by Randy Dutton
“I believe you. You didn’t do it.”
“Well that’s great news! Can you prove it?”
“Probably. We certainly have strong circumstantial evidence that indicates another group actually did it. And this Maria’s involved.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed. “So what’s the bad news?”
Jim looked into Tom’s concerned eyes and paused. “What did you do to piss off Alexis Swanson?”
Tom gasped. “Swanson? The billionaire financier? How’s he connected to this?”
“We’re not quite sure. But we think somehow, someone working for him got a hold of the bottle you handled at dinner, turned it into a bomb, and killed Hassan who had been receiving significant bribes for something, likely to falsify data. These bribes, we believe, were enough over several years to allow Hassan to buy a half-million-dollar boat three years ago. We believe Maria sent him on a mission to deliver something, likely the bottle, not knowing it was a bomb meant to kill him. They used your business card, your DNA and prints on the bottle, and your argument to frame you. And what’s more, we speculate the bomb was so sophisticated it had a wirelessly activated timer, and was designed to preserve a part that had your fingerprint and DNA. The questions I had an hour ago were why would Swanson care about Hassan? And why frame you?”
Tom’s head was swimming with the revelation that he may have been targeted by the world’s most ruthless and wealthiest man. “Because he hates oil?” he stammered. “Or because he needed a fall guy? I really don’t know.”
“Well, while we were waiting for you, we did a little research. And we think we know why. His investments are focused on the financial success of alternatives to carbon based fuels. That is, he needs oil to fail and to be despised globally. We see that he has actively promoted various foundations, studies, and PACs that promote the idea that the oceans are rising, and CO2 is at fault. Didn’t you say the argument you had with Hassan was about some report on oceans not rising in the Maldives?”
“Yes. It’s a report out of Stanford University.”
“Exactly what was the point of the argument?”
“That someone in the Maldivian government falsified the ocean level gauge readings. That this then was used to get the UN to invalidate the study that showed conclusively the oceans were not rising.”
“And you think Hassan was the one who manipulated the data?”
“I do now.”
“So if Maria is working for Swanson and knew the manipulation would unravel if Hassan talked, she could have arranged to eliminate him. And, yes, she made you the fall guy. Smart woman, whoever she is.... I’ll need a copy of the study ASAP. This provides motive.”
Chapter 22
June 29, 0800 hours
Malé, Maldives
Mohammed walked into the hotel restaurant to join the investigators.
“Good morning, everyone,” Mohammed called out to the team as they ate breakfast.
Everyone stood as the customary courtesies were exchanged.
“We have first calls about the woman in the posters,” Mohammed said.
Don waved to a chair for Mohammed to sit for some coffee.
The Maldivian attorney put a pad of paper on the table and exposed a toothy smile. “One is most helpful. He is ticket agent for National Museum.”
Don shook his head approvingly. “This might account for where Maria spent part of the three hours. She must like art.”
Within the hour, the five investigators arrived at the Museum.
Mohammed questioned the ticket handler more thoroughly. “It seems the woman came with a brown bag and left with the bag and a painting tube.”
“She bought some art?” Scott asked.
“He does not know. He say you need talk to the curator.”
Five minutes later the curator came to the front, and in perfect English, asked, “How may I assist you gentlemen?”
“Do you recognize this woman?”
The well-dressed official fidgeted. “Possibly, why you ask?”
“It’s part of an investigation.”
“Into what?”
“We are not at liberty to say.”
“Yes, she was here a couple weeks ago,” he said nervously.
“Did she buy something?”
His hands went to his hips and he leaned forward. “We do not sell art here!”
“She was seen carrying out a painting transport tube. Where would she get one here?”
“Not from me. Look, I’m busy. If there are no additional questions I have work to do.” He turned to leave.
“Would an audit of your art reveal something’s missing?!” Don asked sternly. “We will demand one...today.”
