by J C Ryan
The next file he opened was the letter, The Aguillard-Lemaire Affair.docx. His jaw worked as he read it and recognized it for what it was—a blackmail attempt.
So, someone knew of the affair, and put two and two together to make five. It doesn’t constitute proof that I am the father of this inconvenient child of Margot’s though... our child.
But what’s this last file?
Obviously, it was an audio file. He looked around nervously and saw that it was still only him and Laurent in his office, the security team just outside the double doors, presumably. The doors were shut. It was safe to listen to the file so long as the volume was down. He clicked to open the file and immediately lowered the volume when the sound started.
Margot’s familiar voice came through the speakers, and it soon became clear she was speaking to a man she trusted implicitly. Bertrand… wasn’t that her brother?
Aguillard listened with growing alarm as he heard Margot telling her brother she was in trouble and needed his help. Though she never said his name, Aguillard recognized she was determined to protect the identity of the baby’s father and had engineered her disappearance to make it unlikely anyone would look for her.
Good girl.
But it was also blatantly obvious that her brother had reached a conclusion about who the father was, although he also didn’t say it.
Well, he was still technically in the clear, though anyone who’d heard the rumors, among which counted his wife and God knew how many others with half a brain, including her brother, would be able to put two and two together, as the blackmailers clearly had. And if the media discovered this, Margot would be put under merciless pressure to come clean.
It was only a matter of time.
He returned to the demand letter and read it again.
Merde, this is a double-edged sword. I’ll be out of office in days if this comes out, and the next President will let the Russians have their pipeline.
Now he knew why his Prime Minister had been so angry and so drunk. Aguillard recalled the friendship between the families. The only choice he had now was to involve his friend in the cover-up, because a cover-up would be imperative. In fact, come to think of it, the Prime Minister had de facto become involved when he’d read that letter and the rest of the files on the flash drive. If he only remained silent about it and did nothing else, he would be complicit.
Aguillard had not risen to the top of his calling because he was stupid, though he recognized, not for the first time, that having an affair with a much younger woman who was also his employee could only be described as short-sighted. And if he had to be honest with himself, as he had every so often been over the past few months, he’d have to admit, also stupid and irresponsible.
Even so, his mind immediately went to work on what he would need to do next. First was to extract an oath of silence from Laurent. But the man was more than just a little drunk, more like three sheets to the wind.
Aguillard paced as he considered the dilemmas he faced. Had he been a less experienced politician, they would have been heart-stopping. As it was, they required some finesse, and panicking would do him no good.
He needed time, and the blackmailers, obviously Russians, though he didn’t yet know whether it was a private enterprise or the government he was dealing with, had hinted there was none to waste. But he had no doubts that someone in the Russian government would be found at the bottom of this. However, he couldn’t sign the agreement they wanted without bringing his constituents down on him, not to mention the entire European Union and NATO.
France was already dependent on Russia for a large percentage of their gas. Russia, for years, had been drooling at the prospect of increasing that dependency. They already had most of Western Europe tied up in increasingly expensive dependency on their product.
The Americans wouldn’t like it either, for both strategic and economic reasons. Not that he personally gave one whit about whether the Americans approved of his actions or not. The issue was that America was a powerful ally, powerful being the operative word. This early in his presidency, he couldn’t afford to alienate them.
Those were the international political repercussions.
In France, although not openly admitted, it was hardly a cardinal sin to have a mistress. What was a big deal was being caught out. And having the existence of one appear in the headlines for a President was going to be a first. There was no telling what the French public’s reaction was going to be.
His next issue would be what his wife would do if she got wind of it—she was aware of the rumors about the affair and had confronted him about it. He told her it was dirty politics from the opposition. She believed him. If she now learned he’d lied—well, the word emasculation came to mind, and not only emotional. A cold shiver ravaged his body at the thoughts that crossed his mind.
She has enough clout to get the guillotine reinstated, and I’m sure my allowance and head would not be the first things to be chopped off.
But he had no doubt, eventually his head would go as well. A scandal had to be avoided—if necessary, at all cost.
Aguillard had been in politics long enough to know that the judicial principle of innocence until proven guilty didn’t operate in the court of public opinion. In that court, there was no trial, neither the right to representation, nor the right to be heard. Once accused of wrongdoing, he would be guilty. Not that he was innocent to begin with, but if he could somehow come up with a way to control the narrative, the outcome might be less excruciating than when the media controlled it.
He turned to Laurent and said, “Lucien, here’s what we’re going to do now. First, I’m going to order the DGSE to find Margot at any cost.”
The DGSE, General Directorate for External Security, was France's external intelligence agency, the French equivalent to the United Kingdom's MI6 and the United States' CIA.
“We’re going to cite the package but not tell them about all of its contents.” What he didn’t tell his intoxicated friend was that if he went along with this, he’d be complicit to the coverup, and they would face the same consequences if it became public.
