by Estelle Ryan
Estelle Ryan
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The
Uccello Connection
Coded paintings. Missing planes. Dirty bombs.
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After a failed attempt on the lives of world leaders, criminal mastermind Ivan Fradkov successfully eludes world-renowned nonverbal expert Doctor Genevieve Lenard and her team for months. But things heat up quickly when a stranger is assassinated in the chair next to Genevieve while she’s having lunch with her friend.
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Barely controlling her mind’s need to shut down and escape the non-stop influx of intel and emotional upheaval, she tries to make sense of an unreliable spy’s sudden co-operation, a friend’s kidnapping and a team member’s life hanging in the balance.
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Then time runs out and Genevieve is faced with an impossible choice. Does she stay by the side of a loved one who desperately needs her or does she put her own life in danger to stop a psychopath?
Contents
Estelle Ryan
Dedication
Chapter ONE
Chapter TWO
Chapter THREE
Chapter FOUR
Chapter FIVE
Chapter SIX
Chapter SEVEN
Chapter EIGHT
Chapter NINE
Chapter TEN
Chapter ELEVEN
Chapter TWELVE
Chapter THIRTEEN
Chapter FOURTEEN
Chapter FIFTEEN
Chapter SIXTEEN
Chapter SEVENTEEN
Chapter EIGHTEEN
Chapter NINETEEN
Chapter TWENTY
Chapter TWENTY-ONE
Chapter TWENTY-TWO
Chapter TWENTY-THREE
Chapter TWENTY-FOUR
Chapter TWENTY-FIVE
Chapter TWENTY-SIX
The Uccello Connection
A Genevieve Lenard Novel
By Estelle Ryan
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including internet usage, without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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First published 2017
Copyright © 2017 by Estelle Ryan
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely incidental.
Dedication
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To RJ
Chapter ONE
“Seriously?” Francine, my best friend and one of the best hackers in the world, raised her eyebrows and stared at me. “Every night for the last two weeks? Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Why should I?” I reached over and adjusted her knife so it mirrored exactly the setting of the fork. We were in L’arbre Pourpre, one of the four restaurants in Strasbourg Francine and I frequented when we went for lunch. The last few months had been uncommonly stressful and we had not been as consistent as before in meeting for lunch.
This morning, Francine had stormed into my viewing room and rudely interrupted me while I’d been analysing data we had found on Emad Vernet, a criminal we’d been trying to locate for the last six months. I had gasped at her audacity when she’d touched my computer without my permission and turned off the fifteen monitors in front of me.
She’d loudly bemoaned that she felt neglected and that I had to fix this. She’d insisted I needed a break and had to spend said break with her. The rest of my team had supported her. Much to my dismay.
But I had also missed our lunches and had not argued too much on our way to the restaurant. No sooner had the waiter placed a carafe of sparkling water on the table than Francine had started with her questions.
“Why should you tell me?” She threw her hands in the air, her bracelets jingling. “You should tell me all about Vinnie and Roxy because I’m your bestest best friend and because—”
“Your curiosity is stronger than your respect for their privacy?”
“How can you even think such a thing?” Her voice was a pitch higher in indignation, but her lips twitched when I lifted one eyebrow and gave her a look that she called the ‘speak-the-truth-or-die’ look. Her shoulders relaxed and she grinned. “Okay, sure. Who cares about their privacy? I want all the deets on Roxy and Vinnie. Tell me, tell me, tell me.”
“I don’t know the deet... details.” I resented each time Francine’s use of certain words slipped into my vernacular. “Vinnie and Roxy are romantically involved. That’s it.”
“Oh, no, girlfriend.” She placed her palms on the table and leaned towards me. “This is so much more.”
Vinnie was not only part of our team investigating art and other sensitive crimes, he was also a very dear friend. He was the protector of our team with a physique to match his self-appointed job.
Seven months ago, we’d had a case that involved several international leaders, one of whom had died from polonium-210 poisoning. During that time, Doctor Roxanne Ferreira had been of great help. Her knowledge of radiation poisoning and her high-level security clearance had introduced her to our team, to our lives. It was her engaging personality, curiosity and kindness that had made her inclusion into our group of friends the logical next step.
Our waiter arrived with our orders and carefully placed my soup bowl on the plate in front of me. My lips contracted in disapproval and I centred the bowl on the plate. Francine snorted, then smiled up at the waiter when he placed her bowl in the exact centre of her plate. “Thank you, sweetie.”
Colour crept up the young man’s neck at Francine’s blatant flirting. His pupils dilated and he pulled his shoulders back, just enough to puff out his chest. Francine had this effect on most men. Her Brazilian-French looks and natural sensuality made it an interesting experience to be with her. It gave me ample opportunity to do what I was best at—analyse behaviour.
The restaurant was not as full on this Tuesday early afternoon as it would be later in the day. But there were enough patrons at the moment to give the restaurant a convivial atmosphere. In the ten minutes we’d been sitting at our table, I’d noticed the ardent interest of three men, two of whom were with women who could be their wives or girlfriends.