The curator stopped his retreat and turned to face the team. His eyes shifted to each of five investigators. His voice changed to a defeated tone. “This museum does not have a big budget. Sometimes we sell a piece to raise money to buy many more...I...may have sold her a piece.”
“We need the details, and a high resolution picture of whatever you sold her.”
“By the way,” Pete inserted. “What name did she use?”
“Maria,” the curator said.
Don and the team returned to the hotel restaurant. They were jazzed with having gotten statements from some additional witnesses who reported having seen the dark-haired woman at a few locations in Malé, all corresponding to a general area.
Don quieted them down for the working dinner. “Okay, I’ve met with the Maldivian prosecutor, the US Attorney’s representative, and the Interpol agents on local assignment. I showed them what evidence we’ve gathered...except for the art.”
“Why?”
“It’s our ace in the hole.... I can’t say any of them were enthralled to hear of our suspect’s connections. On condition we not publicize any of this, they’ve agreed to cancel extradition proceedings for your father.”
“That’s great!” Pete cheered.
“Maybe. They really had hoped to finish nailing Tom’s coffin, not to find the wrong body’s about to be buried.”
“Are they going after Swanson?” Pete asked.
“I doubt it. His alibi is rock solid.” Don started eating his dinner.
Pete turned his copy of the sketch toward Don, and pointed at her face. “What about the woman? Will they go after her?” Pete asked sternly.
“Maybe half-heartedly. If she’s connected to Swanson, there’s political incentive to dump the investigation. They’ve checked the flight manifests and security video. They also are looking into the boat ownership details, interviewing the family members to see what shakes out, and going back through Hassan’s office looking for fingerprints and other clues,” Don explained as he continued eating. He had a slight grin.
“And?” Pete’s eyes were wide.
“And we have a name and passport photo,” Don mused.
“Of Maria?”
“Of Anna Catherine Picard…Esquire.” Don slid over an airport surveillance photo and a copy of her passport picture.
“Wow, that’s her?!” Pete exclaimed as he stared at the photo. “The sketches don’t do her justice.”
“Yes, it is, and no, they don’t,” Don admitted as he continued to eat. “Her blonde hair and skin tone obviously were changed when she was here, but the features are dead on.”
“Her eyes are entrancing.” Pete was mesmerized at the photo.
Cathy raised an eyebrow at Pete’s comment and expression.
“I think Art Middleton said something similar…but perhaps cold and calculating may be a better description. Pete, remember this woman set up your father for murder. She’s no lackey. She’s a Harvard-trained lawyer.”
“Who knows how to make a bomb.” Scott chuckled. “Definitely talented!”
Cathy laughed. “I’d call her the ultimate femme fatale.”
Don grimaced. “By the way, here’s a high res photo of the painting she bought from the museum. What’s this tell you about her, guys?”
“Th
at she’s psychotic or has really bad taste in art!” Scott laughed.
Cathy scowled. “It looks demeaning to women with that ugly stain over the body.”
Pete was studying the painting very closely and from different angles. “I think she has an attachment to the art. This is passionate, but with an inwardly painful emotion.”
The group looked at Pete with bewilderment.
Don was studying Pete’s expression. “So, Pete, you think this painting represents a personal angst this Miss Picard may be feeling?”
“It would for me. See the change in texture, the darkened cloud over the body surrounded by bright colors? It’s as if her innocence had been stained by trauma.”
“Would you have appreciated the art before Iraq?” Cathy asked, gaining some understanding of Pete.
“Hell, no!” Pete chuckled, and then he softened. “I think there’s an aspect to this Anna Picard that is both very hard, and very fragile.”
“We’re going to keep the painting confidential for now. Don’t put it in any correspondence because I don’t want to tell Interpol yet. With her possible connection to Swanson, I’m afraid undue influence may cause it, or her, to disappear before we can prove anything. Got it guys?”
They all concurred.
“We’re flying back in the morning.”
