He turned to Louise, raising the lamp to reveal himself, in a display of dominance. His expression was devoid of compassion or concern for being identified. Louise recognized him as the red-haired man she had followed from the Château du Lac resort in Genval. He raised his right hand to his head, plucked a single hair, and rolled it in his fingertips. Louise scrutinized his behavior, a combination of narcissism and trichotillomania, the impulse to literally pull one’s hair out. His eyes were empty and sadistic, instinctively causing Louise to squirm helplessly.
“You are a little old for my taste, but still very pretty.” He clutched her face in his sweaty hand and lowered it to grab one of her breasts. She could see where this was going, so just as he was about to grab her between the legs, she spat at him and screamed at the top of her lungs. He clasped his hand over her mouth, but she bit him until she felt his flesh give. Pulling back in agony, he backhanded her across the face. The young woman also screamed, so he went over to her and knocked her out with one punch. Then he returned to Louise and punched her lights out too.
Moments later, when Louise regained consciousness, her head and jaw were on fire and she could taste blood in the corner of her mouth. She fought to remain awake.
“I told you not to hurt her, Arnaud,” a voice said. It was familiar, but distant, so Louise thought she was dreaming again.
“They wouldn’t shut up,” Arnaud barked. He was in full process mode. This wasn’t his first violent rodeo. He began giving orders. “Take her down and bring her upstairs.”
The familiar voice belonged to the shadowy figure who now untied her from the ladder and carried her out, leaving Evelyne behind. Louise passed out again.
When she came to, she was in a room like the one she had seen through the keyhole with French Royal décor and a warm fire. She lay comfortably on the bed and opened her eyes to the vision of Matthieu, eliciting happy relief.
“Matthieu,” Louise said. “I had the most horrible dream.”
Matthieu wore the same tortured expression he had the many times they talked. There had always been something amiss about him. As she fully regained consciousness and felt the pain of her injuries, she realized that Matthieu’s expression was more than sorrow or regret. It was helplessness.
“I’m so sorry, Louise.” It was the first time she had heard him say her name.
“My name is Karen,” she said, reflexively.
“Karen Baker from Illinois is dead,” Matthieu said.
“How did you know?”
“They know everything,” he said. “You can disguise yourself and change your name, but your handwriting is undeniable. There were rumors and intel that you had emerged from wherever you had been hiding. It was just a question of when you’d slip up. You filled out that loan application, now they know all about you.”
“And I know all about the crime syndicate that apparently you are a part of!” Louise struggled to sit up while attempting to roundhouse punch him. “Let me out of here!”
Matthieu held her down and tried to calm her. “I am going to get you out of here! But you must do as I say.”
“Jean-Philippe said the same thing ten years ago,” was all she could manage to say. Louise was in a tailspin, woozy from the beating and distraught by her identity being revealed. But she remained defiant. “There’s no way I’m falling for that again.”
Louise pushed him away, freeing herself from his grip. He made no effort to re-engage. She sat up, nearly blacking out again, and turned to face him. “How are you involved in this, Matthieu? Don’t you realize they are holding women as prisoners here? Your fiancée was probably murdered by these same people.”
“That’s the point,” he replied. “These people have implicated me. I am also their prisoner.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
He struggled with his emotions as he tried to explain his predicament. “When I met Jo, we fell in love and got engaged. I had a dream job as an archeologist in the most prestigious institution in the country. Then one day, an outsider came into a prominent dig I was on, claiming he was a fellow archeologist. It was Arnaud, the man who beat you. He was working for a shadowy prostitution ring as an enforcer. His assignment was to recruit me back into the ring by blackmailing me. During one of my excavations I had found a relic, an ex voto, that I stupidly kept, to give to Jo as a wedding gift. Being a contracted archeologist on a sponsored excavation, keeping the antiquity without reporting it would be considered a high crime. Arnaud had the evidence and could have destroyed my career. But I still refused to return to the ring.”
