by Ray Christie
By the time the call was over, Ben was in the worthless process of looking for any signs of life, she was as dead as a rock. Still, Ben using the medical skills he received from his time in the trauma wards he went about trying to revive her. As part of his Special Air Service training, he shadowed ER doctors in London hospitals, trying to piece together patients who were involved in traffic accidents, stabbing and gunshots victims plus various other construction injuries. From what he found checking over Josephine he confirmed she died from a drug overdose. Noticing a huge bruise on her neck he knew she would have been knocked out first then drugged, Ben knew she never used drugs and was always in wonderful health. Shaking his head slowly he could only imagine her being a friendly host to these animals, ‘Poor woman.’
“I’m sorry Ben, I know it’s a bad one, she didn’t deserve this…, she’s gone, mate.” Treading carefully, Jack knows that both men have handled their fair share of dead men, from their targets to their best mates. For the men, it is always difficult when a civilian gets killed, especially when it revolves around their own actions or activities. Fixing the blankets neatly around Joséphine, Ben then darted upstairs then returned soon after with the fresh bread from Boulangerie Julambre. He shared a quiet and final meal with Joséphine allowing Jack to investigate and learn what he could about the men who were there moments ago. What Jack found did not surprise him too much, but the quality of the equipment did. The men had hacked into the intercom and CCTV system, relaying live feeds via a transmitter using Bluetooth. A number of drills, circuit boards, micro cameras, soldering wires, and various electrical tools were organised on the kitchen bench. The men were planning to set up a surveillance system over the next couple of days, Jack shudders to think they may have been planning to use an IED in this very building. Even to cover their tracks and cause as much contamination of evidence as possible. Thinking about this Jack then concludes that the men were a forward party sent there to inform the hit team of their presence and level of sophistication. Their own movements within the hallway would have been relayed to whoever had access to the feed.
Sensing danger they have hastily escaped using a pre-determined route instead of setting up a defensive attack. Watching Ben contently eating his bread he called Mark and Gordon with a situation report hoping for some good news on their end. The phone rang with no success, trying again with the same result. “Ok, time to pack up and move Ben.” With that Ben gave the trinitarian formula, tracing the cross over Joséphine’s lifeless body, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen,” said his last few words and with heavy hearts, himself and Jack quickly left the charming and endearing lady on the bed by herself.
FIFTEEN
Paris, France
For René Le Bistrot, du Poinçonneur provides a beautiful lunchtime escape, viewed by others within the establishment as another grey man of little interest. Settled within the 20th arrondissement he sits with an air of importance. A bowl of Soupe à l’oignon is placed in front of him while a plate of Goose rillettes awaits his attention. This is his moment of relaxation, a brief time when he can juggle his heavy demands and decisions while remembering he too can be a civilian not a creator of death. For the elusive and paranoid member of the committee, death comes easy, as long as he a continent away. No photographs of him, no electronics, and no physical meetings with anyone, despite the difficulties of arranging anything he can manage to remove people from the planet without worrying about ethical and moral principles.
Drinking a bottle of 2017 Philippe Colin Chassagne-Montrachet he carefully absorbs the faces and demeanour of each and everyone in the restaurant. Safe in his normal surroundings he takes out the Le Figaro newspaper and flicks over the national crime section. Making sure there is nothing in there that relates back to him. This weekend his plans are to visit the South of France and check out a couple of properties, adding to his portfolio very nicely. Trevor and the committee have been lucrative, but the time has come when the final big one will be laid out. The risk is worth it, French pension is not going to be enough for his retirement plans, riots continue outside, the French citizens are enraged about their government’s plans on increasing the retirement age. His own path which he had carefully chosen a long time ago is so close he can smell the fresh salty ocean air, away from the concrete buildings and relentless and mind-numbing policies preventing his department of doing anything worthwhile.
Stepping through the door, she carefully removes a Héritage par Laulhère beret and allows her thick black hair to drop over her shoulders. With a quick glance over the diners, she makes her way to the steel topped bar and places a hip on a bar stool. Speaking softly to the waiter she slowly turns and looks directly at René. Ordering a glass of Badoit Émilie walks over to René with a fresh smile and an outstretched hand, a simple gold ring and bracelet fit snuggly on her tanned skin. “I thought I’d find you here.”
Rolling his eyes as he removes his brown leather laptop bag from the adjacent seat, he takes Émilie’s hand, “Is there any place in this city in which I can get away from life’s struggles?” “Wow, so rude, you are calling me a struggle”, retorts Émilie with a naughty smirk.
“How did you know I was here then, weren’t you in London?”
“What you mean a spy is not allowed to bump into another spy? It is lunchtime, your office is across the road and I’ve met you here before, it’s not Hollywood René, stop watching James Bourne,” laughing at her own joke Émilie picks up the Le Figaro.