Chapter 23
June 29, 1200 hours
Anna’s Villa, Côte d'Azur, France
The green Bell 429 executive helicopter with the Snath logo soared high above the waves. Cruising just five kilometers offshore, its occupants were silent having long since become immune to the spectacular Côte d'Azur on its port side. Swanson sat in the left rear seat of the club cabin, reading a document on his tablet. Sven sat to his right sipping a Scotch. Two armed men sat opposite them.
Just past the Nice airport, the helicopter banked gently to the left, slowed for its approach to Saint Jean Cap Ferrat and momentarily hovered just offshore a lovely villa perched on the southeast cliff.
Colored in the traditional Mediterranean pink, the villa created an inviting but secluded refuge. Its large deck overlooked the Mediterranean, the view devoid of offshore islands, just as its resident preferred. Sardinia was 160 kilometers offshore, too far to influence the background. This villa was in one of the world’s most exclusive and wealthiest areas, home to royalty and billionaires.
Smaller than many of its neighbors, the particular villa nonetheless had sufficient acreage for a large front lawn ringed by broadleaf evergreen trees of holm oak, stone pine, and the bright red-barked arbutus. The dense foliage created a visual screen from its larger neighbors. To one side of a flat grass lawn was a moderate sized swimming pool. The coastal side had a high stone wall with an iron trimmed solid plank gate that separated the villa from a public walkway that skirted the top cliff edge. A rusted metal stairway went from the public walkway to the water’s edge, which in times past had allowed a boat to pick up the villa’s residents.
Jared was on the radio and acknowledged the most recent communication. “Sir, we’ve got the go-ahead.”
Swanson smiled as his host appeared from the villa’s front door. “Land.”
Anna had stepped out onto the edge of the lawn a few dozen meters away. She was radiant, wearing a beautiful flowing summer dress and sandals.
The rotor wash blew the light fabric backward, enhancing her fluid movement and her curvaceous figure. Her hair was tied back with a green ribbon, and she evinced a broad smile. To her right were two large Rottweilers, calmly sitting together, their attention on the incoming chopper.
The Bell smoothly glided over the front lawn, near the pool, and gently set down. The blades slowed their rotation. First out were the two large guards carrying Heckler & Koch UMP9s – automatic 9mm machine pistols. They quickly separated in opposite directions. Each wore an earpiece radio and was in communication with a third person already on the ground who had not revealed himself.
A minute later, Jared announced, “Clear.”
The pilot shut down the helicopter and the rotors slowed to a stop.
“Leave the bags in the copter,” Swanson instructed while stepping out of the helo. Sven and Jared followed.
Smoothing her hair, Anna approached Swanson, put her arms around his neck and gave him a gentle hug. “Bienvenue, Alexis, How was your trip?” Her voice was warm and cheerful as they strolled towards the villa.
From a few steps behind his boss, Sven glanced over at the Rotts to see if approaching their mistress was considered a threat. They just eyeballed him.
Swanson smiled back at Anna. “Quite satisfying. I returned to the Spider after it came through the Suez Canal. You’re looking stylish as ever.”
Anna gave Swanson a coquettish smile, and turned towards Sven. “And Sven, how are you and the microworld you inhabit?”
“Me and my trillion friends, couldn’t be better.” He knew not to be prominent in the conversation at this juncture.
Jared briskly led the way into the villa. He was carrying a valise and a leather briefcase. The valise he placed by the dining table.
Anna, slipped her arm through Swanson’s, lightly put her head against his arm, and casually led him and Sven inside and into the dining room. On the table was a meal still hot from the kitchen.
“What have we here, Anna?” Swanson said jovially. “A little snack for the meeting?” He smiled while dipping a biscuit into a bowl of caviar.
“Oh just a little sustenance, in case you weren’t able to grab something from the Spider’s galley before the flight.” She plucked a dark chocolate from a crystal bowl and nibbled a corner.