“What do you mean, return to the ring,’” Louise observed, shocked into full attention.
“While I was in school, I did things I’m not proud of,” he explained. “It was easy money in those days, and I was a perfect candidate. Girls would just gravitate to me.” Louise could see why, even in his forties Matthieu was endowed with movie star good looks. Matthieu continued, “I invited the girls to what they called recruiting parties and that’s as far as my involvement went. The girls would be pulled into the same prostitution ring, usually unwillingly. After graduating, I tried to disappear into a high-profile career. But they caught up with me. After I refused, they seemed to back off.”
The next part of the story was clearly difficult for Matthieu. “While I was away on a dig, they took Jo. They raped, tortured, and killed her, and had evidence to make it look like I was a suspect. They came to me, during the worst loss of my life, and told me they’d frame me for Jo’s murder unless I signed over the family vineyard to them. But there was a flaw in their extortion. I pointed out that French law doesn’t allow the sale of property without approval by all immediate family members. Of course, that put my sister and nephew in jeopardy. So, I offered to give them a portion of the profits, which became a better deal for them. They continued to threaten to hurt my family if I ever went to the police. So, in essence, I quit my career to protect the only remaining people who mattered to me, Magali and Luke.”
Louise’s expression oddly changed from horror to epiphany.
“That’s it!” she exclaimed, the pieces coming together.
“What?” asked Matthieu.
Louise fought through the haze to think out loud. “You said someone is using private background checks to blackmail people in all professions.”
“Yes,” Matthieu said. “The network goes very high up. It is not just sex trafficking. They incriminate and blackmail all kinds of people in positions of power, including politicians and bankers.
“Like Yves Renard,” Louise said.
“Exactly. Any person applying for a job or a bank loan that requires a private background check can be targeted. There are corrupt insiders with access to the background checks who search for anything incriminating to be used in this blackmail scheme.”
“It all makes sense,” Louise was starting to make the connections. “Just like you, most people have things in their past that they don’t want made public. The only thing I need now is proof. If you help me, I promise to protect your family. In the meantime, we have to help the girls being held prisoner here.”
“You don’t understand,” Matthieu said, with that twisted look in his eyes.
“What?”
“These are very powerful people,” Matthieu explained. “The young woman in the upstairs room, Annabel, has been raised from a baby for a Eugenicist marriage.”
“Eugenicist marriage?”
“Annabel was kidnapped as a child. She was targeted even in the womb, as it was obvious from her parentage that she would become a stunning beauty. When she was born, she was kidnapped and turned over to Arnaud whose assignment was to keep her a pure virgin, give her the best education, and then when time was right, market her to the highest bidder as a Maltese Falcon.”
“What do you mean Maltese Falcon?” Louise asked.
“Maltese Falcon is a code name specifically for this kind of trade. It’s symbolic based on the annual tribute payable
to the monarchy on All Saints’ Day, November 1st, one falcon.”
“The annual payment was a Maltese Falcon?”
“Yes. They use the term as a code specifically for Eugenicists seeking these kinds of pure women. They were scheduled to deliver the girl last November 1st to a Russian billionaire, but after 9/11 everything changed. Many lost all their fortunes and others made money. The original buyer could no longer pay, and Arnaud put the message out that she would go to a new highest bidder.”
“Who was the highest bidder?” Louise asked.
“The two Russians that were here at the château.”
“I have to get those girls out of here.” Louise tried to get up but was weak.
“You cannot help them,” Matthieu said, his eyes driving home the truth. “These people are dangerous. I’m going to get you out of here. You just have to trust me.”
“I’m not leaving without them,” Louise said.
“Then you will never leave,” Matthieu said. “You must follow my lead if you want to stay alive.” They heard someone approaching. “Lie down, pretend to be unconscious.”
The door opened. “Let’s go,” Arnaud said.