Francine’s light laughter drew the attention of one of the three gentlemen and his eyes narrowed as he stared at Francine’s legs. The waiter left us, walking with a touch more confidence that he had before. I frowned. “He’s very young.”
“Who?” Her confusion was genuine. It took another two seconds for her to comprehend my meaning. “The waiter? Why on earth wou... Aha. How many more times do I have to explain the difference between serious flirting and fun flirting?”
“No matter how many times you attempt to convince me, those are not technical definitions.” I scooped the creamy broccoli soup onto my spoon. “And you were flirting with him.”
“Pah.” She smacked her lips and picked up her spoon. “You’re not changing the subject. Tell me about Roxy staying over.”
“You know she’s been staying over. What else do you want to know?”
“Do you think it’s serious between Vinnie and Roxy?”
“Define serious.”
Her hand froze and she lowered her full spoon to her bowl. “Come on. You really want me to
spell it out? Fine. I will. Do you think this is true L-O-V-E?”
“Why are you spelling ou...” I shook my head. “Don’t answer that. I don’t know what they are feeling.”
Francine rolled her eyes. “What do you see?”
I considered her question. As a world-renowned nonverbal communication expert, I found safety in analysing people’s body language. It made for much clearer understanding than merely relying on words. People seldom said what they truly meant.
I shared my apartment with Colin Frey, my romantic partner and a notorious thief who also worked for Interpol. Our side of the apartment had three bedrooms and the kitchen that was mostly used by Vinnie. He stayed in the connecting three-bedroom apartment and had claimed my kitchen as his ‘kingdom’.
I thought back to yesterday morning when I’d left my bedroom to find Vinnie and Roxy kissing in my kitchen. They usually kept such displays of affection private, but were always either holding hands or maintaining some form of contact. When I’d interrupted their kiss, Vinnie had leaned back and the micro-expressions I’d registered on both their faces had been very telling. “They care deeply for each other.”
“I knew it!” Francine wiggled in her chair. “I knew it!”
“Then why did you ask me?” There was no malice in my question. I didn’t even expect an answer.
“Because I wanted you to confirm what I’ve known for months.” The smile lifting her cheeks was soft and genuine. “I’m so happy Vin found someone who can give him the love he deserves. And to top it all, I actually like Roxy.”
“She’s messy.” I shuddered just thinking about my kitchen after the one and only time Roxy had helped Vinnie prepare dinner. Colin had laughed when Vinnie had pushed Roxy out of ‘his’ kitchen and said he’d rather have Francine with her evil spices helping him.
“But she’s smart, bubbly, funny and treats Vin like a prince.” Francine narrowed her eyes. “I do wish she would take me up on my offer to go shopping. That girl needs a serious wardrobe makeover.”
“I don’t care about her sense of fashion.” I truly didn’t. It was the acceptance she’d shown to everyone that had won my respect.
“Just because she’s a doctor doesn’t mean she always has to wear those ghastly, horrid, clunky running shoes.” Her top lip curled and she shuddered. “Those things are an offense to every sexy, strong woman.”
This was the eleventh time Francine had complained about Roxy’s choice of footwear. I ignored it and enjoyed the last of my soup. I was relieved when Francine didn’t press for more information about Vinnie’s relationship with Roxy. It had been an emotionally disruptive experience to watch Vinnie’s romance grow.
It had been most confusing to be excited and happy for him, but at the same time wanting to protect him from potential disappointment. I didn’t like the distressing emotions that accompanied friendships. Colin often reminded me that it was part of life, but I insisted my emotional being had been much less complicated before he, Francine, Vinnie and the others had blasted into my life.
These emotions were an unwelcome distraction. I resented spending time on trying to identify and then deal with the constant worry, affection and pride that interrupted my work. Before my life became saturated with friendships, I’d been much more focused on developing my career and knowledge base.
My existence had also been much poorer.
“Girlfriend.” Francine tapped her bright orange manicured nails on the table. “Come back to me.”
I blinked a few times and saw that my soup bowl had been removed. “Sorry.”
“Were you thinking about Fradkov?”
“No.” Although I should have been. Ivan Fradkov had been the mastermind behind the polonium-210 attack seven months ago. It had been the first time I’d ever heard of him, but both Colin and Vinnie had had previous encounters with him. Colin had authenticated paintings Fradkov had acquired for his Renaissance collection and Vinnie had learned through an old friend about Fradkov’s many successes at destroying corporate and political careers.
“Okay.” Her expression alerted me that I was not going to like her next question. “So, were you thinking about all those magazines you’ve been receiving? Or were you thinking about the seven”—she leaned forward—“seven invitations to be keynote speaker you turned down?”