In front of them were platters of escalope of sea bass in lime, cod and vegetables in garlic sauce, and fillet of beef Rossini with foie gras. The aroma filled the dining room. To the side were local cheeses, fruits, and breads. “I want the boss to know he’s always welcome when he visits Cap Ferrat. What better than to offer some of the local delicacies?” She smiled. “Shall I have some taken to your men outside?”
“No!” he said abruptly. “They can eat when they’re off duty.” He started placing small samples of each course onto a plate.
Anna caught the message – don’t do anything to distract security.
Sven’s eyebrow lifted at her offering, and his mouth formed a slight grin on Swanson’s brusque response at Anna’s expense. “Alexis, may I get you a drink?” He wandered to the wet bar. Seeing that Anna was halfway through a glass of red wine, he didn’t offer.
“Yes, please Sven, vodka neat.”
Jared came downstairs and nodded to Swanson an obvious meaning – upstairs is secure. In his hand was the equipment used to sweep for electronic listening devices. Not yet finished, he continued his work in another room. Swanson long ago had security installed in the villa, but verifying it all was in working order added to his confidence.
Swanson continued with the small talk, then turned to Anna. “So Anna, have you been enjoying the social scene?”
“Most definitely. This month I’ve been to two balls, an opera, and a concert. There are few places more social or artistic than along this coast, and there’s no better season than June. I acquired a spectacular glass sculpture by Xavier Carrera just the other day, and some quaint pastels in Nice. I’ve got my own little art collection in the living room if you’d care to see it.”
Sven handed Swanson his drink.
Swanson walked to a colorful painting in the entryway. “Is this new?”
Anna walked next to him. “Yes, I picked it up in Malé, like it?”
Swanson looked closely. “It looks rather primitive and it has an odd color and reflective quality.”
“Coffee,” Anna quipped.
“Not right now,” Swanson said as he continued to peer at the painting.
“No, I mean, the artist used coffee in part of the painting,” She smiled. “I like the way it absorbs the light. It’s an untitled piece by a Maldivian artist. It’s oil, acrylic, coffee and ink on canvas. She�
�s quite talented. I like to collect at least one thing on every trip.”
“Looks like it has a big stain in the center.” Sven smirked. “I can see why the artist didn’t name it.”
Anna stared at him and responded testily, “Well, I like it. It’s raw art. You need to get out more, Sven.”
He dropped his attempt at humor.
Swanson replied, “I like it too. I think it fairly represents our trip...unfinished business and a hidden agenda.”
Anna smiled at that, then stuck her tongue out at Sven.
Jared entered the dining room and gave a final nod, then spoke to Swanson, “May I?” as he motioned to the food.
Swanson nodded. “Go ahead.”
Jared quickly forked out some food on a plate then stepped outside onto the deck. He had a special relationship with Swanson and wasn’t intimidated by him. But then, Jared had many skills Swanson relied upon.
“Anna, perhaps later we’ll look at the other art. Let’s get started on business.” Swanson picked up the briefcase Jared had left next to the table and extracted his tablet.
They sat at the dining table.
Anna pressed and turned a cabinet knob. A lower drawer without a knob opened, revealing her tablet. She sat down.
Each went through the process of logging onto their tablets.
“Here’s what I’ve got,” she started. “I’ve taken the list of officials who need to be co-opted and identified them by type of treatment.”
“We may be adding some names to it within the next few weeks,” Swanson added.
“That’s all right, but once we start, it will be harder to catch new people by surprise,” Anna cautioned. “Some targets will be neutralized, some blackmailed, and....” she looked at Sven then Swanson.
“It’s okay Anna.”
“Some will disappear,” she finished.
Sven’s eyes narrowed with her last comment, but he didn’t ask for clarification.
Swanson asked, “How have you categorized the list?”
“I’ve separated the names according to UN and sovereign government officials, science groups, researchers, media, and businesses. Each hacker group will specialize on a specific group, so it appears to be anarchists trying to send a message. No hacker group knows about the others’ missions, and the presumption by all of them is that the project is being bankrolled by an extremist green movement with a wealthy benefactor who wants to save the world.”