Matthieu lifted Louise up to a sitting position. “Allez, on your feet,” Matthieu said, slapping her. Louise pretended to wake up. She could see Arnaud clearly now, bloated and doughy with brittle rusty hair that had been thinned out by his hair-pulling tic.
“What are you waiting for?” Arnaud puffed. “Get her the hell out of my room!”
Matthieu took Louise by the arm and stood her up. She teetered, dizzy from the near concussion. He stabilized her.
“Come on,” he said, pulling her with mock forcefulness toward the door.
They went down the staircase, and Louise saw that they were in the other flanking tower. The heavy wooden door leading outside was open, and she could see the secluded loading area behind the château. The same black sedan was idling just beyond the door. As Louise reached the ground floor, the rear window of the sedan rolled down, the dome light revealing the Russian couple in back and the man behind the steering wheel. Even in the obscurity she could tell the driver was the same man she had seen at the bar in Pommard, in the car in Auxerre and who had approached her on the boat. He was part of the sex trafficking ring.
“Let’s go!” the Russian said. Louise knew if she got into that car, she was doomed. She pretended to trip and convincingly fell flat on her stomach.
“What the fuck is she doing?” Arnaud shouted.
“She has a concussion,” Matthieu said, going along with Louise’s stall tactic.
“Pick her up and carry her!” Arnaud growled. “I think she tipped somebody off. That fucking French agent she was working with, Jean-Philippe, is onto us. This place will be under lockdown any minute!”
There was an uncharacteristic panic in his voice, but he still noticed Louise’s response to his words. She couldn’t help herself. When she heard the name Jean-Philippe, her eyes opened wide and she rolled onto her back, giving herself away. Arnaud raised his hand and plucked a single hair from his head, twirling it in satisfaction like a Bond villain. He moved closer, looming over her.
“Oh, look who’s suddenly okay.” He looked down on her. “Yes, Jean-Philippe has been staking out this place the whole time. And from what I know about your past with him, he didn’t come back to save you before, and he will not save you now.”
While Louise had been unconscious, her eyeliner had smudged and formed a smoky black outline that intensified her green eyes as she glared up at him. The last of the haze from Arnaud’s beating had miraculously lifted, and the accumulated fury inside her raged. She kept cool outwardly, as her attacker smirked like a deranged Grinch.
The side effect of years of yoga training was her incredible strength. Her core contracted, her abs flexed, and her quads clenched all the muscles she had built up. With a slight adjustment in position, that Arnaud did not notice, she was able to cross her arms, creating a battering ram. She sprang up and cold-cocked him directly under the chin, forcing him backward. He stumbled into the wall then pulled a gun from behind his back and aimed it at her.
“Bitch! Get in the fucking car. Now!”
Like a bizarre cinematic special effect, everything seemed to slow down for Louise. The realization that Jean-Philippe had been around over the years since the trial – possibly even knowing where she was but had never come for her – flipped a switch in her psyche. There was nothing left to lose, no one to pine for. She was the master of her destiny.
“Go fuck yourself, fat pig,” Louise snarled.
The fat pig snorted what sounded like laughter and came closer, aiming the gun right between her eyes. Louise stared at him, not flinching.
Suddenly, the internal tower door flew open.
“How rude,” Father Gregory said, pointing his revolver at Louise. “You didn’t finish your dinner.”
Time froze as Louise, Matthieu, and Arnaud assessed the situation. The dramatic stand-off intensified as Father Gregory slowly pointed his gun away from Louise and at her attacker.
“I’ll kill her!” Arnaud yelled, flailing his gun frantically.
Matthieu came out of his stupor and pounced just as Arnaud fired. Like a bloody ballet, he leaped in time to take the shot that was intended for Louise. Simultaneously, Father Gregory unloaded his weapon on Arnaud. The monk’s aim was true. Arnaud died a coward’s death, shot through his least vulnerable spot…his heart. He was gone instantly, while Matthieu lay motionless, still breathing, but bleeding heavily.