“We’ll tell them we have it on authority she is alive, in Vietnam and perhaps plotting with a foreign government. That should do it. By the time they find her, we will have figured out what to do.”
The Prime Minister was just staring at him. Probably too drunk and too tired, or to shocked, or all of the above, to make a reply.
“You see, Lucien,” the President continued, “securing her physically will break the stranglehold the Russians have on us.”
Laurent’s eyes were glazed over as he stared at Aguillard in apparent stupor and remained wordless.
“They could hardly claim she is alive if they couldn’t produce her, and failing that claim, no one would believe the rest of it. But then… it would only work so long as she is prepared to deny the affair.”
Aguillard continued his soliloquy for a few more minutes before he realized that his Prime Minister, although present in body, was definitely absent in mind. The lights were on, but no one was at home. He paused, fixed his gaze on Lucien, and frowned but got no response. It was infuriating, but he also knew at that moment he had only one ally, or rather potential ally, and he had to be careful not to estrange him. In the coming days and weeks, friends might very well become a scarcity.
Hmm, maybe not a good idea to expect a drunk man to come up with any brilliant ideas. He decided to continue his problem solving in silence.
Bargaining on Margot’s silence was a different kettle of bouillabaisse. Aguillard had no doubt Margot was like any other woman when it came to love. The ancient saying, Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned was likely to come into play. He’d have to take steps to avoid that, because the moment she appeared on TV stating that she was carrying his baby, and he was trying to silence her, public opinion would sway in her favor, and he’d be in worse trouble than ever.
Should I have her killed? Insist she’s a s
py and must be eliminated?
No, that ruthless he was not, but he had to admit that if she were dead, then the well-known Stalin doctrine was in play – “Death solves all problems—no man (in this case woman), no problem.”
Surely the interests of France, Europe, and NATO were worth more than one life?
Two his conscience interrupted his chain of thought. One of them your own blood!
Chapter 29
Paris, France
TWO HOURS LATER, and with several cups of strong black coffee coursing through his system, Lucien Laurent had started to participate in the conversation.
To Aguillard’s relief, it seemed as if Laurent had made up his mind and was not going to abandon him.
Laurent pointed out that the DGSE operated under the direction of the Ministry of Defense, therefore the Minister had to be read in on the matter before his agents can be sent on any mission. The only question was what was the Minister allowed to know?
They both agreed that for now, the Minister of Defense only needed to know that Margot Lemaire had become a national security risk and that it was of the utmost importance to apprehend her, bring her back to France for questioning, and to keep the whole mission top secret—strictly need to know only. The minister had to report directly to the President and Prime Minister.
In due course, the Minister of Defense was summoned to an early morning emergency meeting with the President and Prime Minister on a matter of national security.
From the backseat of his official vehicle, when the building came into view, the Minister couldn’t help but think of the history of the imposing presidential residence and office known as the Élysée Palace where the Council of Ministers held their meetings. It was built in 1722 for Louis Henri de La Tour d'Auvergne and had been in use as the office of the French President since 1848.
The name Élysée was derived from Elysian Fields, ‘the place of the blessed dead’ in Greek mythology.
The meeting was brief and to the point. Neither the President nor the Prime Minister would reveal the source of their information about Mademoiselle Lemaire’s apparent perfidy. Yes, he understood the gravity of the situation, the need to act with speed, and the need to not discuss the details with anyone. Not even the agents he was going to assign to the mission. All they had to know was that it was a matter of national importance. He also understood that she was not to be harmed, and he had to act upon it immediately.
Word went down from the Minister of Defense to the director of the DGSE, who briefed a team of three of France’s experienced field agents.
The Minister wasn’t given any specific information about Lemaire’s alleged treachery. He was a politician and had no experience or skills in these kinds of matters and didn’t ask for more information. For him and for his career it was more than enough that the President knew the facts and wanted him to make it happen. The Director of the DGSE, on the contrary, was an experienced spook and analyst and pulsed the Minister for details. But he was told that the President had the details, was obviously not prepared to divulge them, and that should be enough for the director to act on. It was not as if it was expected of him to send his agents on a life-threatening mission. Besides, what else did the director need to know to send a few agents on a simple mission to Vietnam to apprehend Margot Lemaire?
The director knew when to stop questioning his orders if he wanted to stay in his position and hope to retire on full pension one day. So, he nodded and told the Minister he’d get onto it immediately.
The director briefed the agents with the little he knew and passed on the same sentiments passed on to him by the Minister when the agents had many questions. “This assignment comes directly from President Aguillard,” he told them. “You should be honored. The President is privy to information way above your and my pay grades. So, stop second guessing me or the President for that matter. Get your asses out of here, go to Vietnam, observe Mademoiselle Lemaire, gather evidence of her indiscretions if you get the opportunity, apprehend her, and bring her back to France. How much more do you need to know in order to execute an order as simple as that?”
