the operation, making him a truly formidable adversary.’
‘We absolutely must stop him,’ Jeremy observed fiercely. ‘He has repeatedly tried to kill both Amanda and myself, and who knows who he will turn on next. We must go on the offensive, hunt him down, and confront him with the truth before anyone else gets hurt!’
‘Calm down, Jeremy,’ Legarde warned. ‘Impetuous action is not the answer. We have a far better way to get to the heart of the matter. SVHQ has come upon evidence that even Mr Charles would not have expected us to obtain. ENCO’s main operation is of course in Paris but, as we know, it is highly protected and all incriminating articles will have been removed from those premises or else destroyed now that they know we are on the case. However, we have managed to trace the centre of Mr Charles’ personal operations, which is far more valuable to us than just ENCO alone. Guess where they are?’ he teased, smiling at Amanda.
Amanda immediately picked up on the inference. ‘London!’
‘Indeed,’ Chaumert confirmed. ‘I will be accompanying you there tomorrow. I need this evidence ASAP, as the awarding of the largest nuclear contract in the northern hemisphere is only days away from being decided.’
Amanda was so tired she wished for nothing more than to head back to her hotel, where Elodie had promised to give her the use of one of the finest rooms – the honeymoon suite, no less. However, Chaumert was absolutely insistent that she, Jeremy and Maurice should accompany him for one, well-deserved, very late night drink.
Le Ciel de Paris was one of the most fashionable hot spots in Paris, a place to see and be seen. It struck Amanda as a slightly unusual choice for Chaumert. They had taken a private hire Mercedes to Montmartre, leaving Legarde at SVHQ, he having far too much work to do preceding a meeting that was scheduled to commence at seven a.m. with the French Minister of Foreign Affairs.
The bar was relatively quiet at this time of night, but as it was approaching the all-encompassing spectacle of Paris Fashion Week, a slew of fashionistas still populated most of the hip venues in town, even at this hour. As they entered, Amanda, who was a clandestine subscriber to ‘Vanity Fair’, immediately recognised a young girl nearby as one of the most popular emerging supermodels of the moment. She was very fragile-looking and was wearing an asymmetric canary-yellow dress that contrasted starkly with her long flame-red hair. She was talking to a striking young man with elevated platinum hair, dark shades, and strong cheekbones.
Amanda had often pictured herself sitting front row, perched graciously between Anna Wintour and the Queen Consort of Jordan perhaps, at one of the exclusive couture shows in Paris, perhaps the autumn/winter Lanvin collection by Alber Elbaz. Work had always prevented her going. In any case, tickets for such shows were almost impossible to come by unless you were royalty, an editor, or an oligarch’s concubine. Suddenly she felt terribly under-dressed, as if she was attending a party without being notified of the dress code. She certainly didn’t feel at her best after narrowly escaping yet another near-death experience to add to the count of those she had experienced in the past few weeks.
They selected a private corner of the bar and made themselves comfortable. They made an unlikely foursome. Amanda, Jeremy, and Chaumert were all equally formal in their attire, but Maurice was dressed like a French fisherman in a horizontally striped short sleeved top under a black overcoat.
‘Let me get us some drinks,’ Jeremy offered.
‘No, let me,’ Chaumert insisted. ‘I will be your host tonight.’
A long list of stylish, trendy cocktails was presented to them. Simultaneously favouring something simpler Amanda and Jeremy agreed to share a pricey bottle of vintage Bordeaux with Chaumert. Maurice, being his usual self, opted for a demi of Corsican ale.
‘This is one of the favourite haunts of my wife and daughters,’ revealed Chaumert, belatedly realising that his choice of venue required a little explanation.
‘Are your wife and family well?’ Amanda enquired.
‘Oui. Henri is studying hard for his baccalaureate, although he prefers to spend the majority of his time playing computer games. Patrice is studying Art History at the Sorbonne and Caroline has just enrolled at the Paris Opéra Ballet School.’
Amanda noticed that when Monsieur Chaumert spoke of his family his entire countenance changed. Only at these times was he distinguishable from the man of enterprise known publically worldwide. He would smile and laugh, describing each of them with great animation and exaggerated hand gestures. It was clear that he was entirely devoted to them.
‘My wife Edith has recently become a student herself. She is currently undertaking a course in French film. Of course, her greatest passion in life is shopping.’
He told her this so offhandedly, and in such a good-humoured way, entirely untainted by the annoyance
that someone else might have associated with the phrase, it only served to further display his loving relationship with his wife.
‘Tell me more about your wife, Monsieur,’ said Jeremy. ‘Where did you meet, for instance?’
‘We have been together for twenty-five years. She is my first and only love. Unbelievably, I was only twenty when we met and she was in her teens. She has always been ravishingly beautiful. When we first met she was carefree and delicate, like the young Bardot. For me she has just got better with age, like Deneuve.’
His face dropped suddenly and he became gravely serious.
‘There is something that I must let all of you know.’ His voice descended into an almost inaudible whisper. ‘It’s something I have not mentioned even to Monsieur Legarde... I have recently begun receiving death threats directed towards my family. At first they gently warned me to back off with regards to the energy contracts, but later they began to mention what might happen to specific members of my family if I did not co-operate. They subsequently named Edith, Henri, Patrice… and even Caroline.’
As he softly spoke the last few words he trembled, his expression half anger and half fear.
‘We must find a way to stop them,’ Amanda responded with unequivocal passion.
Maurice and Jeremy both nodded vehemently in agreement.
‘We leave for London tomorrow at five a.m.’ Chaumert added. ‘I hope you may now understand the gravity of this matter and the importance that we succeed in our mission absolutely.’
After that the conversation became lighter once more as they enjoyed one final round of drinks together. Presently they returned to their respective hotels and apartments.
Amanda experienced great difficulty going to sleep that evening. The sumptuous suite she was in felt empty and ominous rather than comfortably luxurious as it usually would have done, and she was overcome by a strong sense of sympathy for Monsieur Chaumert and his family.
Chapter 19
Morning arrived far too quickly, leaving Amanda glowering in disbelief at the obstreperous bedside clock demanding she get up.
Amanda: Tales of an international female spy Page 12