“Go!” The Russian shouted, and the black sedan sped off.
Louise moved quickly to help Matthieu as Father Gregory tended to the last rights with Arnaud.
“What are you doing?” Louise nearly screamed.
Calmly, Father Gregory finished over the corpse, and came over to help Louise with Matthieu. “All souls,” he said, “however damaged, deserve prayer before passing to the next world.”
One more mystery was finally clear. “So, you’re a real monk?” Louise asked.
“Guilty,” he offered. “Even monks can work for Interpol.”
“Interpol?” But she was interrupted by Ferdinande and André.
“Oh, mon dieu! What happened to monsieur?” Ferdinande shouted.
Father Gregory was now in charge. “Monsieur is dead, and this man is badly injured. He is losing blood and needs to get to the hospital. André, call an ambulance!” The groundskeeper ran off.
Matthieu was pale and losing consciousness, as Louise applied pressure to his wound.
“Matthieu, stay with me,” she pleaded. “Luke needs you to teach him how to prune the vines.”
Father Gregory held Matthieu’s hand. “Do you have any last confessions?”
“Hang on!” Louise said. “He’s not going to die!”
“He might still have something to confess?”
Louise knew he was right and moved her face close to Matthieu’s. “Is there anything you can tell us about the murder of Ekram Almasi?”
Matthieu’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Almasi?” he said. “They killed Almasi…” His was now ashen from blood loss. “The caves, search the caves…” He lost consciousness leaving Louise stunned by his words. She snapped out of it when André returned armed with a Tabatière Rifle. Although it was antique, it appeared polished and well maintained, ready for just such an occasion.
“Le SAMU arrive!” André announced.
“We must go,” Father Gregory said.
“What about those girls?” Louise said. “They are still in danger and I’m not leaving without them.”
Ferdinande had been absorbing the conversation. “You and Father can go,” she told Louise. “André and I will take care of monsieur until the ambulance arrives.”
“Thank you,” Louise said.
Father Gregory rummaged through Arnaud’s pockets. “The Russians will be returning with back-up. They already paid for Annabel. We’ll take the girls with us
. They will be safe where we’re going.”
“How are you involved in this?” Louise asked.
“I’ll explain later.” He found the room keys in Arnaud’s pocket and they ran to the other tower and up the stairs to retrieve Annabel. When they opened the door, she appeared frightened, but seeing Father Gregory calmed her.
“Hello, my child.”
“Hello, Father,” she said. “Is it time for the wedding?”
“There will be no wedding,” Father Gregory said. “This is Louise. We are taking you home.” Although Annabel remained composed, she was clearly emotional.
“Everything will be okay now,” Louise said, putting an arm around her shoulder and helping her down the stairs.
Father Gregory used the key to open the door below the stairs. They could hear the girl crying and he recited a blessing that seemed to calm her. He helped her to her feet and out of the room. She walked with a limp that appeared to be from a partial paralysis on her left side, possibly a birth defect. Still, she was stunningly beautiful. Her blue eyes sparkled back to life when she saw Louise. Then she saw Annabel and they both screamed.
“Evelyne!”
“Annabel!”
They fell into each other’s arms. They became excited children again. Evelyne turned to Louise.
“Are you an angel?” she asked, tears of joy running down her ruddy cheeks. It was obvious that she was only physically handicapped, and despite the traumatic stress, was a very bright girl. All she wanted, all she needed, despite her torture and abuse, was a safe reunion with Annabel. But still, the thought of what the girls had been through repulsed Louise, now the avenging angel.
“Yes,” said the Father. “An angel has come to save you.”
They returned to the other tower as the medics lifted the unconscious Matthieu into the ambulance. Louise waved off medical attention, as the adrenalin and her natural protective instincts had made her pain from injuries vanish.
Louise turned to Father Gregory. “I’ll drive.”
Pinot Noir Page 31