The three agents looked at each other, shrugged in unison, and stood to leave.
“Oh, two more things,” the director said, “One, you are not to harm her in any manner. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” they replied in chorus.
“Good. Two, I want daily reports at the minimum. More if necessary.”
“Yes, sir,” they replied in chorus again.
Like the three stooges, the director couldn’t help but think when they turned and left his office.
Chapter 30
Mumbai, India
THE DAYS BECAME tedious for Rex, who preferred action to the eternal and insufferable waiting, but despite his preferences, waiting was familiar. He continued to track the yacht they thought bore Margot westward, listening and watching in real time to all signals emanating from it.
Meanwhile, in case they were wrong, Rehka was monitoring the other three. She had developed a method to monitor the audio signals using audio editing software that showed her the spikes of noise when someone was speaking over the radios. That way, she didn’t have to do as Rex was doing and listen to long periods of silence.
It gave her the ability to keep track of three yachts while Rex focused on the one in which they were most interested. If something emerged that proved them wrong about which yacht carried Margot, they wouldn’t be too far behind in tracking the others. And if their SIGINT effort produced a positive indication that she was on a different one, they’d know it soon enough to change tacks.
When Rehka hacked into the satellite links of the yachts, she also uploaded a small and unobtrusive piece of software which accessed the microphones of all electronic devices using the uplink. The software activated the microphones and kept them running with the user of the devices none the wiser. This enabled them to listen to any conversations taking place in proximity to those devices when they were switched on.
So far, they’d listened to the captain or his first mate talking on the satellite phone or on the marine radio network making daily reports or talking to other ocean-going vessels. None of the conversations made any mention of a girl on board.
It was late on the twelfth day after Rex had the last dinner with Margot that he noted the Java Princess might be heading for Singapore. Not long afterward, he got confirmation when he overheard a conversation between a male who he assumed was the captain of the yacht and a male who he assumed was in Singapore.
The conversation was brief. The presumed captain said, “Henri here. We’re about three and a half hours away. Do you have everything ready?”
The Singaporean answered, “Yes. I have. Text me when you’ve docked. I’ll meet you at the taxi rank on Sentosa Island.”
Rex couldn’t imagine a legitimate reason for Margot to go there willingly, lending more credence to the idea she’d been abducted, or at the very least, had not been going there by her own choice.
Or is Singapore where they’re going to take her off the yacht? Hence the meeting in the parking lot. I need to get there before they dock.
He alerted Rehka to what was happening and re-tasked her to research flights from Mumbai to Singapore and get him on the first one that was available. If he lost the trail in Singapore, he might never pick it up again if she were to be taken into one of the South East Asian countries. He continued to monitor everything in real time, while Rehka divided her attention between monitoring the other yachts and making arrangements to get him and Digger to Singapore on the first available flight. It was a five and a half hour flight, but then he still had to get Digger and clear customs. He could only hope that the yacht would still be there when he arrived and hope that Margot might perchance still be aboard. If not, he’d have to persuade the captain to assist him in tracking her down if she wasn’t. That was if the yacht was still there when he got to the harbor.
They agreed while Rex was en route, Rehk
a would continue to monitor the other yachts as before and take over the real-time observation of the Java Princess, so she could update him when he landed.
Rehka had found a flight leaving in only four hours and he had to start checking in three hours before departure. Although, he knew the airline staff would only close check-in an hour before departure, it was still going to be tight. He had less than two hours to race back to his apartment to get the rest of his and Digger’s gear, quickly walk Digger, and get to the airport to check the dog into cargo before the deadline to report to his gate and board the plane.
Fortunately, he found a taxi driver who, after being handed a wad of cash equivalent to what he would earn in a week, understood the word ‘hurry’ to mean exactly what Rex had meant it to. The drive to the apartment was hair-raising. On arrival, Rex asked him to wait and shoved another wad of cash at him.
Fifteen minutes after he arrived at the apartment, Rex had a hastily-packed carry-on with Digger’s gear, another with his minimum requirements, and an agitated Digger back in the taxi. He explained to the baffled driver that he required a stop at a nearby park for the dog before they could proceed to the airport. He didn’t try to translate or explain the common American expressions ‘hurry up and wait’ or ‘take your time as long as you do it in a hurry’.
Chapter 31
Singapore
ARRIVING IN SINGAPORE harbor, three hours after talking to his contact, Henri motored smoothly into a pier in the orderly slips of the yacht club. Margot would wait on the yacht while Henri fetched the forger.
Henri took a taxi to Sentosa Island and came back in the same taxi with a gentleman who looked like a successful businessman dressed in a sharp-looking suit. Not the unsavory character she’d expected. He politely shook her hand, then indicated his briefcase and asked if she would like to see the work before he left.