“That’s Jason Bourne.” chuckling to himself René notices Émilie has a number of grazes on her hands, deciding not to know how she got them he asks again about London.
“Oh. Whatever, London well what to say, same damp place, grey skies, grey buildings and old men drinking expensive Whisky.” Looking bored she flicks through the newspaper getting caught up on the local headlines.
Curious as to why she wanted to meet, he sure as hell does not want to talk business in his place of tranquillity. “Are you going into the swimming pool today?” René sticks with the soft and not so secretive name for the headquarters of DGSE on Boulevard Mortier.
“Of course, you didn’t think I’d come this whole way over the city only to read your boring newspaper,” taking the glass of sparkling water from the waiter she drinks down half and screws her face while the bubbles pop in her head. “Oh, that is nice, a shower for my brain, listen René I wanted to ask you about the new Paris, Toulouse and Nice threats I presented.”
“That is right, how come we didn’t know about these cells until this week? If they are key players someone would have known.”
“Well”, responds Émilie with a voice of confidence, “I had been looking at them for some time now, they drop onto and off the radar randomly, no real patterns as such. These men do not attend the same mosques as the rest of our usual suspects in Paris do, they use a garage for their prayers slash meetings. I had been using a surveillance team to gather information, but unfortunately, they have been unable to get inside as they always had their elderly mother living in the garage when not in use, some guys sometimes sleep on mattresses. That is what he can tell from the heat signatures. Any attempts to enter the property using our support act branded teams results in the same frustrations. The men appear and at the sight of strangers, their suspicion of our phone and internet teams means they cannot do anything. They follow them around and go through their tools and equipment.”
René considers this for a moment, “Look this isn’t the place or the time to discuss this if you have new information and consider it a better investment to pivot the BRI and the rest of the agencies to these guy’s then, of course, I approve it. But get something for me, get prosecutions, get people behind bars, end of discussion.”
That is as much as Émilie wanted to confirm, the BRI is off their backs, along with extra resources which can be rerouted on ghost chases if required. “That is our goal, making sure these groups learn France is not a friendly co
untry, I’ve never had the chance to eat the lunch menu here only the drinks one, maybe next time as I have to run, I will head out of Paris and check out the progress in Toulouse.”
“Fine, sounds good to me, so I can dine in peace,” laughs René.
With a wide stare and a smirk, Émilie raises to her feet, “For that, you can pay for my drink.” Placing her phone into her purse then quickly fixing the long silky black hair under her beret she winks at the barman and makes her way out of the Bistro.
***
“Echo one to golf zero come in,” still nothing. It has been over an hour since the surveillance team entered the building on Avenue Foch. Hiring the team of ex-Russian foreign intelligence service personnel from Yasenevo was risky, but time was of the essence and their objective was simply to subdue one ‘suspect’ and mount a surveillance base within the apartment block for twenty-four hours. The twenty thousand Euro fee was not a concern, paying half for the setup and install allowed her to prevent any transactions on the second half from being wired. She did not like working with someone with whom she has not worked with before. But her large heart follows unchallenged to the wishes of her talented lover; their future will be decided on fate.
The apartment would have then allowed Muji and his men to gather, plan and launch their attack, keeping the deaths contained within the building would have been perfect. ‘Fireworks and burning the place to the ground would have been the next step,’ Émilie had the plan figured. Nothing was going to stop her.
Thinking through it, Muji was inept, his last actions let her down, she desperately wanted to ensure she was the primary enabler on this path. The temptation to visit the apartment was high for Émilie, but the potential to be spotted was even higher. Besides, her plan B was in motion. Those two men were disposable, their deaths or disappearance were far removed from her concerns, the only thing she feared was pushing the targets off the grid.
***
Mark had been carrying out surveillance duties back at the car allowing Gordon to retrieve some of the cash, gold, and silver bullion from a private vault close by in the 16th arrondissement. He was in the process of sending a message to check in with Jack when he noticed Mark walking back empty-handed.
“It’s gone, all gone, the vault had been accessed.”
“Are you serious?” Mark asks, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, “That’s about five million worth of metal.”
“Yip, all bloody gone mate, I checked with the manager and the footage from his security camera showed a man come in and use the keypad at the gate, he then inserted a device into the sensor, and it opened the vault. He bypassed the biometrics.” Gordon shows Mark a photograph of the man on his phone. “I took this from the manager, not Albanian or Russian looking.”
“Jump in, we need to act fast.” By the time Gordon dropped into the seat the engine roared to life throwing the Audi down the narrow back streets.
The trip did not take too long, within minutes Mark pulled the car into a parking place at the back of their apartment. Gordon already had his firearm out where he had it secured under his loose-fitting shirt. Noticing two men calmly walking down the street talking and sweeping with their eyes Gordon’s adrenaline starts to increase, “Eleven O’clock, two IC2 males.”
Mark flicks his eyes quickly and locks on, “Copy that.”