Francine had access to all our emails and even though she never abused it, she wasn’t too shy to ask about our online orders or anything else she found interesting. At first, I had found it most disconcerting to have another person have such unlimited access to a part of my life, but she had proven herself both trustworthy and discreet.
“I wasn’t thinking about that either.” Although I still didn’t know who’d been sending me academic journals. The first journal had been delivered to Rousseau & Rousseau five months ago. At first I had been suspicious. I hadn’t subscribed to any academic journals, yet the plastic-wrapped magazine had been addressed to me.
Each week after that another journal had been delivered, much to my delight. The articles were all deeply researched and well written. Topics ranging from automated video analysis of nonverbal communication to the latest research on criminal psychology were covered in-depth. Reading these articles had made me long even more for the years I had spent researching and developing my academic career.
“Maybe you should be thinking about this.” Francine studied me, her expression growing more serious. “I’m totally snooping now, but why don’t you want to speak at these conferences and meetings? You used to do this a lot. Why not anymore?”
I took a sip of my water. Not because I was thirsty. It was both an avoidance and delaying tactic. I was internationally regarded as one of the best, if not the best, in the field of nonverbal communication. There had always been a high demand for me to lecture at symposiums, conferences and universities.
I’d used these events to overcome my fear of public speaking and had enjoyed the challenge of creating a fifty-minute lecture that would not only educate, but also entertain the mostly neurotypicals who’d attended my lectures. I missed it.
“Girlfriend?” Francine reached across the table, but didn’t touch me. “Is there something bothering you?”
“I don’t have the mental and emotional space for this,” I blurted. I closed my eyes for a second and swallowed. “My mind is too consumed with the cases we have.”
“Seriously?” She sat back in her chair and frowned at me. “I mean, we do have cases almost all the time, but the big ones only come once in a while. Surely these aren’t that absorbing?”
I’d never had a best friend before. This was another emotional area I’d had to explore and find a way to cope with the emotional demands that went with this. Right now, I was feeling the pressure of that friendship. I wanted to tell her that it was the relationships that enriched my life that also held me back. But from previous experience, I knew that such a statement would hurt her.
I didn’t want that. Nor did I want the long emotional discussion that would inevitably follow, so I changed the topic back to Fradkov. “Has Manny received any feedback on our request for those bank accounts?”
“Mister Grumpy told me this morning that he doubts St Kitts and Nevis will give us permission to check into any account held by one of their banks.” She raised both hands in pretend outrage. “Then he had the audacity to tell me off when I suggested hacking those accounts.”
Colonel Manfred Millard was the only law enforcement agent on our team. He was also a very unlikely romantic partner for Francine. But after a year and seven months, they both still found intense pleasure arguing and their affection for each other had become stronger.
“I didn’t expect the banks or the government to give us access. You just had that one pseudonym for Fradkov and a suspicion that he had an account in St Kitts and Nevis.”
“A suspicion?” Francine pulled herself up and glared at me. “I’ll have you know that I have a titanium-strong feeling that Fradkov is hiding money in t
hat country. As if anyone can call those two tiny islands a country. There are so many rich criminals popping in and out of that place that I’m quite sure it would be easy to smuggle the remaining polonium in and keep it there until Fradkov is ready to do what he wants to do.”
That was the problem. We didn’t know if Fradkov had the remaining polonium-210. During our last case, we’d discovered that Emad and his late brother Claude had worked with Fradkov in attempt to set Russia up for numerous crimes. It had been an endeavour to damage Russia’s standing with Europe. Despite our investigation, we had not been able to determine if or how he and Emad were planning another attempt. This was causing us and numerous law enforcement agencies great alarm.
Any further thoughts about Fradkov and Emad were interrupted by a tall man stopping next to our table. He was not one of the three men who’d shown an interest in Francine. He stared at Francine for a second, then took a chair from the empty table next to us and sat down at our table. The fear emanating from him caused my heart rate to increase exponentially. I leaned away from him and committed every physical feature and every nonverbal cue to memory.
His face was pale, his depressor anguli oris muscles turning the corners of his mouth down. His frontalis muscles pulled his eyebrows up and his widened eyes kept shifting from Francine to the door.
His fear was real.
His greying dark hair was messy as if he’d pushed his hands through it numerous times, his beard was a few days old and his nails were bitten to the quick. At least his trousers and shirt were clean and ironed.
“HotFrandeur88?” His voice shook and he cleared his throat. His eyes widened even more as he continued to stare at Francine. “You are HotFrandeur88, right?”
Francine didn’t change her posture or expression. If it hadn’t been for my expertise, I would not have noticed the almost imperceptible tightening of her lips and the slight increase in overall muscle tension. She leaned towards him, her expression sultry. “Ooh, aren’t I lucky today. Some handsome stranger falls right in my lap. And he calls me the sexiest name ever. Do you really think I look like a HotFrandeur88? But before you answer”—she lifted one shoulder and pursed her lips, befitting her sensual retort—“what is your name, sexy?”
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