Lifting his foot off the accelerator allowing the car to roll and slow down Gordon exercises his fingers by screwing on a silencer to his firearm and slowly releasing the safety while he weighs up the situation.
Noticing the men are using covert air acoustic tube headsets allowing for less attention in this affluent area, Gordon makes the call. “Hostile’s, stop, stop, stop.”
Stepping out of the passenger side quickly followed by Mark from the driver’s side Gordon shouts across the street to the two men in his terrible French, “Votre pièce d'identité, s'il vous plait.”
Without warning the two men spun around and ducked behind a parked silver Citroën and began speaking quickly into their communication equipment. Gordon knew he had to act fast as their back up could be on this very same street.
He dived down and fired two shots under the car hitting both men in each of their ankles felling them immediately. Mark knew what was coming and had jumped onto the roof of the Citroën and leapt onto the bonnet with his firearm directed at the closest man. The first thing Mark spotted was the unmistakable view of a firearm swinging up in his direction. Two shots rang out followed by another two from Gordon.
No communication was needed as they went about a quick search of the men taking what they could find. Leaving their lifeless bodies clutching the firearms the two men retreated to the Audi and drove off as residents began peering out of their several million-euro apartments.
Mark had got to the car first and was again behind the wheel, Gordon keeps the firearm firmly in his grip as the car weaves its way out of danger, not knowing which car or van parked on the street could present a threat. As soon as the car gets out of Boulevard Périphérique and onto the A6 Gordon takes his burner phone out of the shirt pocket, noticing miscalls from Jack he presses and calls back.
“Hey, no need to visit the apartment, we are off on holiday, the painters are in”, Jack quickly informs Gordon.
“I was going to say the same thing, we left two bodies in the back street, I suspect friends of yours, are you off to the farm?”
“Standby,” Jack looks over to Ben, who momentarily stopped chewing through a mouthful of sandwich eyeing him intently waiting for news. “Two dead outside the apartment, courtesy of the two boys.” Ben closes his eyes and enjoys this brief moment of appreciation, chewing again he winks at Sam and returns his attention to the road in front. Another death, another day.
“Good work, I’ll send you details of a meet point, head that way.”
“Now for the bad news, the Gold and Silver is gone from the vault in Foch, all empty I have a photo of a bearded geezer who bypassed the security system using a kind of transmitter, we need to hurry and check the rest,” Gordon tries to think of the next vault as he relays this information to Jack.
“Bloody hell, ok, this is getting too close, Johnston must have told them everything, from now we consider all storage locations as hot, anyone we find is hostile,” Ben and Sam can only guess what has happened by the anger in Jack's voice.
“Ok, here is what we will do…” Jack provides the men with his plan as they race to the next treasure spot.
***
London, England
“Good morning my dear, how is Paris?” Trevor wanted to get directly to the news but has to submit to the annoying small talk first.
Anjeze being excited to provide confirmation on her actions instead thinks of being joined by Trevor in this wonderful place, “It is lovely here, thanks for the hotel, you have wonderful taste.”
“Don’t get too comfortable, I might need you on a different assignment shortly, check out the first address and do your thing after that I’ll talk more, right now I have a meeting I must attend to.” Trevor juggling his many tasks tries to keep his communication to a limit.
Anjeze has other plans, “Can’t you come over? I’ll make it worth your while,” with a sensual voice she attempts to lure Trevor on a romantic trip.
Laughing slightly Trevor tells her to keep that thought, with a “Take care darling and I’ll call you shortly,” he hangs up the phone and heads off on his trip to the country.
***
Paris, France
René leaves the café and instead of walking back towards the Direction Générale De La Sécurité Extérieure building, he heads west on Rue des Tourelles. Not his usual route but today he has something important in his possession. The weight of the gold and silver bullions weigh heavily in his Lisbona leather travel bag. René like the rest of the committee members feel they take all the risks, therefore taking some cream off the top from time to time should be excused. After all, this is his city, and René knows these me
tals will never be investigated by any legal department. Keeping Trevor, the ‘fils de pute’, out of the loop is his only concern. Trevor the ‘son of a bitch’ would likely put René in the ground if he knew about this, in his own mind a few million is only a fraction of the master plans, plus he believes Trevor has been undercutting everyone for a long time. Citing political favours and payoffs, now René is in charge of his own accounts.
Looking around himself to ensure he is not being followed René ducks into the Église Notre-Dame-des-Otages. Over the years René has established a good relationship with this Catholic church. A great place to meet those that shun the public or government buildings, but on this occasion, it will be to store some heavy metal. God will benefit as usual from René and his good work; in other words, the Vatican will be in a better position to afford him his ‘special services’. In a few days, the bag will turn up safely in Rome or any other area of operations for which VIPs of the Vatican request for their collection. For René this is his own personal ‘Cayman island’, in his own good time he will collect.
